Unrequited (Fallen Aces MC #1) (20 page)

His eyes track me as I stand and shimmy the lace down my thighs and over my knees, and then kick them aside. His tattooed hands move in his lap at the same time to unbuckle his belt. I watch the thick veins move over his forearms as he tugs on the leather strap and pulls the belt free of the buckle. The dome on his jeans pops with a flick of his thumb, and he follows it up by tugging the zipper down.

The man isn’t wearing any boxers. He’s going commando underneath all that denim and leather.
Save me . . .
I’m surely going to die—my heart can’t handle those kind of surprises right now.

“Get.” He pats his thigh with a heavy hand as he scoots back in the seat.

I scrunch my dress out of the way, climb on his lap, and lower myself down. A hiss escapes between his teeth as the heat of my flesh meets his.

“Jesus, baby. Stay like that. Give me a minute.” His eyes close and he tips his head back on the seat, groaning.

The sound vibrating from his chest causes a rush between my legs. His hips rock slowly, sliding his stiff length through my wet heat, the head pressing as it passes over my tight bundle of nerves. I place both hands on his shoulders to steady myself as the wave of pleasure rips the strength from my muscles. I rock my hips in unison, using the way my knees are braced against the arms of the chair to push myself down harder.

“I’ve been wantin’ your pussy so fuckin’ bad,” he says, placing both hands on my hips to push us together even harder. “I’ve been wantin’ all of you again.”

Our tempo picks up, the rocking growing frantic. The familiar numbness builds in my thighs. “It’s too good,” I moan. The head of his cock bruises my clit, pressing so damn hard.

I could take more.

“That’s it,” he coaxes. “Show me how much you like it.” King slips a thumb onto my nub and rubs hard circles as I pant and grind over his length. If this is how amazing he feels without penetration, what the hell am I in for later?

Bliss—that’s what.

“Tell me when you’re about to come. Don’t you dare come sittin’ over my cock.” His gaze is fixed to his thumb and the frantic movements of my hips.

I’m so close, so deliriously happy. Do I tell him, or do I just ride this out?
It’s too good to waste.
“I’m close,” I pant. “Oh my God, so close.”

His hands bruise my hips as he grips hard and hoists me up so I’m left squatting, my feet jammed between the cushion and the armrests. My jaw drops as I watch this wide and muscular man writhe and wriggle beneath me with effortless grace so his head is now where his lap used to be.

King braces himself on bent legs, reaches up and takes hold of my hips once more to slam my throbbing pussy down on his face.
Holy . . .
I come. I fucking explode over him like nothing else as his tongue flicks crazily across my over-worked nerves. The high starts to fade when he inserts two fingers, stoking the fire, and sends me shaking onto another level.

The things he can do.

And we have three hours.

With a satisfied groan, he lifts me off his face. I’m shaking as I grapple for something to steady myself on so he can scoot up the chair again. “Still the sweetest thing I’ve tasted.” His beard glistens with the evidence of my arousal.

I run my palm over his face, wiping the remnants away.

“Ready?” He places his hands over my hips again and guides me down.

I lose focus and cry out as his length fills and stretches me. He starts out slow, easing out and in again, before he builds to the same frantic pace as before. His arms cord, the muscles working hard as he lifts me on each down stroke, dropping me hard as he thrusts up. It’s raw, anger filled, and deserved.

My head pulls back with a twist of his wrist in my hair, and he yanks harder as he comes, still guiding me with the other hand nestled in the small of my back. My inner muscles clench in response, putting pressure on his pulsing cock. He groans between gritted teeth, and gives me a few last pumps before pulling me forward so my head rests on his chest.

“Three hours,” he says with a sigh. “You’re either goin’ to kill me in that time, or have me fuckin’ fit by the end of it.”

TWENTY-FIVE

King

She lay silently on me after we’d finished in the chair, not saying a thing, but not letting go either. The moment was perfect—a glimpse of what lazy Sundays could be like in another life. Her eyes closed, and for a moment there I was pretty sure she fell asleep. Only when it got too hot to be pressed so intimately together did we give in and move to the bedroom.

“Tell me what kind of trouble your mother is in.” I twist my fingers through her dark hair as we lie on the bed. “Is it money?”

“In a way.” Her hand reaches out and she lays a palm over the ink on my pec. “I only know what Carlos has told me.”

“Your mother didn’t tell you abut the trouble herself, then?” I ask.

She pulls her hand away, flexing her fingers in and out of a fist. “I can’t get hold of her. I’ve tried calling, so many times.” Her brow furrows, her eyes glazed.

“And you’re worried about her?” I gently place a hand over hers to trap it against my chest again.

“My head tells me what my heart doesn’t want to believe.”

“Which is?”

“She’s dead. That they’ve already caught up to her and I’m too late.” Elena tries to pull away and roll to the other side of the bed, but I’m not having a bar of it. Just because she’s always dealt with shit like this alone before doesn’t mean she still has to.

“How can we find out for sure, other than the phone?”

Her muscles relax again, her body seeming to find comfort in my touch as I run my fingers gently along the curve of her waist.

“I’d need to be able to get in touch with her neighbors.”

“I take it you don’t have their numbers?”

“No.”

Her eyes follow me as I move out from underneath her and turn on to my side. “What if I made some calls? Surely there’d be ways for me to get the numbers?”

“Maybe.”

I move off the bed and cross over to where my jeans lie in a heap. “Who should we look up first? Do they have a directory number in Cuba?” I pull my phone out and turn around to find her propped up on one elbow, watching me.

“No.” She shakes her head. “Nothing I could find anyway.”

“Inconvenient,” I say, walking back to her. “But nothing we can’t work around. What’s her name?” I stand frozen two steps from the edge of the bed and open a message to Twig.

“Idoya del Omo.”

Between Gunner and him, one of them should be able to help. I enter in her mother’s name and hit send.

“What are you doing?”

“Helping.” I toss my phone over to my jeans again and slide back in to bed, adjusting the sheets over us. “I’ll let you know if I can find anything out, baby. Somebody’s got to know somethin’.”

Elena reaches out and takes my hand in hers, laying it between us. She turns my fingers over in her hold and looks at them, at the cracks in my skin. I watch her as she studies my palm, hard and full of callouses.

“You have worker’s hands.”

My lips curl up on one side. “My parents have a farm. They had me out working a rake when I was half the size of it.”

“They all tell a story.” She traces the hard flesh with a finger. “Are you proud of your story?”

I pull in a deep breath and exhale before answering. “For the better part.” I don’t think there’s a person on this earth who doesn’t carry at least one regret.

“My mother was a hard worker,” she says, nestling her head into the pillow beside my hand. “Papa? He was a dreamer. He wanted what my grandfather had, but without the sacrifice.”

“What did your grandfather do?”

“He flew a Cessna. Pride of his family. He worked two jobs, sleeping four hours a night to afford his pilot’s license.” She looks up to find me watching her intently. A flush spreads over her cheeks before she ducks her head. “He did a couple of small jobs, but there wasn’t a lot of market for a pilot where he lived. Not until cocaine took off in Miami in the 70s. He was one of the men who flew contraband between Colombia, Cuba, Miami, and return. He made very good money. Something Papa was envious of when my grandfather died and left it all to his siblings.”

“Is that why Carlos wants you around? Are your family involved in the trade?” It makes sense then why Carlos is so keen to trap her—why he married her. It can’t have been just because of her expired visa.

“I don’t know.” She lifts up and straightens my arm under her head to then lie nestled into the side of my chest. “Grandpapa’s plane crashed in 81. It was a set-up from the then largest kingpin to take down the last supporter of the previous cartel boss. None of these new kingpins operate by the same standards; they’re all out to kill each other for the top spot more than they’re in it to maximize the business.”

“What has that got to do with you?”

“I don’t know, but that’s the only connection I can draw.” Her eyes lose the spark that had grown as she talked of her family.

“You think that’s why he got involved with you, for your family?”

“Do you?” Elena glances up as I shrug.

Who would know? It’s obvious the guy is ruthless and fucked when it comes to how he treats people. But marry her because of some vague connection to past cartel bosses? It doesn’t make sense.

“What other reason could there be?”

I shake my head, pulling her tight against my side. “Now I see where Sawyer gets it from.”

“Is Sawyer his son?”

“Yeah.” I rub my free hand over the top of hers and then tug her on top. “He’s a prospect at our southern chapter. Crazy son-of-a-bitch.”

“Carlos’s son is with your club?” Her head pulls back, the most adorable look of confusion on her face.

“To piss his old man off, yeah. Thought he’d join to be a biker, not a drug dealer like his old man.” I wrap my arms around her waist, resting a hand lazily on her naked butt.

She sighs and tucks her head under my chin. “He never spoke about him. I only know what I heard in gossip.”

I guess that’s a good thing if they don’t talk about much. They can’t spend a lot of time together if that’s the case. My limbs turn to concrete, and I swallow twice before the words even stand a chance at coming out. “Do you sleep with him? I mean, I know you’re married now, but you said you don’t love the guy, and . . .” Where am I going with this?

Her fingers run a lazy path over my bicep, tracing the picture of a compass inked into my skin. “You know the answer, King. I’m not going to voice it.”

Jesus.
A wash of heat runs the length of my body. “He hurt you?”

She chuckles. “I have a wicked temper sometimes. It gets me in trouble.”

If he hurts her . . . if he—

“Stop thinking about it.” Elena shifts, propping her chin on her hands to look up at me. “We have less than two hours left to spend together. I don’t know about you, but I’d like to spend most of it pretending there’s nobody outside of these four walls who matters.”

“Apart from your mother.”

Her smile fades. “Apart from Mama.”

I tuck her head back under my chin and run my fingers down the lengths of her hair, laying them out over her shoulders. “We’ll figure out what to do. I promise you if nothing else, I’ll ease that burden.”

TWENTY-SIX

Elena

The last three hours have been the best of my life. Cliché? Maybe, but it’s true.

We spent the time we weren’t having sex doing silly stuff like tossing peanuts in each other’s mouths, making out, and then playing twenty questions with each other. King had stepped out to take a few calls, and when I asked him who it was, all he’d said was ‘I told you I’d help.’

Mama.

I don’t want to get my hopes up. These past weeks I’ve grieved the inevitable, that she’s gone. If I start to believe she might be okay, just to have that hope torn out from underneath me when I find out the worst
has
happened, I don’t know if I could cope.

I lean my cheek against the warm leather of King’s back and watch the buildings fly by beside us. Our time was over too soon, and before I knew it King was breaking it to me softly that we’d better get going. I’m not ready to give him up just yet and return to the dark reality of being Carlos’s wife. It’s a title, nothing more. I don’t belong to him.

I never will.

The sun is relentless on our ride back to the mall, and I end up with a fine sheen of sweat over my body by the time we pull up in a nearby side-street to park.

“I don’t have any shopping,” I point out as he pockets his keys.

“What were you supposed to be buying?”

“Clothes, bags, shoes, that kind of stuff,.”

He slips his hand in mine and starts us toward the mall. “Best we hurry up then, hey?” His eyes light up as he smiles down at me walking beside him. “You look like you need to cool off, anyway.”

I eye the man head to toe and realize he’s nowhere near as hot and bothered as I am. “Why aren’t you sweaty? You’re in black, for Heaven’s sake.”

“Wear one of these long enough”—he tugs on his cut—“and you’ll soon acclimatize.”

I laugh, shaking my head. “I bet.”

We head indoors, and I tune in to the lyrics of The Clash’s “Should I Stay, Or Should I Go”
as we cut through a department store. A laugh escapes me at the irony.

Stay. Always stay.

“What’s so funny?”

I stop and point to the ceiling, indicating he should listen.

He does, and the cutest smile spreads over his face. “Funny.”

“True though, isn’t it?”

He listens a little longer as we walk and then nods. “Pretty much.” I look across and catch his brow furrowing before he continues. “Elena, you need to understand how it is for me.”

“I do,” I say, trying to take the stress away. We were happy, leaving each other on good terms without arguing the obvious for a change. I wanted it to stay that way.

“I don’t think you do.” He tugs me to a sunglasses display and picks up a pair of ridiculously over-sized shades. I smile as he positions the arms on my ears. The damn things cover half my face. “Perfect disguise,” he says.

I go to take them off when he holds up a finger. King ducks around me, snatching up a hat from another stand. He plonks the fedora on and grins. “Now nobody will know who you are.”

I take the items off and return them to their displays. “Stop being silly.”

“Beats moping around until you need to head up to the car park.” He reaches out and snags me around the shoulders with his arm.

I relax into his hold, wrapping my arms around his waist. “I better find something to buy though.”

“How long we got?”

I pull away to check the time on my phone. “Ten minutes.”

“Race you.”

I’m left laughing as King dashes through to the shoe display and picks up a pair of strappy sandals.

“You like?”

I shake my head. “Hold this and watch a pro.” I give him my purse and lace my fingers together, cracking my knuckles.

Eleven minutes later, I’m jiggling my leg as the cashier rings up the purchases. “I’m late.”

King’s body envelops mine as he moves behind me, placing his arm over my shoulders and wrapping it across my chest. “Relax. Women always take longer than they say they will to do shit.” He places a kiss to my cheek.

The cashier gives me the total and I hand over my card. She swipes the purchases through and passes the bags over. King places my purse strap over my shoulder first, helping me hook the bags on my hands. I ended up snaring five tanks, two pairs of jeans, a dress, and three pairs of heels. For eleven minutes, I think I must have set some sort of record.

We walk to the exit of the department store where it joins on to the rest of the mall, and King stops.

“I’ll leave you here, baby. Any farther and I might get you in the shit.”

I pout. Yeah, it’s childish, but it sums up how I feel without me having to stomp a foot. “It better not be too long before I see you again.”

He jams his hands in his pockets and looks at the floor between us. “I got your number. I’ll let you know if I’m passin’ through.”

His reluctance confuses me. He was happy to ride down weekly before, why not now? “What’s wrong?”

“Nothin’.” He smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. They remain a deep forest green as he jerks his chin toward the elevator. “Get up there before you’re in trouble, huh?”

“It’s not over with us,” I say, reassuring myself as much as him. “Yes, it’s hard now, but I won’t be stuck there forever.”

He nods, glancing to his right as he frowns. “No, baby. You won’t.” His chest rises and falls with a heavy sigh. “But for now this is how things have gotta be.”