Page 67 of Devil's Own: Roughneck

“Forever,” I whisper back, and that’s what finally does it. The lingering love shining on me through his eyes ignites into cinders as a lustful heat replaces it. Oh, he loves me, but he wants me. I guess I said the right thing.

Since he didn’t leave with more than the bag he carries with him—a bag he must have picked up in Florida—we get to bypass the baggage claim. Rough drags me out to the truck. Thank goodness for elevators because we need to time this precisely. I give him a PG-13 taste of what to expect back at the clubhouse—grinding on his cock through his jeans, tearing at his shirt to touch his hot skin—right up until I notice the other brothers and their wives loading their kids in their vehicles.

“Damn, baby,” Rough says with his voice smoldering even as he tries to catch a breath. “You this hot for me, maybe I should go away more often.”

“I wouldn’t advise that,” I somewhat tease with my forehead pressed to his temple. “I might always be hot for you, but you go away, no morning blowjobs.”

“Point taken. I’ve missed my morning blowjobs.”

“Lucky for you, there’s one in the queue.”

The women have all timed our departures so we head back to Bentley in a caravan of biker families. The drive takes forty-five minutes to get from Thornbriar to Bentley. I text Elise when we’re an hour out so that they can get on the road. Coordinating arrival times isn’t easy, but we’re determined to make it work.

Once we’ve reached the outskirts of Bentley, Rough whips his head to look at me. “What the fuck did you women do? You said alittlehomecoming.”

I smile from ear to ear, taking in the sight. Every person associated with the club and even the people of Bentley—who didn’t know the mission, but they knew that our men had been off doing something to protect the town—line the streets throwing confetti. They welcome the Lords in the exact same manner.

Every brother’s truck, SUV, and bike slows down to take it all in. Rough smile lights up his whole face. We’re celebrating our men coming home from war. Make no mistake about that.

Even Gillian shows up for the party. I’ve never seen such chaotic, heartwarming madness before. We eat and drink. Brothers and old ladies shout across the room to one another, laughing with abandon while children run and play, getting even louder and underfoot. I used to dream of this kind of family for Waite when he was young, and now, neither of us would ever be alone again, thanks to Rough and the Horde. When it’s time for more adult fun, Daniel, Sarge, Dark, and a few of the Lords men round up the kids and walk them out to Mabel up at Dark and Rae’s place.

Rae comes to stand by us. She rubs her belly. “If I weren’t already pregnant, I’d let him knock me up tonight.”

“It does seem like a baby-making kind of night,” I reply, smiling and not thinking about what I just said until I look over at Rough, who appears ready to devour me. What does that look mean? Does he… Does he want to make a baby with me? I’m thirty-three. Waite is grown. Do I even want that? To start over again?

He pushes his nose against the shell of my ear. His hot breath sending tingles throughout my body. “It’s a baby-making kind of night,” he whispers. “You giving me a baby, Gee?” I’m stunned silent. Is it the alcohol talking? Or is he caught up with all the families here tonight? “Practice makes perfect,” he finishes, snickering, and something inside me kicks on. I drag Rough by the hand back to our room, where we commence indulging in the second part of the evening’s festivities. We practice, and practice, and practice some more. We spend the entire night tangled in each other’s arms,practicing.

It’s a night to remember.

The next morning, perfectly sore and groggy from my sex hangover, I stumble out of bed to make coffee for us when I’m greeted by more bodies slipping out of the brothers’ rooms and the guest rooms. We still have guests to entertain—the Lords who stayed over rather than make the drive home—and someone needs to feed them.

With Rough still asleep in our bed, I push up my metaphorical sleeves and get on that coffee to fortify my happy mood. Then it’s scrambled eggs, sheet pan bacon, sausage, and pancakes. Eventually, some of the pussies, Dusty and Aja, filter into the kitchen and jump in to help. After eating, talking, and laughing at a much lower decibel than last night, we send our Lords friends home confident that we’ll never need to host a party like this one again.

Daniel and Nic stumble from their room, with my brother looking very pleased—like a man on top of the fucking world. He eyes me and the food on the bartop, nods, then decrees, “Everyone who lives in Middleboro can get the fuck out of the clubhouse now,” before crossing the room to fill a plate.

“You do this?” he asks me, and I nod.

“Started it. Dusty, Aja, and some of the pussies jumped in.”

“Why didn’t I want you with Rough?” he asks while filling a plate and then shovels a huge bite into his mouth. “You’re a fucking great old lady,” he finishes around a mouthful of his food.

“Because you’re an idiot?” I respond, and his face goes hard and cold.

“I’ll give you that this one time.”

“One time?” I laugh, then pat his cheek. “You’re so cute.”

“Have I told you today how glad I am that you’re here?” Nic asks me, winking, then turns swiftly to kiss my brother when he grumbles.

I fix a plate and a cup of coffee to bring back to my slumbering man but decide to wake him with that blowjob from the queue. Setting the plate and mug down on the bedside table, I draw down the covers, wrap my fist around his shaft and suck him into my mouth. His cock hardens right up, and he begins thrusting his hips involuntarily—or, I think it’s involuntarily. His eyes are still closed. But then he grips my hair, tugging my head back, and kisses me. “You sucked, and now we fuck.”

Rough positions me on my hands and knees, and then he drives inside me. I moan from the intrusion—that titillating moment of pain scores through my entire body.

“Who’s fucking you, baby?” he snarls, his granite cock hitting cervix. I scream for him to give me more. “Who’s fucking you?”

“You—Rough,” I reply, squeezing around his hot, hard length to capture his thrusts. Oh god, I love this. I’ll take it any way he gives it, and he gives it hard and wild andrough. Over and over, he brings me to the point of no return, only to rip that glorious finish away from me.

“Who am I?” he barks, tugging on my hair to get me to look at him again. He smacks my ass—the sting from his hand against my sensitive skin turning me on even more than I’d been just seconds before. My eyes go unfocused, and I feel it coming on again. Electricity trills up my spine—he has to let me have this. I can’t take it anymore.

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