Page 32 of Devil's Own: Roughneck

“Jesus, Rough,” I manage to shout right before I lose myself in the massive orgasm he’s brought on. Him. Rough gets off on getting me off. Every time we’re together. And he doesn’t go gentle. I don’t want gentle. I want him to break me in half. My pussy was made to take his cock. I whimper because I’m tender from his fucking, but I don’t want to lose him yet. He hasn’t cum yet.

Rough keeps thrusting until I feel him swell inside me and he pulls out, pumps his cock twice and unloads his baby batter all over my stomach. That was hot.

So damn hot.

“I get that every morning?” I ask through my heavy breaths.

“Until my dick stops working.”

“Good thing you still got a mouth.”

“Then yeah, every morning,” he replies, smiling down at me. God help me—this man.

“We need to shower. I need to get down to Florida to pack my shit up so I can wake up to you eating me out for the rest of my life.”

After showering, dressing, and feeding my manactualfood, we load into his truck and wait for his brothers to join us. Green shows. Cutter shows. Then Dark, my brother, and Sarge show at the same time.

“Reaper’s staying behind to keep an eye on the women,” Cutter says. “Knuckles and a few other brothers have already started on their way.”

“They’re picking up the moving truck for us,” my brother says.

With a motorcade of bikes surrounding us, I feel like a dignitary or a queen as we roll out of Middlesboro on the way to Sarasota, which I called home until a week ago.

It’s a long drive—twelve hours, to be exact, but it doesn’t feel as long and arduous as it did when I drove it the first time. Not with Rough at my side.

The problem happens when we reach Sarasota and I’m ready to stretch out on my bed after a long day of travel. I open my front door, only to see my place has been absolutely trashed. The sliding back patio door has been left ajar. Now, I’m not only worried if I have anything worth bringing back to Kentucky with me, but about what kind of critters made their way inside when whoever did this left.

It’s such a cute little house. A yellow, one-story bungalow with a tiny front porch and a manageable yard in an okay, transitional neighborhood. It’s not as nice as Rough’s place, but it was a good place to raise my son. Most of our neighbors had been elderly while Waite was growing up. Hence the transitional now. Those elderly neighbors have since died off, bringing a new cast of characters onto our street, but I never expected a transition this brutal where I had to worry about a home invasion. I drop my head with my hands to my hips as tears well in my eyes.

“The fuck?” Rough clips.

“My stuff…”

The other men walk inside, stopping short with varying degrees of Roughneck’s sentiment.

“None of it was expensive, but I worked hard to make a nice home.”

As I stand there crying like a damn baby, he wraps me in his arms to hold me. The most important things to me, the photos and other memories of Waite’s childhood are mostly unhurt. Broken frames and shattered glass, but the photos remain intact. The artwork he made me over the years in school remains intact, all except for a handprint he made me out of ceramic when he was in preschool. It’s shattered on the floor along with my heart.

“No—” I whisper, kneeling to pick up the shattered, crumbling pieces.

“Get her out,” my brother orders and I dig my feet in, shaking my head.

“I need to figure this out. I mean, I was only gone what? A week?”

“We’ll come back, but Vlad needs to check this out and call the cops.”

“Check what out?” I ask, not getting it.

“Babe, I doubt this is a coincidence. You come up to see your brother and end up in my bed at the same time one of ours ends up dead at the hands of the Death Bringers, who are from the city you called home.”

“You think someone is feeding them information, don’t you?”

He nods.

“Like a snitch in the club?”

“It’s possible. But that’s not for you to worry about.”

---