Unrequited (Fallen Aces MC #1) Read online

I love this man.

  I have for weeks.

  When he looks at me, it’s me he sees. I don’t get just the basic sexual reactions from him—I get more. We talk. He makes me laugh. He asks me how I feel. He cares about the little things. He never asks for more than I’m offering.

  And only then does he make my body react in ways I never knew possible.

  I like just being with him. When’s he near, I’m more complete. We connect in a way that makes me feel as if I’m never going to have a second chance at finding anything like it.

  I need to hold on to him.

  “I don’t really want to leave,” I whisper as I run my hands up and down his arms.

  “I know. I wish I didn’t have to either.”

  “How did things get so complicated?” Tears build and I look away, determined not to let the compassion in his eyes be my undoing. I’ve held it together this long; I can do it a bit longer.

  “Hey,” he soothes, tipping my chin back towards him. “I’m guessing you’ve just had one bad thing after another lately, is all. A run of bad, bad fuckin’ luck, if you will.” He places another soft kiss on my waiting lips. “Doesn’t mean this is as good as it’ll get though.”

  “No?” I search his eyes for the truth and find only conviction in the words he’s just spoken.

  “No.” His beard tickles my neck as he lays a kiss behind my ear. “It’s just a bump in the road, baby.”

  “Promise?”

  His chest vibrates as he grumbles, skimming his lips across my jaw to reach the other ear. “I promise.”

  He takes each of my hands gently, one after the other, and places them above my head to trap them in place with one of his. I turn and place a kiss to his arm as it flexes with his movement. He stretches out, scooting his head lower to kiss and tease each nipple, and then leaves a trail of soft kisses across my ribs, twisting himself to the side of my body as he does. His eyes settle on mine, his gaze firm as he kneels at my side. King’s hand still traps my wrists as he runs the pads of his fingers across the taut flesh of my stomach. It tickles a little, but mostly it’s a sensual promise of what’s to come. He works lower, eventually tracing the swollen flesh between my legs, never quite dipping inside. I squirm, eager for him to do more, but he continues to tease, and run his hands all over my body, stopping only to pinch a nipple or thumb my lips.

  King carefully positions himself around and over me as he drives my body to the brink with a slow, sensual caress of every inch. He rolls me to my stomach, his lips skating the sensitive flesh behind my ear, dotting kisses on each of my shoulder blades and running a slow path down my spine as he kneels beside me.

  I try to touch him, but he continues to pin my hands to the bed, moving his mouth so it settles over one of my butt cheeks . . . and then he bites. Gentle, but firm enough to leave a sting.

  I’m lost to him, completely and utterly lost in his world. He has a way of shutting off the worries, the fears, and the regrets, and making my mind just focus on him . . . on us.

  I wriggle, desperate to get some sort of leverage to push him off, take control, and show him how he makes me feel. But he traps my legs under his knees and maneuvers my hands to the small of my back.

  “Stay still.”

  King moves carefully off me, using one knee to knock my legs apart. With his free hand, he palms the flesh of each thigh, dipping his fingers to tease the swollen flesh between my legs.

  “I could play for hours and never stop bein’ amazed by you.” He runs his fingertips back and forth through my growing wetness.

  I’m not ashamed. I’m not embarrassed. He drives me wild, and if my body is showing him that, then he deserves every ounce of pleasure he gets.

  I gasp as he slides his erection between my cheeks and rocks his hips back and forth. The heat of his chest and stomach envelop my back when he lets go of my hands, his breath tickling my ear. “I’m goin’ to fuck you hard enough that you don’t forget who you belong with, but first . . .”

  A rush of cool air replaces him as he moves away, the mattress dipping beneath his weight as he moves. I look over my shoulder at him and sigh inside at the firm pull of his muscles as he positions himself beside the bed, facing me. Ohh, I know what he wants.

  I get on all fours and turn toward him, sticking my ass up in the air. He gives a low rumble of appreciation and places a large hand over my tailbone, curling his fingers down to my center. I shuffle a little closer to give him better reach to put his fingers inside me, and myself better leverage to take him all.

  I run my lips down the length of his cock, lying my tongue flat against the underside. King’s eyes shut, his jaw slack. Sucking and holding my breath, I pull back slowly, and flick my tongue against the sensitive head when I reach the tip without releasing him from my mouth.

  “Jesus fuckin’ Christ, Elena.” His eyes open and he knits his fingers painfully close to my scalp, tangling them in my hair.

  Hearing his pleasure, how turned on he is with my mouth on him, sends a rush of wet heat between my legs. His left hand continues to guide my head while the right skims the slick folds of my pussy, sinking inside my core in intervals. I push my hips back while taking his cock deep, tickling my gag reflex. He hisses as my throat closes around him and pinches the head of his erection. With my breath held, I do it again, only this time I control him better with my hand at the base of his shaft. My throat tightens around the head of his cock, and pressing up, I push the sensitive area hard against the ridge on the top of my mouth on the way out.

  King moans, his head dropping forward as his eyes close again. His index and middle finger pump my pussy, the friction of his palm rubbing over my tight bud surprisingly arousing. “Do it again,” he mutters. “Stick my cock right down your throat.”

  I shift a little, trying to coax more from his hand while still playing his cock with my tongue and throat. He gets the hint as I tilt my hips back to present my ass, and drags his wet fingers out of me to run them in long strokes over my tight hole. A shiver ripples my spine, and I groan around my mouthful sending vibrations through his erection and down to my hand.

  “You like that, huh?”

  I writhe against his fingers in response, my gut tightening as the pleasure builds from such a simple touch.

  “Keep sucking, baby. Keep choking on my fuckin’ cock.” He leans forward a little, curling over my back and pushing himself deeper down my throat in the process.

  I angle my neck to accommodate, only half paying attention to what I’m doing. My head’s a mess of praise for the man as he plunges his fingers in my pussy to the hilt, curls them around, and lifts me closer to his body with his hold in me. It’s rough, to the point, and making me drip.

  My eyes water and I gag, but with a little wriggle I find the right angle to take his thick length to the back of my throat again without wanting to retch. He moves his hips in time with his fingers, and right when I think I can’t take any more, he pushes the pad of his thumb against my ass. Oh my God. King continues to press in time with his thrusts, nudging a little deeper on each stroke. My stomach clenches, my head too light. Nobody’s ever touched me there before, and the new sensation pushes me to overload. A strangled moan escapes my throat as my muscles clench and I come hard, my lips hesitating halfway down his cock. He thrusts his hips to keep the momentum as I pulse around his hand, choking out garbled words around his rigid length.

  King withdraws and steps back, licking his fingers as I pant and collapse to my shoulders on the mattress, my cheek pressed into the comforter. He’s not finished. Strong hands lift me upright to my knees. He hooks me behind the thighs and flips me on to my back as I groan, the only thing I have energy left for. He tugs me toward the side of the bed, bending his knees slightly to press the head of his cock against my entrance and, with one fluid thrust, sink himself deep.

  I automatically place my legs on either side of his hips, reaching down to feel where he connects with me. It’s erotic and distinctly intimate at the same
time being able to feel his hard length slip in and out of my slick flesh. I glance up at him and find King watching, hands on my ankles to hold my legs apart. He lifts them up and places both of my feet over his right shoulder so my legs are together. I shift my hand out of the way and twist my torso to watch his body flex as he straightens his legs to lift my butt off the mattress. Every movement is magic, his body a sculpted canvas covered with such beautifully detailed designs.

  I let my eyes drift closed, my lips parting with a pleasured moan as each hard thrust of his cock hits me right in my G-spot. My shoulders skid over the bed, King tugging me back to him every few strokes to keep me close as he continues to drive deep. My whole body shivers in pleasure, white spots marring my vision as I cry out over the throaty growl he makes on each thrust of his hips.

  “Yes,” I groan. “Fuck me harder.” I taunt him, wanting him to ruin me. God, I think he already has.

  “Fuck that’s tight, baby. You’re gettin’ so fuckin’ tight.” His jaw is set hard, his brow furrowed with determination as he shunts me farther up the bed with each stroke.

  We fall apart as one, my cries drowned out by his roar as he stills and pulses inside of me, letting my legs fall at his sides. My cry of pleasure becomes laughter, and before long King’s collapsed on top of me and chuckles as well.

  “Are you going to be able to control that bike to take me home?” I tease. His legs shake between mine.

  He laughs and pushes up on one hand to pierce me with those amazing bottle green eyes. My stomach flutters when King then smirks, running his thumb over my lips. “You’re the perfect woman, you know that?”

  I shake my head and smile. “Oh, I don’t think so.”

  His hand grips my jaw and he places my face squarely to his. “You are, Elena. You’re perfect to me.” He dots a kiss to the tip of my nose. “You’re all I want.”

  His words should fill me with joy. I should be over the damn moon that he’s said I’m the one for him. But all that fills my heart is the echoing ache of a yawning chasm. There’s a hole where my happiness should be, a void created by the future I’ve cheated myself of.

  He’s all I ever want, too. But my naïve choices have ruined that from being our reality.

  “You say you want me, but you can’t have me.” I mean it as a sad observation of our predicament, but as soon as the words fall from my lips I realize how bitchy it sounded. I go to take it back, explain what I meant, but the damage is done.

  King backs off me, his eyes hard, and tosses my clothes on the end of the bed. “I’ll let you clean up before we leave.”

  “I’m sorry,” I snatch up my tank to cover my nakedness. “It came out wrong.”

  “You can’t sugar-coat shit and say it ain’t shit, Elena.” He walks around the room to collect his clothes and tugs them on. “You can’t hide the ugly truth of all of this. We’re doomed to be nothing more than fuck-buddies, right?”

  I choose not to say anything back for fear of bursting into tears. He keeps his back to me as I take my shorts and underwear, and clutch them to me with the tank while I slip into the bathroom. As much as his words hurt, he’s right. I can ignore the truth all I like, but if I go ahead and marry Carlos to secure the ability to pay for Mama’s care, then anything King and I have is redundant. We could continue to meet up for a month of Sunday’s, but we’re still two people sneaking around for the sake of a few brief minutes of pleasure under the guise that one day it’ll be justified.

  Our meet-ups aren’t dates—we’re having an affair. Cut and dried. Black and white. I can lie to myself all I like, but the truth will always be that I’m selfishly holding on to King, holding him back from true happiness with someone else. Our ‘relationship’ is no more than a beautiful lie to mask the ugly truth of life with Carlos from here on.

  My heart picks him—I’d be a fool not to. We have a real connection and ease around each other . . . when we’re not fighting. But what good is my happiness when Mama would suffer because of it? I need to know that going forward I can provide for Mama and give her the retirement she deserves. I can do that with the lifestyle Carlos will give me . . . the money. You’re a sell-out, Elena. My skin crawls with the shame of my choice; I never thought I’d marry for money over love. But then again, I also thought I’d be in college by now earning a degree, which would get me the kind of job that could provide a substantial income from my own merits.

  King doesn’t say a thing when I emerge from the bathroom, dressed and barely holding it together. I gather up my iPod and earbuds and stand by the door while he pulls on his boots, flicking the crown-shaped buckles out of the way.

  He doesn’t speak to me the whole ride back to the café. The tension aches in my limbs as I hold on to the sides of his cut for stability. Each bump of my knuckles against his sides cause him to stiffen in front of me. I need to fix this, but to what end? We kiss and make up, it only puts a temporary bandage on a festering wound. Sooner or later we’ll be back at this exact same point, arguing over the exact same problem.

  I dismount once I realize he’s not going to turn the engine off. If only I had the right words to say to at least leave things amicable. Nobody has made me laugh so much. Nobody has ever made me feel so comfortable. I wish I knew how to convey how badly I still need that without coming off heartless and self-serving. Maybe I can’t find the words because there are none? Perhaps I haven’t thought enough about how this affects him?

  King glances up as I pass him the helmet. His eyes meet mine briefly before he looks across the road and loops the chinstrap over his bars. I need to think of something—fast. His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows and then clears his throat. “You know where I am if you change your mind.”

  It’s not a case of changing my mind—it’s a case of changing my circumstance. King has my heart, Carlos has what I need, and Mama has my devotion and loyalty. I’m being torn in different directions at a crossroads, trying to give a little piece of myself to each without falling apart completely.

  The stress fractures are starting to show.

  King fidgets with the brake lever, looking as though he’s ready to leave. I ask him the question that still burns in my mind before I miss the opportunity. “What made you come all this way to find me that day?”

  He turns his face toward mine and frowns, pain clear in the slow close of his eyes as he pulls in a deep breath. “Because I thought you could’ve been mine.”

  NINE

  King

  More than once, I’ve had the feeling that a person I’ve met at complete and utter random would end up changing my life.

  The first time was when I literally bumped into our road captain, Gunner, back when I was a green and underpaid carpenter’s apprentice. A long day in the summer heat had left me parched, and all I’d been after was a cool beverage to wash the dust and dirt from my throat.

  What I got instead was a schooling on why, when I apologized for knocking into him, I shouldn’t have slapped his back . . . right on the patch. Ultimate disrespect. I know that now.

  Lucky for me, they’d had a good day out on a ride with the sister chapter from Cali. Instead of being dragged out to the dirt car park and given a physical reminder of how to respect my elders, I was invited to their table. Never looked back. I didn’t have a hard upbringing, and I’ve still got a healthy relationship with my parents, but sitting at that table and sharing stories that night . . . I’d never felt more a part of something greater than me.

  I became a prospect the very next week; I rocked up to the clubhouse with what’s now my bobber, bought from what I’d saved as an apprentice, and got voted in by all officers present. Twig was the one who said he’d take me on as my sponsor, and in front of a crowd of mostly drunk members, I was showered with bourbon and given my colors.

  The colors I wear with pride.

  The colors that mean I can’t be with Elena if I don’t want to bring the wrath of her fiancé down on innocent people.

  I’ve been told if
I keep my nose out of trouble that I could be up for center patch before the year is out. Anything I do to ruin that chance is suicide. I’d be kicked out and never let back in. I’d be forced to scrounge for another club, and when they checked up on why I’d never earned my full colors with the Aces, I’d be laughed out of the front gates.

  I’ve got plans, ambition, and ideas. And once I’ve achieved them, then I can go about stirring shit to make Elena mine.

  That’s if she’ll still want me. I’ve been warned about this by the brothers; women come and go when they learn they can’t compete with the loyalty to the club. Because that’s what this all is when it comes down to it; I’m loyal to my club. If I were Joe-Average, I’d run my chances with her. But I’m not. I’m an Ace, and my respect for these people comes before my happiness. Charter rule number one: the club always comes first. I agreed to that when I lifted the leather that now sits on my back. Nothing’s changed.

  I sat on my bike at that café for a solid ten minutes after she left, watching the path she’d jogged down. Didn’t expect her to leave first. She took me by surprise, darting off over the road while I battled the need to switch off the bike and stay a while longer with her. Don’t know what I was thinking watching the path after she left—that she’d change her mind and come back to tell me she’d call it off with Carlos? Not likely.

  She’s engaged to Carlos motherfucking Redmond. How can I compete with that? The man’s got a reputation that precedes him wherever he goes. If she wants to see where things could end up with us, the ball’s in her court. I’ve said my piece, I’ve showed her what I have to offer—the rest is up to Elena.

  The ride home to Lincoln was hell. Six hours of nothing but wind whistling past my ears, and troubled thoughts filling my head. I’d left the helmet off to try and distract myself with the feel of my hair whipping about and the burn of the wind on my cheeks. The plan failed. If anything the white noise amplified my unease. The closer I got to the compound, the quicker my inner musings turned from Elena to our current vermin problem. One conundrum to another. How many more times do we need to be shot at, or almost shot at, before they’re finally successful and one of us loses our life? How long is this vendetta between our clubs going to drag one before one side settles it for good?