Page 51 of Savage Loyalty

And that was a whole other problem I didn’t have time to deal with.

I stepped out of church into the main hall, my eyes adjusting to the dim light. Music thumped through the floorboards as I scanned the room. She caught my eye - a petite brunette with olive skin, her lithe body moving sensuously. I beckoned her over with a crook of my finger.

As she approached, I drank in the sight of her–pert breasts, toned stomach, long legs. Not a stitch of clothing on her. Perfect.

"On your knees," I growled. She obeyed instantly, sinking to the floor. I unfastened my belt, the clink of metal loud in my ears. My zipper rasped as I pulled it down, freeing myself.

"Open," I commanded. Her lips parted obediently. I grasped a fistful of her hair, guiding her mouth to my dick. I thrust my dick into her mouth, hitting the back of her throat.

She gagged slightly but took me deeper, her throat relaxing to accommodate my length. I felt the wet heat of her mouth envelop me as she began to bob her head, her tongue swirling around my shaft. Waves of pleasure coursed through me, and I tightened my grip on her hair, setting a steady rhythm.

Her eyes watered as she looked up at me, filled with a mix of desire and submission. I cupped her cheek with my free hand, my thumb caressing her stretched lips. She hummed in response, the vibrations intensifying the sensations.

As I thrust into her eager mouth, my thoughts drifted to Delilah. I imagined it was her lips wrapped around me, her eyes gazing up with adoration.

Consumed by the fantasy, I grabbed the brunette's head with both hands, fingers tangling in her silky hair. I began to pump my hips faster, fucking her mouth with abandon. She took it all, relaxing her throat to accommodate my frenzied pace.

I moaned softly, lost in the imagined scenario. The brunette's tongue swirled expertly, but in my mind, it was Delilah's inexperienced yet eager mouth pleasuring me.

Candace’s skilled mouth worked magic, her tongue tracing delicate patterns along my shaft. But in my mind, it was Delilah’s tentative licks and gentle suction bringing me closer to the edge. I imagined coaching her, teaching her exactly how to pleasure me.

"That's it, just like that," I breathed, lost in the vivid fantasy.

Candace took me deeper, her nose brushing against my pelvis. In my mind's eye, I saw Candace struggling to take my full-length, tears pricking the corners of her eyes as she fought her gag reflex.

After a few more brutal thrusts I pulled out of Candace and came all over her face.

I stumbled back, tucking myself away and zipping up my jeans with trembling fingers. My breath came in ragged pants as I fastened my belt, the metal clinking softly. I blinked, the fantasy fading as reality reasserted itself.

Candace remained on her knees, my release dripping down her flushed face. Her chest heaved as she caught her breath, her lips swollen, and her eyes glazed.

"Get the fuck up," I growled, my voice hoarse.

She scrambled to her feet, wiping her face with the back of her hand. I turned away, unable to look at her. Shame and disgust coiled in my gut, threatening to overwhelm me.

Without another word, I strode towards the stairs that led to my room.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

DELILAH

The cemetery was quiet, the kind of stillness that felt unnatural. The wind whispered through the trees, tugging at the edges of my jacket as I stood before the headstone. It was simple, understated—a far cry from the larger-than-life man who now lay beneath it.

“Javier Cruz,” I muttered, my voice bitter as I read the name etched into the stone. “Beloved father, leader, protector.” The words felt like a cruel joke, a sanitized version of the truth. I could’ve written a dozen other titles for him, none of them quite so flattering.

I crouched down, the damp earth chilling my knees through my jeans, and traced the letters with my fingertips. The cold granite felt wrong, too lifeless for someone who had cast such a long shadow over everyone around him.

“You really screwed me over, you know that?” I said, my voice low, almost a whisper. My fingers curled into fists, the frustration bubbling to the surface faster than I could tamp it down. “I didn’t want to come back here. I didn’t want any of this.”

The wind picked up, the leaves rustling like they were mocking me. I pressed my hand against the stone, my chest tightening with every word that spilled out.

“You couldn’t just let me go, could you?” My voice cracked, the anger bleeding through. “You always had to be in control, pulling strings from the grave like it’s some kind of game. Axel, the Reapers, the Serpents—they’re all circling, and somehow, I’m stuck right in the middle of it. And it’s your fault.”

The tears burned at the corners of my eyes, but I refused to let them fall. I wouldn’t cry for him. Not now. Not after everything he’d put me through.

“You made this mess,” I said, standing up and brushing the dirt from my hands. “And now I’m the one cleaning it up. Like always.”

I took a step back, my boots crunching against the gravel path as I looked down at the grave. “You were never proud of me. Not once. No matter how hard I tried, no matter what I did. You were too focused on Axel, on the club, on everything else that wasn’t me. And now? Now I’m supposed to carry all of this?”

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