Page 75 of Sweet Anarchy

"God, I've been thinking of this ass way too much," he muses. Using his other hand, he reaches around to my clit, rubbing it as he makes his fingers wet. He strokes it onto his cock, glistening it up before he stands up.

Blake pauses, holding me upright as Zayn presses his cock into my asshole, inching in slowly as the two of them take me together. It's another pressure feeling again, different from before with Chuck and Asher, but just as intense.

The two of them almost link arms, holding me together as they start fucking me in unison. I'm left helpless, my legs still wrapped around Blake, as I can do nothing but let them take control.

"Reach down and touch yourself," Blake commands, smashing his lips against mine.

I snake my hand down between our bodies, moaning into his mouth as his hips move against my hand. I manage to find my clit, the tips of my fingers brushing against it as I do my best to stroke myself to the edge of bliss.

The feeling of them in me, with the memory of the other two before, sends me spiralling into my climax, my entire body tensing and clenching as I scream. The sound echoes around the meadow, their grunts and groans following as they both come in me.

They hold me upright for a few seconds before slowly helping me to my feet, but my legs buckle and I drop to the grass, sitting back on my calves. Zayn lays down beside me, sprawled out in the grass as he catches his breath.

I lay down with him, covering my face from the sun. "I love you guys so much," I mumble weakly.

I hear the others move near me and I peek out from behind my arm, smiling as Blake, Chuck and Asher lay down in the soft grass as well. The five of us lay side by side, staring at the clouds in silence, listening to the sounds of the trees dancing around us.

Chapter 23

Rylee

The days that followed our little shooting session in the meadow were quiet – too quiet.

The Rebels and Nomads were out hunting the Norsemen, but despite the fact there were little glimpses here and there, they had practically vanished.

But no one was fooled. There's no way they would just bow out now. There was too much at stake.

Every time one of our phones dinged with a text or rang with a call, we were all on edge. Bill and Mack were checking in constantly, as were Butch and Vito, but otherwise it was just a big bunch of fucking nothing.

And I hated it.

It was like waiting in the calm before the storm. We could sense something was brewing, but no one knew when or where it was coming. All we could do is play it safe and smart, and let the bikers do their job.

We had managed to get the Jeep and Blake's bike home. Thankfully, the fire department had gotten to the scene fairly quickly and managed to contain the blaze before it could wipe out anything else. Except Wheels was gone. All that remained now were the burnt out ashes of a place I used to call home.

Secretly, even though I was sad it was gone, it was also a relief. It was once a home for me – until the shooting.

I'm not sure I could handle driving past the building – whether burned or boarded – and not remember the loss and tragedy that clung within the walls. Sometimes a fresh start is the way to go. What do they say? You rise from the ashes like a phoenix? I guess that's one way for us to look at it.

Home is where you make it. We didn't need some tiny, dilapidated bar to have good times. We would make new memories elsewhere.

One day.

"Gosh, I haven't seen it rain in ages," I say to the guys as I peer out the kitchen window. "You can tell the season is finally shifting."

"It's meant to stop today, then pick up again later on in the week," Blake replies, sipping coffee at the table.

I have no idea how or when we managed to convert him to coffee, but lately, he's been drinking it more than me. I suspect it's to help combat fatigue. He barely sleeps lately, always on the look out or talking to other club members. He's taking on way too much again, but he keeps assuring me it's just temporary until things settle down.

My phone starts buzzing on the counter, lighting up with a call. The four guys pause, looking, but I wave them off.

"It's just Phoebs," I tell them, hitting the answer button and putting the phone to my ear. "Hey, Phoebs."

"Hey, Ry," she says, sniffling. "Are you free to chat?"

I motion to the guys that I'm going to take the call in the living room, walking out to give us some privacy. "Yeah, of course. Is everything okay?"

It's not the first call I've received recently from her like this. Since Ronnie's passing, she's been struggling. She took some time off work, but I know she's starting to feel the pressure. Her Mom and sisters are struggling too, trying to continue life in a way they never expected.

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