Nowhere (Crimson Outlaws MC #1) Page 2

  Continuously, Nash’s mouth softly teases and taunts me as Toa sucks my clit. Then his thick finger breaches my core and I whimper.

  “That’s it,” Nash urges. “Let yourself go.”

  Unable to show restraint, I heed his request and reach back with one hand to shove Toa’s face harder into my pussy. My hips take on a mind of their own as they undulate against his mouth and tongue. Sounds of starvation erupt around us as he eats me like a savage, his finger plunging in and out of my depths as his other hand grips my ass cheek so hard, I know I’ll bruise in the morning. I’m acutely aware of the sounds of other zippers retracting, and the music lowering as the flutter of my impending climax sails through all thought and reason.

  A sudden mouth latching onto my nipple rips a moan from my throat, and Nash slams his lips to mine, swallowing my pleasure. They’re scorching and hard for an agonizing moment, before he wrenches them away. “That’s it. Let him lick that pussy. Does it feel good? Do you like Toa’s tongue on your clit? Do you want his dick inside you? Do you like Merrick sucking your tits?”

  Yes, yes, yes. I want to scream, and then force his lips to return to mine. Instead, my eyes flutter before they roll into the back of my head. My insides coil tighter, and my legs shake uncontrollably. Nash’s mouth rubs mine, sending a perfect jolt of naughtiness to my center. Heat builds between my thighs, feeding a wetness that drips from there. Toa doesn’t relent as my seams begin to fray and my pussy clenches around his digit. Another mouth latches onto my other nipple. Whiskers from the new man’s face scratch my sensitive skin, and that’s all it takes. The lava runneth over, and my back sharply arches as I wail my climax. White-heaven explodes behind my eyes as those mouths pleasing me continue their ministrations, drawing out every single fiber of my being. I vaguely feel myself threading my fingers behind Nash’s head and taking his lips with mine. Then everything turns hazy as my entire body runs molten and sparks of endless rapture flitter through me like bursts of fireworks. Another orgasm peaks and fizzles. My tongue breaches and tangles with something wet and delicious. Whimpering moans unfurl from the darkest parts of me, emptying into the heat of someone’s mouth.

  The hand clawing my ass is the first to release; then a final nibble teases my clit. All of my senses are left inside out, and my legs turn to overcooked noodles. Before I nearly collapse in a heap of mush, Toa scoops me into his arms.

  Breathing heavily, little jolts of post-climatic tremors spring to the surface, making me twitch. I rest my head on Toa’s shoulder, barely prying my eyes open enough to see him carry me over to the pool table, where some of the brothers are already standing with their cocks out, condoms stretched over their members. Beside us, Nash walks, his loving hand resting on my arm. He moves ahead of us and climbs, fully clothed, onto the pool table. Lying flat on his back, he gestures for Toa to bring me forth. I don’t resist as Toa kisses my forehead before depositing me onto the table

  “Straddle him and let him hold you while we fuck that pussy.” Toa’s sweet voice registers through my muddled brain, and I comply without protest.

  On my knees, I crawl over to Nash and straddle his waist, sitting upright, my palms lying flat on his pecs to keep myself from falling over. He unfastens the rest of my corset and hands it to one of the brothers for safe keeping. Then he pulls me until my breasts are flat against his chest, our faces lining up, lips merely an inch from colliding. My eyes flick down his features, settling on his mouth. I lick my lips at the thought of kissing him there. It’s the most he’s ever sexually touched me. Yet, it feels like he’s caressing my very soul when he does. For years, it’s been his mouth that brings comfort. His mouth that, somehow, makes all the fucked up shit right again. It’s my own personal home. No matter how sick or twisted that may be, it’s my reality. We’ve never discussed how it affects either of us. Most of the time, I feel he does it out of duty and love. But for me, it’s far more than that. There’s a tangible feeling that it elicits—a need. I would never tell him that. Not ever. Then again, that doesn’t keep it from being the truth. One of my dirtiest, darkest secrets.

  Behind me, a set of palms rest on my backside as a thickness nudges my core. The scent of coconut mixed with spice tells me it’s okay to trust who’s there.

  “Go easy,” Nash warns, wrapping his arms around my middle, securing me in place. Turning my head to the side, I rest my cheek against his shoulder, my face stuffed into the crook of his neck. On my knees, I lift my ass a little higher into the air.

  “I’ve got it, brother,” Toa replies, thrusting forward, his thick cockhead breaching my pussy.

  Slick with my juices, he glides in effortlessly until his balls settle against my clit. Stretching around his girth feels magnificent; having him deep is even better. My walls contract around him, begging him to move.

  Below me, Nash whispers, “How ya doin’? Does it feel good?”

  I nod. “Yes. So good.” The words flutter from my lips in a dainty moan.

  Sliding out, Toa leaves just his crown nestled inside. His hands on my hips dig into flesh, sending a tremor of pleasured-pain through my pussy. Powerless to control myself, or wait another second, I drive my hips backward, impaling myself on his cock. He takes this as an open invitation to snap his hips in succession with my downward thrusts.

  Over and over, he fucks me deep, his dick hitting my sweet spot every damn time. Resounding moans belt from my lips, only to be muffled as I press my mouth to Nash’s neck. Air pumps from my lungs in a frenzied pace as sweat dampens my body.

  Grunting in satisfaction, Toa then curses as he bottoms out, only to draw his hips backward to pound into my pussy even harder the next time. My frame pitches atop Nash’s, stimulating my aching nipples as they rub against the fabric of his shirt. Everything burns in ecstasy, leaving me to feel nothing but the delicious maelstrom of each thrust.

  My mind blanks as a finger breaches my asshole, and I cry a wanton moan.

  Oh … God.

  Toa pushes his digit deeper, driving me to the edge of no return. With another slam of his hips, I shatter into a million pieces. Biting into flesh, I silently scream through my climax as my body turns rigid for a moment before trembling wildly in Nash’s strong embrace. Every single cell of my body flicks on, as the rapid fire of shameless satiation skitters through me. My hips hump on their own accord, needing more, wanting more. And Toa doesn’t disappoint as he continues to fuck me from one lush orgasm into the next.

  “Oh, shit!” I scream, arching off Nash’s chest as yet another crescendo peaks.

  His hand locks around the back of my neck, bringing my lips to his. Without a moment’s pause, he kisses me hard and without remorse, delving his tongue into my willing mouth. Our tongues battle for dominance, as we groan and claw at one another. Losing myself in him, my breath falters. Yet, he doesn’t let go as his possessive hand tightens on my neck and his other grabs my side, acting as my anchor.

  More and more, I come, unable to stop it as one rolls into the next. Even when Toa finishes, his dick is replaced with another and then another. It doesn’t take long for my body to give in to its basic carnal urges. Moans and rapturous groans that I never knew existed explode from the deepest parts of me. Through my wails of raw hunger, my fingers clutch anything that I’m able to, as I lick and bite whatever my mouth settles on. Including Nash’s lips that I can never get enough of.

  Once another orgasm passes, a new one replaces it, and my mind goes from blank to floating. Every muscle turns to goo as I melt into Nash’s heaving chest. Both of his arms lock around me, his lips pressing kisses into my soaked hair.

  “That’s enough,” he orders gruffly. “Beau, she’s done. Take your dick outta her pussy right the fuck now.”

  Listening to his VP, the cock pounding my center slides out, leaving a vacancy that makes me want to beg for more. For them to fill me up again. To ease this need just one more time. In place of whining, I fall deeper into this heavenly plane where I can drift and everything is warm, soft
, and utterly perfect. Nothing can touch me here. Nothing can breach this ethereal fog to fuck with my head.

  As exhaustion plays heavily on my body, a further calmness settles over me, and my eyes shut. A few beats later, my breathing begins to even out. My limbs turn boneless.

  I’m vaguely aware that Nash is speaking to me, or someone else, as the vibrations in his chest break like tiny waves into my dream world. I feel my weightless frame being shifted off his muscled one, and then I’m being carted away, drifting through the cold air. My legs dangle freely, with a sense of heat enveloping my left side. My cheek rests on a soft, yet firm cloud that smells of him, and I release a sigh of contentment. This is my heaven.

  The floating halts and my legs swing as the distinct smell of cinnamon and cloves invades my brain, briefly flashing a picture behind my eyelids of the only place this scent lingers—Nash’s bedroom. Ever since I was a little girl, his rooms have always smelled of this. From place to place, year to year, it remains untouched.

  A deeper sense of infallible comfort spreads through my limbs, and I wrap that feeling around me like a cape to keep me safe for always. I try to pull my knees to my chest, but I’m not sure if I’m successful.

  Descending through air, the strong firmness is torn away when I melt into a long pillow of Downy scented paradise. A silky blanket of warmth settles over my body. Indistinguishable words are uttered. The tightness around my calves is released. And a delicate softness is pressed firmly against my forehead, as thick prongs sift through my hair, driving me deeper into this divine plane of absentminded nirvana. In the only place that feels like home—a place where cinnamon, clove bedrooms, and the man who protects me against all odds lives.

  Goodnight.

  Bounding up the front steps of my parent’s house, I don’t pause to knock before seeing myself inside. Out of habit, I kick my boots off after I shut the door. They fall alongside Nash’s, and two pairs of women’s tennis shoes. They’re all the evidence I need to know that I’m the last person to arrive for our Sunday lunch. It’s a tradition in the McQueen household. Even though I’m not technically a McQueen I’ve been raised as one. My mother has forced this on Nash and me since we were little. If we don’t attend every Sunday, the wrath of guilt she thrusts upon us is way more than I can bear. So we make it as much as possible.

  “Gwen is that you?!” Mom hollers from the kitchen. I drop my purse beside my boots before following the voices in that direction.

  Turning the corner, I get a full view of the open kitchen that flows into the dining room. At the island, Nash sits with his tatted arm draped across the top of his long-time girlfriend’s chair. Both of their backs are to me, as is my daughter, Trish’s, who’s busy fiddling with her damn phone.

  “Yeah, Ma, I’m here.” I pad my way across the old hardwood floors, my socks slipping over the surface just like they used to when we were kids.

  For a second, I stop behind Trish’s stool and kiss the back of her head in greeting.

  “Hey, Mom.” She glances over her shoulder, giving me a sweet grin.

  “Hey, back, stranger.” I poke her arm. “You were MIA last night when I texted you. You move out, and now you won’t even text your poor mom back,” I tease, only half-serious with the guilt I’m laying on her.

  When she started school in the fall, Trish moved out of my house in Carolina Rose and into the apartment above my parent’s garage. It’s sort of a family tradition to live there at least once in your life. I have, Nash has, and now Trish is carrying the torch. Honestly, I hate it, since I don’t get to see her every day. At the same time, I understand that it’s more practical. The drive from Carolina Rose to Charlotteton is at least thirty minutes; and with her attending school here and working part-time for my mom, it only makes sense that she’d live nearby. However, she’s still my little girl no matter how big she gets, and that’s never gonna change. So I try to keep tabs on her whenever she lets me.

  “Sorry. I was out last night. Didn’t think you’d want me to text at four in the morning,” she replies as I make my way into the kitchen to help prepare lunch.

  My frowning expression meets her awkward one across the island. Four in the morning? Jesus. What could she have been doing until four in the morning? She’s only eighteen. Pretty sure I was already passed out by then. But still… Four … in … the … morning. What the hell?

  Just as I’m revving up to slip into full throttle mom-mode, Nash intercedes. “You can’t leave your mom hangin’ like that, Bug.” He hooks his arm around her neck, bringing her in for a quick hug.

  “I know,” she mumbles, ashamed. Then lifts her gaze to lock with mine. The green of her eyes shimmer as emotions below the surface start to rise. Shit. I don’t want her to cry. “I’m sorry, Mom. I was out with friends and left my phone in the car. I swear I didn’t mean to ignore you. Christy was drunk so I drove her home and stayed with her when she threw up. It was after four by the time I got back. Grandpa saw me drive in and gave me hell for being so late. I promise it won’t happen again.” A tear drips from the corner of her eye, and I reach out to swipe it away. Then I pinch her cheek with affection.

  “It’s not a problem, Bug. Just be safe, okay? You don’t want Nash to have to kick someone’s ass, do ya?”

  I try to make light of the situation, to keep her from crying. She’s always been an emotional girl. Something that most women can relate with. But it tears my heart out every time she cries. And I know for a fact that it rips Nash apart, too. He’s told me that on many occasions.

  Sadness quickly dispersed, she offers me a tiny giggle, tucking a strand of her black hair behind her ear. “No. I suppose I don’t.”

  Interrupting our moment, my mom bumps her hip with mine and drops armfuls of sandwich fixin’s in front of me. “Put those lovely hands to work. The sandwiches aren’t gonna make themselves.” She playfully knocks my hip again.

  “Yes, Mooommm,” I drone with a smirk, winking at Trish, who stifles a laugh with her hand. “I still don’t think it’s fair that you don’t have Nath-an-iel helping, too.” My words flow like a childish whine. It’s fun getting under my parent’s skin, and this is the sure fire way to do it.

  Chuckling, my mom slaps my bottom with a damp dish towel as she turns to hand wash whatever mess she’s made in the sink. It stings, making me suck in a pained breath. Even the most playful of touches piss off my budding bruises, but she doesn’t know that and I’m not about to tell her. “Stop talking that way, young lady. Men do not work in the kitchen. They work in the yard.” Being a pain in the butt, I mouth the last of her sentence right along with her, making Trish all-out giggle and Nash roll his eyes with amusement.

  It’s my mom’s mantra and has been for years. However, that doesn’t stop me from picking on her about it any chance I get. My mom is very old fashioned when it comes to household chores, yet, she’s pretty open-minded about everything else. The funny thing is, as much as I love my dad, he is not a typical man’s man. He sucks at mowing the grass—so much so that Nash has to do it. He couldn’t fix a car to save his life. Which forces Nash to come to the rescue whenever Mom, Trish, or I have any type of car problems. I’m pretty sure the only manly thing my dad can do is grill. And if Mom would let him, he could probably cook as well. Nevertheless, she’s still too stubborn to allow any man into her kitchen. And, truthfully, I wish she wasn’t always that way. Then maybe Nash would have learned to cook more than frozen dinners.

  As requested, I fall in line and start fixing the sandwiches for lunch. Trish plays on her phone as I do, and when I finally get a second to glance up, I see Nash immersed in small talk with his girlfriend, Kelly. His head is turned to the side, hand flat on the counter, body language showing he’s engrossed in whatever they’re chatting about. From this angle, I catch sight of his corded neck, and I gasp. It’s loud as it bounces off the walls in the kitchen, even though I try to suck it back in. Fire burns at my cheeks as my eyes fly wide in shock. Penetrating guilt slithers its way thr
ough my body like venom from the most poisonous snake. I feel like I’m going to puke.

  A sudden hand touches my shoulder, causing me to jump outta my skin. It’s my mom. “Nasty lookin’ bruises he’s got, huh?” she comments.

  No shit, they are. I did them! Oh, my god! That’s the worst yet. Month to month, as these sexual urges strengthen, I become more aggressive when I get off. I don’t know if it’s because I’m finally allowing myself to embrace the dark side and let it fly freely. Or something else entirely. But, that … shit … it looks awful. Ugly bruises scatter the entire left side of Nash’s neck from where his collar begins all the way up to the sharp edge of his jaw. Even the extra day of hair growth does little to mask it.

  Nash, now realizing we’re staring, cups the side of his neck and meets my eyes. I’m not sure what they’re trying to convey, but they don’t seem angry. If anything, I’d say they appear to be the opposite. That’s a relief.

  I exhale the breath I didn’t realize I was harboring.

  The first time I scratched Nash during the heat of the moment, he came unglued. That is one of the reasons I tried to quit these monthly sessions cold turkey. The guilt from it all became too much, especially when I started to injure him as well. Kelly had even threatened to leave him because she thought he was cheating on her. He’d never do that. Not with anyone. Sure, our relationship is quite unconventional, but he’s never so much as touched me inappropriately. Except, maybe, when he plunders my mouth. I know that’s probably cheating and I should feel like shit about it. However, I don’t. It’s something I physically need, and he provides. It’s nothing more than him tending to his sister in the one way that he probably shouldn’t. You can judge us all you want. I understand how this looks—that it’s fucked up, and I shouldn’t like to kiss my step-brother. Especially since he’s in a committed relationship. I should feel like hell for even doing it. I’ve tried to feel remorse for the way the soft pillows of his lips fuse against mine, easily filling the void that often consumes me. Perhaps, I would feel like hell if he detested our actions. Thankfully, he doesn’t. Nash has been nothing more than attentive and caring since the very first time it happened. That’s a story for another time.