Page 49 of Ruthless Obsession
I try to sit up. Mavis pulls me upward, then plants me on my feet. My legs buckle. He holds me against his muscled frame.
“When I return tonight, I want to find you in my bed.”
I crane my neck to peer up at him. I consider protesting. But what’s the use? I want his tongue again. But first. I drop to my knees and kiss the head of his dick. My mouth slides over the mushroom head down his veiny long shaft. Curling a hand around the base my mouth slides up and down his shaft.
His eyes darken as he watches me with angry lust filled eyes. Am I doing something wrong?
He fists my hair. “Of course, you know how to suck dick,” he mutters under his breath.
Now, I understand why he’s upset.
I put his words out of my mind and enjoy the feel of his long, hard, thick dick hitting the back of my throat as I juggle his balls in one hand.
“Fucking hell, Sophie,” he grunts as he slams into my mouth faster as saliva dribbles from my lips pooling on the floor.
“I’m about to come,” he roars. Mavis tries to pull back, but I grab his ass and hold him there as he unloads ropes of cum down my throat.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he yells at the top of his lungs. He releases my hair, stumbles back and his cum stretches from my bottom lip to his dick.
I lick my lips drinking down the rest of his cum.
After gathering my leggings and panties off the floor I stand.
Mavis pulls me against his chest, holding me tightly.
“What’s wrong?” I ask unease bubbling up in my chest.
He pulls back and grips my face. “I’m going to break his fucking face.” Mavis takes my lips in an intoxicating kiss.
“It’s time he knows you’re mine.”
Worry washes over me.
“Be in my fucking bed, Sophie. If you’re not there, I’ll drag your pretty ass down the hall.”
“Mavis,” I warn.
“Do as you’re told, and you won’t have anything to worry about,” he snarls.
I know his anger isn’t directed at me. It’s for Toby. My evil angry biker is out for blood.
CHAPTER SEVEN
RUTHLESS
My brothers and I ride out on our third run to cripple Toby’s business.
Standing in the center of another of his warehouses, this one located on the outskirts of Chicago in Oak Park. I snarl behind my skeleton gaiter and clear glasses that double as a camera, peering up at the surveillance camera. His men are scattered on the floor like giant ants. Dead.
Webbs, Flock, Flex, Legos are with me. Squid insisted on joining us. Psycho joins us through the glasses I’m wearing. My brothers haul tan wooden crates out of the warehouse.
Gripping a crowbar in my gloved hand, I widen my arms. “I’m back, bitch.” A maniacal chuckle rumbles in my chest.
“I was shot at the warehouse we hit last. You couldn’t keep me down. We’re rounding up your crates and we’ll sell your shit.” I point the crowbar at the camera.
“You have six minutes to get out of there,” Psycho says in my earpiece.
I notice Webbs and Flock carry out the last crate.
