Page 110 of Kneeling to Candy

“Yeah, bad idea,” Gauge says flippantly. “The Federal Bureau of Investigation isn’t keen on us since we revealed one of their agents was a pedophile and stalking Opal. Pretty sure they suspect we had something to do with his death, too, but have no way of proving it.”

“Agreed. Let’s keep the feds out of this business,” Piero seconds, his nose upturned. “I deal with their bureaucratic bullshit enough. Let me call in my team we used to help locate Jo in Argentina. With their help, we should be able to handle the citizens’ arrests.”

“As long as we have the manpower to carry this out, I’m fine with waiting to call the feds until after we’ve apprehended those involved,” Atlas agrees. “In the meantime, every man in this crew will be part of this mission. I’ve already got my late dad’s SEAL buddies coming in tomorrow morning to monitor headquarters in our absence—Captain Warren’s team has done this before and knows the drill. PT is running tech operations for us while we’re gone—Chase has him set up with what tasks need attention.”

Chase confirms with a nod. “PT will be here tomorrow to take over tech.”

“For our team’s positions on the mission, I want Reaper and Brass at the front exit off the property. Eagle and Stage will take the helipad. Flay and Triple will take the logging road. Tank, Ziggy, Butch, and Candy will work the inside with Piero and his three bodyguards. Gauge and I will take a team of Piero’s men to charge the front entrance of the estate, while Chase and Punk take a team to charge in through the back of the property. Piero, I want you to reach out to your hired guns and get them to take out the guard towers. We move our team out to Aspen tomorrow, making it easier to get into our positions the day of the sale. Everyone will be in place by noon, so as not to attract unnecessary attention.”

As Atlas finishes his instructions, his cell comes to life, vibrating across the conference table while blasting Marvin Gaye’s Let’s Get It On. With a wicked smile stretched across his face, he scoops up his phone, answering it.

“Pixie,” he purrs suggestively in his baritone voice.

Punk does a full body shiver. “Gah! Atlas, you prick. That’s my sister. Pick a different ringtone.”

Atlas covers his cell with his meaty hand, holding it away from himself as he snarls at our brother. “Mind your fucking business, Punk.”

He uncovers his phone, bringing it back to his smiling lips. “Baby, I’m in a church meeting. What’s that? The twins went down early? Roger that. See you soon.”

Punk folds his lean arms across his chest, shaking his head in disgust as Atlas disconnects. “Dude, you need to stay off Jo. She’s exhausted, being pregnant with another set of your minions. She doesn’t need you working her over.”

My pink-haired goddess weighs in with a chuckle. “The damage is done, bro. It’s not like he can pump any more crotch goblins into her. This is when they should be fucking like rabbits.”

Atlas points at Candy. “What she said. Besides, Josephine rang me for the booty call, not the other way around.”

Punk boxes his ears with his hands, cringing. “Stop talking about Jo’s booty calls! Ugh.”

I cover my gruff laugh with my hand. My other brothers hoot and belly-laugh around us.

“Enough for tonight. I want to get home to my pixie. Meeting adjourned.”

“HOOYAH!”

After Atlas hustles out of the conference room, the rest of the group disperses. A few of the crew members linger, talking amongst themselves, not paying me or Candy any mind.

“You were watching me a lot during the meeting,” my goddess murmurs.

My head whips to hers, drawn to her sweet, sultry voice—my siren’s call.

Candy walks her fingers up my cut to my neck where she gently collars me. Her brown doe eyes hold mine hostage as she says, “Were you paying attention to the meeting at all, biker boy?”

I swallow the needy moan building in my throat. “I heard all the important bits.”

“Good. You deserve a reward.” Candy’s fingers slide up the back of my neck, gripping me by the scruff. She pulls me to her until our mouths connect, angling my head with her hold on my neck to deepen the kiss.

Taken by surprise, I gasp, and she takes advantage of my shock by plundering my open mouth with her dainty tongue. This is a more public display of affection than we’ve done before. We’re usually reserved—close to each other, but never in each other’s faces. Holding hands or tender caresses happen, but it’s nothing outlandish. Whispering subtle words of affection in our ears when others are near is the extent of our PDA.

To those watching, it probably looks like normal flirting between a couple, except it’s not. It’s ownership—dominance.

Technically, I never said she couldn’t be a domme to me outside the bedroom, only stating I needed it in the bedroom. Her brazen behavior should upset me, considering my brothers—aside from Ziggy—don’t know my sexual tastes.

Candy’s dominant sexual prowess toward me in public makes me paranoid. I’m the one who claimed Candy as mine, per biker culture norms. For appearance’s sake, I should be the one grabbing at her, moving her the way I want to take what she would freely give. Not the other way around, not if I’m trying to conceal what we do behind closed doors.

What would my brothers think if they knew I enjoyed taking orders from my partner? Would they care? Would they think me less of a man? Would they shun me, no longer considering me a brother?

This crew means the world to me. It would gut me if they rejected me like my old family did before.

Yet something about Candy being comfortable enough with me to assert her dominance over me in front of others has my heart swelling, flooding me with the warmth only she can give me. Not to mention making my cock as hard as granite. If Candy is confident enough in her new role with me to be open about it, shouldn’t I extend the same courtesy to her and be open with my role, too?

---