Page 54 of Royally Embraced: RBMC

“Yessss, Jeter. Ahhh, I love you. Fuck my ass.” Her dirty words sent him over.

His hands gripped her thighs, burying his cock inside her as his come spurted deep within her ass. Jeter grunted, watching Tori’s face for any sign of remorse. Nothing, only sweet acceptance and love.

The damn part of his body still inside of her gave another little jump, hardly relaxing as if it was ready for another round. He bent and gave Tori a little kiss. “I’ll be right back. Don’t move.”

He eased out of her, eyeing the sight of her lying there sprawled out with the evidence of his possession. Fuck, he was the luckiest man on the planet.

The bathroom was lit with a soft glow, allowing him to grab a hand towel and washcloth. After cleaning himself up, he got the washcloth nice and wet with warm water and then went back in to find Tori lying where he’d left her. Fucking perfect.

“What are you going to do with that?” she asked.

“Take care of my ole’ lady.”

And he did. Jeter would always take care of Tori and treat her like a cherished treasure, the way she deserved. He’d learned to treasure those who meant the most to you and took nothing for granted. Sometimes, you’re given a family at birth, but you often get to a point in life when you meet people who become your family by choice. It doesn’t mean you can’t still love your blood family. It means you realize that blood doesn’t always mean better. He loved his brother and would give his life for him. Yet the woman who claimed his heart would always come first. With her in his arms, he learned to embrace all life has given him.

Epilogue

“Yo, Viking. Where you going, brother?” King asked. The Prez held his ole’ lady on his lap, sipping his favorite whiskey.

“I’m gonna head up north and see my family for Christmas,” Bekkett said.

King swallowed the last of his drink and stood, setting Ayesha back in his seat. Bekkett grinned at the little scowl crossing King’s ole’ lady’s face. She might be tiny, but she had their Prez wrapped around her little pinky.

“I see that smirk on your face, brother. I ain’t pussy whipped so much as Ayesha whipped.” King held his hand out.

Bekkett slapped his palm against his Prez’s, giving a silent nod of agreement to his words when his heart and soul wanted to scream. He pulled King in for a shoulder bump, slapped his back, and stepped back with a tight-lipped grin. “You keep that shit up, and you’re gonna need to build a fucking daycare around here,” Bekkett growled.

“Get the fuck outta here, Viking. See you in a few days. Ride safe.” King slapped his shoulder before returning to his seat.

Bekkett weaved his way through the crowd. The cheery red, white, and green lights gave him a slightly anxious feeling in the pit of his stomach. He didn’t know why he always put off visiting until the very last minute. Hell. Each year, he swore he’d go there days, weeks in advance.

“On your way out, brother?” T-Rex sat at the door like usual, his big frame dwarfing his ole’ lady’s much smaller one.

“Yep. I’ll be back for the New Year’s party. Did Lux give you that new tattoo?” he asked T-Rex. He lifted his chin toward thenew ink on the side of his neck. From what he could see, it was part of a very intricate dragon, which made sense since the man had a huge kimono dragon for a fucking pet.

T-Rex nodded. “Of course. I had to beg her to allow me to pay her. In cash, not orgasms. Not that she didn’t get those in tips.” The fucker made an obscene tongue gesture.

“You keep that shit up, and Lux will beat your ass,” Bekkett warned.

The sound of drunk women singing Deck The Halls had his stomach clenching. He needed to get the fuck out of the clubhouse and on the road. His family was waiting.

“Go on before they drag you out to do Karaoke with them.” T-Rex held his fist out.

Bekkett bumped knuckles with his friend, taking the exit offered like a man starving for oxygen.

He let the door shut on its own, yelling out goodbyes to those who spoke as he passed. His words came out automatically, almost robotic. At his bike, he didn’t need to think to ride—the steps he’d memorized burned into his brain like breathing and blinking. Slide your right leg over the seat. Put the helmet on. Push the button to start. Throttle and release the clutch. All the things he’d learned when he was knee-high to a fucking grasshopper.

The familiar rumble of his Harley eased some of the tension building in his chest. He sucked in a few deep pulls of oxygen while pushing the bike backward. At last, his chest didn’t feel like bursting from lack of oxygen.

“Viking, you good?” Jovi Cantrell asked.

Bekkett eyed the road leading out, then the blonde woman who belonged to the newest brother, Steelshot. The woman reminded him of his wife. He gritted his teeth to keep from barking an angry retort.

“Just heading north to see my family. Happy looks good on you. If Steelshot doesn’t treat you right, let me know. I’ll knock some sense into him.” He made a show of punching his right fist into his left hand. The pain centered him, giving him a little of the ground he’d lost back.

Jovi laughed. “You’re the only one bigger than Jentzen around here. Well, besides T-Rex, but you’re still bigger than him. Is that why they call you Viking?” she asked, slapping her hand over her mouth.

He laughed and shook his head. Nobody had the balls to ask why he was called Viking, but she was correct in her assumption. They called him Viking since Freshman year of high school when he’d shot up over six feet tall and kept growing. His mama had sworn he would eat her out of house and home or break her with clothing bills. Being Scandinavian mixed with Norwegian descent gave the moniker credence.

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