Page 17 of Kneeling to Candy

Working as a duo stealth team under the cover of darkness, we stalked up to the rundown motel Luca was staying in before kicking in the door. We wrangled and hogtied the pig, throwing him in the back of one of the MC’s unmarked vans before driving to an abandoned quarry.

Beating the shit out of him was a nice warmup, though nothing was as satisfying as having him stare helplessly back at me as I pointed a gun at his forehead.

“For Leslie,” I gritted through my teeth, letting him know exactly who sent me.

Pulling the trigger…mmm, fuck, it was good. Almost as good as being near Candy.

Speaking of…

I toss the marker back on my dresser and head for my bathroom. Chase and I did a quick scrub down at the kill site before burning our shit, but DNA can cling to the smallest of places. I need to shower before going to find Candy.

It’s after the witching hour. But if I’ve learned anything from watching Candy the past year, she’s too anxious to rest when the crew is away on assignment.

She’s awake—waiting for me.

By now, the entire club would’ve spread the news that Chase and I went “un-cut,” as in undercover without our leather biker vests. We only break the law when we must do the things that need to be done for the greater good. Killing is in our military DNA, and in our current mercenary work for the Mercy Ravens Security Company. It isn’t something we lose sleep over.

Still, protecting the club comes first. The less there is to identify us or our MC to the untimely demise of despicable individuals, the better.

If the news has spread in the club, then Candy has been waiting on the edge of a sharp blade for my return, and for me to report justice was served.

Quickly, I scrub myself down before bleaching the shower thoroughly. Not a single drop of Luca will come near my woman again.

My woman. I can’t wait to make it official.

Candy is mine, has been since I entered the club. The moment she looked over her shoulder to see who entered headquarters and greeted me with a smirk on one corner of her cupid lips, her pink hair fanning around her face, showing off those deep brown eyes of hers, I was fucking gone. I knew then she was the goddess I’d been searching to rule over me. The one to demand whatever the hell she wanted and, in return, give me the affection I crave.

The way this woman can get her way, it’s like she doesn’t have to try. She doesn’t need to raise her voice or threaten someone to get others to do what she wants. Candy simply commands it with an authoritative tone, and it happens. A natural domme.

Unfortunately for me, she’s not ready to accept her role as a domme. I may not have verbally given Candy a detailed description of how I want our relationship to play out—yet. Though I gave her a good idea, it will be me on my knees worshiping her, as any man should with her.

My brothers wouldn’t understand my need for submitting in the bedroom. They understand a woman taking care of them, but they probably have no clue how to hand over control for a woman to do what she wants to do in the bedroom.

The crew consists of alpha-aholes, one step away from going completely caveman once they find the woman they want to claim. Take our club president as an example. On more than one occasion, I’ve witnessed Altas throw Jo over his shoulder like a bag of rice and carry her off to their room when she pushes his buttons. And like many men, Atlas probably thinks he’s the one calling the shots when he’s carrying her off to do what we all damn well know he’s going to do with her.

Little do these guys know, they don’t hold any power when being dominant with a woman without her consent. It’s the submissive who allows them to take the lead. If the submitting partner doesn’t want it, it doesn’t happen. Thus, control must be granted.

For me, the appeal of being submissive is pretty straightforward.

My life as a mercenary biker is rough. Yeah, the work pays more than I could ask for. But the hours are long and tiring. I’m always on alert while working tech security at headquarters or on a mission. I sometimes need to make life-altering decisions at the drop of a hat. Control is part of the requirements for my job and club life.

Some like to be in control of every aspect of their life. I have the same urge to control everything—everything except the roles in the bedroom. With pillow time, I don’t want my responsibility to carry over. I don’t want to be the conductor in my sex play or call the shots.

Being the one to lead all the time is exhausting. Sex is a release from my control on life. It’s the moment I can give the reins to another and be vulnerable. The release is sweeter when I can submit and let my partner lead, and I’m all for being ordered to fuck my partner into oblivion.

For this one thing in my life, I want the responsibility to be in the hands of another person.

Does that mean the domme/sub relationship will spill over into other areas of our lives?

Possibly, but I only need it behind closed doors. I’m more than willing to share the control in all other aspects of the relationship. God willing, Candy gives me a chance.

With my towel hung low around my waist, I quickly make my way toward my dresser. I’m in a hurry to get to Candy. Not bothering to get fully dressed, I pull out a pair of athletic shorts. A shirt and boxers are a waste of time, and unnecessary.

Besides, I want her to get a nice eyeful of me. Rushing out of here to give her the good news is a valid excuse to forgo the extra clothing.

My towel slips from my waist to the floor. I’m about to bend over to tug my shorts on when I hear a soft voice behind me whisper, “Butch?”

My spine immediately stiffens. It’s rare when I’m caught off guard. An intruder in my private space is not something I tolerate.

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