Page 61 of Desert Loyalties
I close the distance, pressing my face against his open hand. He cups my cheek gently. I close my eyes. For a moment, we breathe each other in.
The trial still looms. He could go to jail. Maybe even face life in prison. But I hold onto hope. If it comes to that, if he’s found guilty, I’ll take a page out of that woman’s book, the one who learned to fly a helicopter just to bust her man out of prison. I’ll take Drake, and we’ll run hard and fast, far away from here. Jail isn’t happening on my watch.
He must see the feral look in my eyes, the claim, the fight because he says, “No one is taking me away.”
Picking me up, he carries me to the master bedroom. It’s changed since the first time Drake brought me here. The dark,almost vampire-black sheets have been replaced with something softer, a little brighter. Not pink or frilly, just more human. The blackout curtains remain, a necessity when you’re trying to sleep through the desert sun.
Without a word, he heads straight to the bathroom, turns on the shower, and pulls me inside.
The water is cold.
Usually, I’m all about hot showers, even in the summer Nevada desert. They’re good for my hair, don’t ask me how. But I don’t mind the cold this time because his body is warm against mine.
He presses me hard against the shower wall. Clothes soaked through, bodies slick and dripping.
“Wait,” I say pushing him out by his chest, “the ankle monitor.”
“The marshal told me it’s water-resistant, I can take a shower but can’t go swimming.” I’m actually sad about that, I thought with us stuck at the house, we’d swim the day away. Still Drake pulls back and peels off his clothes carefully. I do the same, stepping out of my wet clothes without slipping.
Once we’re both naked, bare skin meeting bare skin, the water pours down over us again.
We don’t do anything but wash each other. It feels like he’s scrubbing himself clean, washing off the weight of that place.
Slowly, I reach out, my hands gently grasping his wrists to still his frantic scrubbing before he rubs his skin raw. I gently wash and kiss and caress every inch, my fingertips tracing every scar, every tattoo, each story etched into his skin like a braille of hispast. The warm water sluices over his shoulders, down the valley of his spine, as I explore him with tender curiosity.
I descend to my knees in the pouring water, my hands gliding tenderly over his thighs, my lips pressing soft, silent promises against his flesh. I can feel his heartbeat pulsing through his skin, a steady, insistent rhythm that echoes in my own chest.
I take him into my mouth, the contrast between the cold water and my warm mouth making his head fall back against the tile with a soft thud. Drake's cock tastes clean, like soap, but not enough to overpower the taste of him, salty and male. With one hand gripping his thigh, I bob my head a few times, my tongue swirling around his shaft. Then, grabbing the sensitive skin between his balls, I tug gently, causing him to hiss and take control.
He stays rooted to the spot, back plastered to the wall, and begins to move his hips, fucking my face with the same rhythm he uses when he's inside me. He grips my head, fingers tangling in my wet hair, pulling me down as far as I can go. A low murmur escapes his lips, "I dreamt of this. Didn’t know if I’d ever have it again."
I take my mouth off him, looking up into his dark eyes as I catch my breath. My hands replace my mouth, jerking him off with firm, steady strokes. His body begins to shake, grunts falling from his lips as I increase the pressure, the speed. He comes in long, hot sprays right on my face. I look up at him, my face covered in his release. "How about this? Do I live up to the dream?" I ask, my voice barely above a whisper, right before extending my tongue and slowly licking some of his cum off my lips.
I’m about to screw him senseless.
Chapter 26
MANDRAKE
I thought staying home with Skye would be fun as hell. We'd screw on every surface. I’d spend every waking second inside her, riding out this house arrest with a smile. Reality? Blech.
We didn’t lie to the judge; I really do have several businesses. Legit ones. Ones that aren’t tied to the club. Which means someone has to manage them. Can’t ask my brothers. Not with the feds circling around. Don’t want conspiracy charges on top of everything else. So, Skye’s been stepping up. She handles the diner, the restaurant, the storefront. She’s got it, but it still means she’s gone most of the day.
And me? I’m stuck.
The pigs slapped me with house arrest. No phones, no internet. I’m allowed to use a landline, but who the hell even owns a landline anymore? Not me. I can’t talk to my employees anyway. Most of them are ex-cons. I believe in second chances, so Ihire people nobody else will. If I call them, that's "violating bail conditions," and bam, back to federal prison.
I'm so goddamn bored. No one tells you how soul-crushingly boring house arrest is. I can't leave. I can't see anyone. I can’t even scroll. It's like I'm a kid grounded by the ghost of my dead parents. Turns out I didn’t miss much by skipping childhood.
What really eats at me is not knowing how the feds got me. When Locke died, there were only four people in the room: me, Skye, and the two brothers I trust with my life. Iknowhis body was handled. Grimm took care of it. There's a reason we call him that. Russian special ops or close enough. No way they found the body. Which means... footage.
I’ve been thinking about that feed. It wasn’t working for everyone, but we saw it. Maybe the feds got it. Maybe someone snagged it before Mickey could wipe it. I almost wish he hadn’t. We could prove we didn’t kill Locke. But then we’d be screwed for body disposal or tampering, whatever other bullshit law they can twist into a shiv. Worse, Skye would be in trouble.
So yeah. It’s good that the footage is gone.
Maybe it’s not the feed. Maybe the house pointed at me. Locke could’ve left something behind. I wouldn’t know. I’ve done a lot of shit. Just last month, I took care of a ghost from Skye’s past. Slipped out at night, came back in the morning like nothing happened. The bitch was living in luxury, memory foam mattress, round the clock care. I watched her go out choking on every ounce of pain she made Skye carry since she was born. That one... that one felt good. Righteous. Taking the life of the woman that took the life my old lady could have had for no reason at all.
The cops were already circling. Did they see me then? I doubt it. I covered my tracks. They didn’t even charge me with anything related to elder anything. That probable cause hearing is LaGuerta’s idea. Best one yet. Every time they explain why they arrested me, it’s all legal jargon with codes, subsections, smoke and mirrors. U.S. vs. Drake Llloyd. Feels more like Me vs. the feds. Now they’ll have to tell us what they have or the judge will dismiss the case. I know I won’t be that lucky but at least we’ll have the answers we need to fight them.
