His Rules Page 13

  He draped his arm over my shoulder and pulled me close. As our shoulders touched, he chuckled. “I like you too.”

  It wasn’t much, but hearing it did wonders for my ego. I hoped it was an indication of what was to come when we reached the thirty-day mark, but wasn’t about to press him for how he felt about me, especially considering his current state of mind.

  “If the call comes, are you going to have to leave?” I asked.

  “I’m afraid so,” he said. “But I’d like it if you could stay here. While I’m gone.”

  It was a few minutes before midnight. If he left for any amount of time, it would be close to morning before he returned.

  “Stay all night?” I asked, trying to hide the hope that had quickly filled me.

  “If you want.”

  I grinned. “I’d love to.”

  “Why don’t you plan on it. You can wear a pair of my sweats and I’ll give you a tee shirt.”

  I wanted to wear a pair of sweats he’d already worn, so I could smell his scent, his cologne, him. Lying in bed surrounded by his aroma would satisfy me to no end.

  “Give me something you’ve already worn, so I can smell you. I love the way you smell,” I said with a light laugh, although it was far from a joke.

  “Everything I own is clean.” He chuckled. “I’ve got a few hang-ups about dirty clothes, too.”

  My dirty clothes piled up until I had nothing to wear. By the time I washed them, it was as if I’d purchased a new wardrobe, because there were always a few things I found that I’d forgotten I owned.

  “That’s okay. You can just give me what you’ve got on.” I slid my hand inside his leg, and rubbed his inner thigh as if I were joking. In doing so, the back side of my hand brushed against something other than leg.

  My eyes shot to his lap.

  Stefanie was wrong. March Watson did not have a two-inch uncircumcised dick. From my vantage point, it appeared he had an extremely thick eight-inch cock.

  An extremely thick eight-inch cock that liked having my hand bump into it.

  I paused, and then decided what the hell. I wasn’t a character in a YA novel, nor was I a prude. We were two adults in a fucked-up relationship that excluded sex. By Marc’s own admission, however, it did not prohibit sexual contact.

  I was done waiting for him to make a move.

  I decided to get a handful of his dick. If he didn’t like it, he could either ask me to stop or stand up and give me the what the fuck were you thinking look.

  I slid my hand over his rigid manhood.

  Holy. Shit.

  Hiding my excitement required looking away, so that’s exactly what I did. In recognition of what my hand was filled with, I opened my mouth – and my eyes – wide.

  I received no opposition. So, I squeezed it.

  It twitched in response.

  I stroked my hand along its length. Twice.

  Still no opposition.

  I knew not to try and overstep boundaries, even if they weren’t etched in stone. His cock was as hard as a rock, and so far, I’d bumped it by mistake, squeezed it on purpose, and stroked it twice.

  If he wasn’t pleased, I suspected he would have either objected, or he wouldn’t have been hard in the first place.

  I shifted my attention from the wall to him. “I want to suck your dick,” I whispered.

  The words came out much easier than I expected.

  He glanced at my cock-filled hand, and then at me. His mouth was twisted into a guilty smirk. He may have wanted to protest, but his cock was providing a solid argument to the contrary. I squeezed it firmly. He let out a long, slow sigh at the feeling of having his thick girth in my hand.

  He clenched his teeth and tilted his head to the side. “I don’t know if--”

  “I won’t make a mess, I swear,” I blurted.

  My guess was that me drooling cum on his clean floor was his only major concern. I had no intention of any such ridiculousness. Anxiously, I sat and waited for his approval.

  “If you insist.” He checked his watch and then exhaled heavily. “Take it easy on me, though.”

  I hopped off the edge of the couch cushion like I was preparing to run from a fiery inferno, and dropped to a kneeling position in front of him. I had no intention of going easy on him, but I didn’t want him to know it.

  I wanted to curl his toes. I looked up and him with innocent eyes, and gave indication of the complete opposite. “If you don’t like it, you can stop me.”

  He reached for his belt. “I doubt that’ll happen.”

  I inched toward the edge of the couch with my eyes fixed on his hands. In a matter of seconds, his rigid cock sprung free.

  Holy shit.

  It was gorgeous.

  I reached for it, looking at him for approval the entire time. As I gripped it in my hand, I giggled silently. It was thick, and hard, and smooth, and…

  Perfect.

  I yearned to have him fill me with it, but only when – and if – he felt it was what best for us both. For the time being, sucking it would satisfy me, and I hoped it would satisfy him.

  I gently stroked it, allowing my eyes to rake along his body as I did so. When they reached his lap, I grinned. The size of his thickness made my hand appear to be so small and delicate. I stretched my jaw and prepared for what was sure to be a workout.

  Air shot from his lungs as I encompassed the tip with my wet lips. Hearing his surprise fueled me to continue, and I did so with vigor.

  He drew a quick breath and tilted his head back. While his eyes were fixed on the ceiling, I forced him deep into my throat. With each upward stroke of my wet mouth, I jacked the glistening shaft with my hand.

  Up and down I bobbed my head, stretching my jaw to accept his girth fully. With my eyes searching for approval, I sucked his glorious cock like it was my last chance at salvaging our relationship.

  The muscles in his biceps tensed. My eyes darted to his hands. Gripping the edge of the couch so fiercely that his knuckles had gone white, they gave warning that he either really liked having his cock banging against the back of my throat, or he really hated it.

  My belief was the former.

  I pulled away, wiped my mouth with the tip of my finger, and then dragged it across my bottom lip.

  “What do you like?” I asked, my voice as sultry as I could manage.

  “It seems to me like you already know.”

  I didn’t want to satisfy him, I wanted to blow his mind.

  “Do you prefer it aggressive?” I asked.

  “I do.”

  “Me too.” I smiled. “Fuck my mouth.”

  His eyes widened slightly. Then, for the first time of that night, his mouth curled into a genuine smile.

  Apparently, I’d discovered something we both enjoyed.

  He drew a shallow breath. “Maybe we should--”

  “Get ahold of my head. And. Fuck. My. Mouth.” I grinned. “Hard, Please.”

  He stood. His cock danced up and down in front of my face. I wondered for an instant if he would lightly hold my head and row in and out of my mouth slowly and methodically. Or, if he would press himself deep into my throat and hold himself firmly in place.

  I hoped he would do just as I asked, and pound his cock in and out of my mouth like he was trying to teach me a lesson. Struggling to breathe through my nose, and wiping my watering eyes so I could see the satisfaction on his face, I would wait until I was on the verge of passing out before I’d pull away and suck in a breath.

  He didn’t make me wait for long to find out which method he preferred.

  His left hand held my head firmly. Then, he guided himself past my lips and into my eager mouth. With his right hand gripping the base of his shaft firmly, he forced the tip against my inner cheek and stretched my mouth open wide.

  I salivated in response.

  He paused and gazed into my curious eyes. Anxious and ready to satisfy him as best I could, my pussy throbbed at the thought of what was sure to come. He
released his cock, pressed his left hand hard against my scalp, and commenced to fuck my mouth as if he knew exactly what I wanted.

  Oh. My God.

  The sound of him satisfying himself against my throat resonated off the bare walls of the living room. Hearing it only added to my state of arousal. I wagged my thighs back and forth and reached for his bare ass with both hands.

  With his firm butt gripped in my hands, and my head held firmly in his, we continued our method of aggressive felatio, each as eager as the other to reach the climactic finale.

  His pace increased slightly in speed, and in force. A few seconds later, his announcement came.

  “I’m going to come in your throat,” he groaned.

  Oh God. Please do.

  I fixed my eyes on his face. With a clenched jaw, he fucked my mouth like a man possessed. In a moment, his breathing became choppy and irregular. He tilted his head downward. At the instant his eyes met mine, the first of many successive releases of his warm cum shot into my throat.

  I moaned in pleasure against his throbbing shaft until the last droplet was mine. He lowered his hands and stood motionless, his mouth twisted into an ornery smirk.

  I sucked the length of his shaft as I pulled my mouth free.

  I drew in a quick breath, and then another. “That was awesome.”

  He exhaled heavily. “Did you like--”

  “I fucking loved it,” I said, not allowing him to finish asking.

  His eyes slowly widened. “That makes two of us.”

  He no more than responded, and his phone made an odd beeping sound. He spun around, picked it up off the floor, and swept his thumb across the screen. His facial expression changed to one of concern.

  “I’ve got to get.” He took a few long strides, and then hesitated. He turned to face me. “Come here,” he said, his tone low, but demanding.

  With shaking legs, I walked to where he stood. He pulled off his shirt and then draped it over my shoulder.

  “Wear that.” He pulled me into him and kissed me firmly. Our lips parted. He pulled away slightly and looked me in the eyes. “Nothing else. Sleep in my bed.”

  My face went flush. “Oh. Uhhm. Okay.”

  He released me and disappeared into his room. Exhausted, horny, and happy as hell to have brought him to climax, I flopped down on the couch. I raised his shirt to my face and drew a slow breath. A mixture of his manly musk and his signature cologne reminded me of the night we met. I closed my eyes, took another breath, and then lowered his shirt onto my lap.

  When his scent faded, I opened my eyes.

  I glanced at the shirt. There was no reason to wait. Wearing a huge grin, I pulled my shirt over my head and set it at my side. After removing my bra, I pulled his shirt over my head and smiled at how terribly it fit.

  The sound of his boots on the hardwood floor caught my attention. He emerged from the hallway dressed in black SWAT-type gear. Carrying a long plastic case in one hand, and a black duffel bag in the other, he looked like an official badass.

  An official badass with a big white scuff on his left boot.

  “Sorry, Tee.” He said as he rushed past me. “I’ve got to get.”

  A chill ran the length of my spine and goosebumps rose on my arms. My father called me Tee. I hadn’t heard the nickname since the night he died.

  He pushed the garage door open.

  “March!” I shouted.

  He turned around.

  “Be safe,” I said with a quaking voice. “Please?”

  “Will do,” he said with a wink.

  Then, he turned away.

  Chapter 22

  Marc – Day twenty-four

  When I pulled into the parking lot of the Filthy Fuckers MC’s clubhouse, it was filled with motorcycles and the shop’s lights were on. Odd for a Monday night if they didn’t have something planned. Beside the front door, an 8-passenger van was parked. Inside, the men stood in a group with their focus on Navarro.

  It was as if being briefed on a military mission.

  My assumption was that they were going to use the vans to transport their men to wherever they believed MS-13’s gang members were hiding. It would certainly make much less of an announcement than the rumble from twenty motorcycles.

  I parked the car, took a deep breath, and got out.

  In an effort to pay Navarro as much respect as I could, I leaned into the opening of the garage door, but didn’t step inside.

  “Navarro!” I shouted. “Need to see you. Alone.”

  I knew if he was alone, it would be easier for me to communicate with him. He’d be far less apt to be argumentative, and more receptive to my requests.

  In a moment, he stepped outside. Wearing jeans, boots, and a black tee shirt, it was obvious he was preparing to do something clandestine, and not on his motorcycle. All outlaw clubs required their patched members to wear kuttes if they were riding their motorcycles, I knew that much.

  He looked at my car, and then scanned the narrow lot. After satisfying himself that I was alone, he looked at me with thin eyes.

  “What in the fuck are you doing on my property, alone, at one fucking a.m., detective? Around this clubhouse a man’s liable to get shot for trespassing. If you don’t have a warrant, I suggest you take your little black outfit and go home.”

  “I need to make you aware of a few things,” I said.

  He huffed out a sigh. “What?”

  “Hear me out.”

  He looked at his watch. “You’ve got three minutes.”

  “I was headed home from a late-night raid, and I drove past to see if you and your men decided to move out or not. Imagine my surprise when I noticed twenty motorcycles, and two transport vans. My deductive reasoning tells me you’re headed to take care of MS-13.”

  “We’re all going bowling in Tijuana. Should make it back by tomorrow am. Write that down in your little notebook, I might need it as an alibi.”

  He was a hard man to deal with, that much was certain. He was far too street smart for me to bullshit him. I considered telling him the truth, then decided against it.

  “I know you and your men saved those girls from the MS-13 a few months ago. I also know Cholo was abducted, tortured, and rescued. I know Smokey’s Ol’ Lady shot some shit-hat in her driveway, and I know I helped her out of one hell of a jam. I know you had an ATF informant in your club, and that I helped get his sorry ass gone. I further know the charges against one of your patches was dropped afterward. There’s a pattern here, Crip.”

  His jaw tightened. “You can call me Navarro, or you can call me Nick,” he said through his teeth. “You haven’t earned the right to call me Crip, detective. Don’t let it happen again.”

  I let out a sigh. “You were a Navy SEAL, and I was a Navy SEAL. I’m not going to--”

  “Don’t lay that Navy SEAL horseshit on me, detective. This country shit on me. When I left the Navy, the Navy in me left along with it. Go find another squid to swap spit with.” He glanced at his watch. “You’ve got forty seconds.”

  “There’s nine teenage girls being held by MS-13. They were kidnapped ten days ago. I don’t even know if they’re alive, but let’s assume--”

  “Motherfucker,” he said through his teeth. “You set our asses up, didn’t you?”

  I let out a breath. “Let’s assume they’re alive. I know your men slaughtered a hose filled with MS-13. I know Cholo was abducted for his role in that slaughter. And I know you went to Coronado, gathered up a few SEALs, and extracted Cholo safely. So, Navarro, don’t give me your sad sob story about how this country shit on you. I didn’t arrest you or your men for a reason. You play a crucial role in making my job easy. There aren’t any MC’s that have a code of honor that’s honorable. Notice I said any, and not many. I further know now that you know, that walking away from those helpless girls will be impossible. So, we need to come up with a plan.”

  “You don’t know shit.” He glanced at his watch. “Time’s up, detective.”

 
He turned toward the clubhouse. After he took a few steps, I cleared my throat.

  “There’s no statute of limitations on murder!” I shouted.

  “I haven’t murdered anyone,” he said over his shoulder.

  “The DNA all over the ground outside of Temecula, in the desert, says otherwise,” I said. “A man would do life for that crime alone. It was smart to soak the body in Sodium Hydroxide, but you should have done something else with the bones.”

  He paused, and then turned around. With a clenched jaw, he glared at me. “What do you want from me, detective?”

  “I need to go with you,” I said.

  He blurted out a laugh. “Fuck you.”

  “It’s the only way it’ll work. I need to go with you, or else--”

  “Fuck you,” he hissed. “I’ll put a bullet in your skull, and bury you right beside him. Don’t threaten me. Ever.”

  Abiding by the law afforded me many opportunities. Walking on the criminal side of the razor’s edge afforded me nothing, unless I wanted to become a criminal. Without my badge, my negotiating power was nil.

  I decided to try another angle. “If I go with you, I can claim you led me to them. We got there right after the men were murdered. I’ll get the media involved, and your club can get the recognition--”

  He let out a laugh. “Do you think we do what we do for recognition?” He took a few steps toward me and stuck his face within inches of mine. “Me, and the seventeen men who are standing behind me do what we do because this world is filled with fucktards, and we don’t care much for fucktards. Don’t let ‘em in the club, and we don’t care for ‘em on our turf. I’ll bring your girls back, detective, but you’re not coming with. Not now, not ever. You can get the recognition. All I want is for these pieces of human shit to leave me, my men, and my shop alone.”

  “If you kill MS-13’s men and take the girls, they’ll tell everyone what happened once they’re interviewed. They’ll incriminate you and your men for murder. I can’t fix that.”

  His jaw clenched. “Son-of-a-fucking-bitch.”

  I knew now that he realized there were nine teenagers being held, that he wouldn’t be able to walk away. It wasn’t in his blood. He was far too prideful of a man to do so.