Bjorn: Teutonic Knights MC (30 page)

“It’s done, brother. It’s over. The Saracens are wiped out and we’ll never have to deal with them again.”

“But the cost.”

Whiteshirt nodded. “We didn’t start this, but we finished it.”

Ironside nodded. Whiteshirt was trying to but a positive spin on what happened, but the fact remained they’d lost twenty-seven brothers to the Saracens in the past eleven weeks.

“Get dressed. Take her home,” Whiteshirt said. “I’ve already sent Hammer and Lolly home with Blaire and Ava. The rest of the women are going to leave in a couple of the vans. We’ll use the third one to clean up here.” Ironside nodded and started to turn away, but Peyton pulled him back.

“Whiteshirt,” she said, as she wiped her fingers across Ironside’s stomach then moved to transfer the powder and blood to the shoulder of his shirt.

He grinned as he caught her wrist. “I don’t think so.” He held her until she relaxed. “I’m sorry I doubted you. No hard feelings?”

She grinned and then quickly wiped her fingers on his shirt. “None at all.”

He looked at the stain on his shirt, his facing hardening, then quickly picked her up and held her to him as she shrieked and squirmed in surprise before he put her down and stepped back with a grin, his once pristine white shirt no longer quite so white.

***

Peyton and Ironside dressed at the pool and he retrieved his weapon from the grass. There could be no evidence left to link them to the massacre that occurred here. Whiteshirt was an expert at cleaning up messes such as these and he would leave him to it.

The women were loading into the vans when they passed through the breezeway from the courtyard into the parking lot. When they were noticed, the women approached clustering around Peyton, murmuring their gratitude and apologies. Word had gotten around she’d offered herself up first during the van ride to the motel, and they had all witnessed her fearlessly standing up to the Saracens.

She was slightly embarrassed by the outpouring of goodwill and tried to minimize what she’d done. She had been just as terrified as the rest of them and her smart mouth was just her way of coping with her fear, but the women didn’t see it that way.

“You need to get away from here,” Ironside said, breaking up the gathering. “You can discuss this later, at the clubhouse.”

Sloane nodded, taking charge. “You heard him. Let’s get out of the way,” she said shooing everyone to the vans.

***

Peyton clung to Ironside’s back the entire ride. She had relaxed in the saddle considerably in the weeks since he’d first ridden her to his house, so it wasn’t the fear of falling that motivated her to snuggle in tight with her hands around his waist.

She sighed as they rode along the ninety. She desperately wanted to lay her head against his shoulder as they rode along, but the helmet prevented her. She looked south, toward Saracen territory, and wondered what would happen now that the Knights’ rivals were out of the picture. She still had a lot to learn about how a motorcycle club worked, but she was looking forward to learning.

Ironside blipped the throttle as he looped the bike in the drive and braked to a halt. Peyton hopped off and opened the garage door as the bike fell silent. As he kicked the bike backwards into the garage, she began to remove her helmet, sitting it on the bike as he stepped off and began to remove his own helmet. She would hang onto the helmet she’d…borrowed…from a Saracen until they returned to the clubhouse and she could get her own. Then she would toss it into the trash. She wouldn’t need it anymore, and the Saracen it had belonged to certainly wouldn’t.

As the garage door rumbled down, he pulled her into a long, slow, kiss. She pulled back and smiled, as she stroked his cheek. “I love you,” she whispered.

“I love you, too,” he replied softly. They stood, holding each other, neither wanting to step back from the embrace, but finally he pulled gently away. “I need a shower.”

“So do I. Wash my back?” she asked.

“With pleasure.”

They entered the house, stripping as they moved to the bedroom, tossing their dirty clothes into the hamper. She rolled the door of the shower open and started the water running as he joined her in the bathroom. He grimaced as he saw the marks on her.

“Are you hurting?” he asked as his finger touched and stroked, cataloguing her cuts and scrapes.

“Some, but not too bad. The worst is my ass.” She turned, displaying her ass to the mirror as she looked over her shoulder at the angry welt. “That’s where Honey pushed me into the dresser. What about you?” she asked as she adjusted the temperature of the water then stepped into the enclosure, Ironside stepping in behind her.

“Some,” he acknowledged. “My stomach,” he said as he pulled at the skin, looking at the powder burn.

She picked up the soap and gently soaped his stomach and chest. “What happened?”

As she washed him, he explained the struggle for the gun and how Andrew had shot himself. Most of the powder washed away, but there was still an angry red splotch from the heat of the muzzle blast. He stepped under the water and allowed the water to sluice the dirt and gore down the drain.

“You could have been killed!”

“I could have been, but I wasn’t,” he said, taking the soap from her.

He began clean her, his hands gliding over her body. “Honey, the bitch, punched me right in the pussy,” she said as he moved lower, washing her legs.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah. We were still in the pool, so the punch wasn’t as hard as it might have been.”

“I know the feeling. Andrew tried to tear my cock off.”

“I’m glad it still works.”

He smiled as he stood, pressing against the glass so she could get more fully under the shower to rinse. “Me too.”

She rinsed the soap from herself then pulled him in close. The cut above his eye was bleeding again and she pouted as she watched the water wash the blood from his face. So much anger, hatred and pain between the two clubs, going back more than fifty years. “Is it really over?”

“Yes. It cost us a lot of blood, but it’s over.”

She laid her head against his chest. “I’m glad.”

“Me too.”

They stood under the water for a long moment. “What does this mean for us?”

He frowned then tipped her head up. “What do you mean?”

“I said I would stay and help you find the mole, until I killed Andrew. He’s dead. Honey’s dead.” She sniffed as she fought her tears.

“Do you want to leave?”

“No! I want to stay. I want to be with you. But…I don’t know if you—”

“Then stay,” he said softly, cutting her off as he brought his lips to hers.

Relief flooded through her as she gave herself over to the kiss. “I was afraid that—” she began as the kiss dissolved.

“Why?” he asked, cutting her off again. “I told you I loved you.”

“Guys have told me that before,” she said, trying not to cry.

He slapped the water off. “I meant it.”

She whimpered, pulling him into another kiss. They kissed, long and slow, their passions taking them again. He pushed the door open and stepped out, grabbing her towel and wrapping her in it before pulling her into another kiss. He stepped back, pulling the towel from her, and began to gently pat her dry. As he moved lower he lowered himself to his knees to dry her legs and feet. Finished he cupped her ass in his hands and pulled her to him to slowly, softly kiss her stomach.

She sighed, placing her hands on his head to pull his lips to her, her head tipping back as her eyes closed in pleasure. A warmth flowed over and through her, making her feel safe and wanted. He pulled back from the kiss and slowly rose, taking her lips for his own, pulling her in and holding her tight. She moaned, the feel of his hardness between them exciting her.

She squirmed out of his embrace with a gasp before kissing down his chest, her hand grabbing his steel hard cock. He couldn’t believe how quickly and easily she made him hard again, even though he’s come,
hard,
three times only an hour before.

“I want you,” he whispered, pulling her lips from his chest to kiss her again. “I’ll always want you.”

Her lips quirked into a soft, seductive smile. “I want you, too,” she breathed. She
did
want him, wanted to feel his hardness inside of her, wanted to make him come over and over, wanted to please him like no other woman and to hear his cries pleasure.

She took a step back, then another, pulling her hand from his cock in a slow caress as she stepped back again, backing toward the bedroom, calling him with her eyes and smile. She reached the bed and threw the linens onto the floor before lowering herself to the bed and scooting back, opening her arms in invitation.

He moved into the bed with her, following her down, kissing her lips then moving lower. She sighed as his lips and tongue gently caressed her nipple, his fingers slowly circling its mate, teasing them to aching hardness. She moaned softly, writhing slowly as exquisite pleasures rippled through her from his tongue and fingers, her hand on the back of his head to hold his mouth to her.

He moved lower, kissing, licking, sucking the length of her, her gasps and quiet moans as he stroked or gently bit, her writhing as she pressed his lips into her, making his blood run hot and fast. He moved lower still, kissing and caressing her skin with fingers, lips and tongue.

His soft sigh as he settled between her legs, his breath warm and soft on her pussy, made her long for his touch.

“No,” she breathed, pushing him gently away. She smiled as he looked up then kissed her thigh. “I want to taste you,” she breathed as she gently pushed at him again. He moved back to her womanhood, burying his face, making her gasp as his tongue flicked and pressed, but then he stopped with a smile and turned in the bed, lifting her over his head then pulled her down to taste her again.

She swallowed him, her tongue slowly caressing his cock as pleasure roared through him. It was the motel room all over again, the pleasure so keen it bordered on pain, but he was empty, unable to come again to relieve the erotic torture.

“Ah, fuck! I can’t take it!” he groaned after several long moments, but she smiled around his cock as she continued to torment him. She could feel his need, his pants and groans as he licked and teased her, the tension in his body, it all spoke to her, pushing her higher, his need feeding her own. She could feel her orgasm coming, bearing down on her like a terrible weight, and she
wanted
it, wanted to feel its cleansing rush.

She began to moan softly, her sucking becoming more frantic as her hips began to slowly pump against his face. Her rising excitement only served to sharpen the edge of his desire, making him ache for his release, his cock throbbing as she pulled it free of her mouth. He groaned in erotic pain as he focused on his task.

She pulled him from her mouth, afraid she was going to hurt him. She squeezed her eyes shut, mewling as her face twisted in sweet agony. She gasped, then whimpered again, her body alive, almost cracking with energy as his tongue and lips twisted her tighter. Her orgasm burst over her, surprisingly gentle considering the beautiful anguish of its approach, and she gasped then panted slowly, moaning softly in relief.

“Fuck,” she sighed. It may not have been as hard an orgasm as some, but it still left her feeling drained and weak.

He rolled her off of him, pleased with himself as she flopped as if boneless. She moaned as he moved between her leg, pulling him down to kiss him slowly, luxuriously, his kiss reviving her.

“Now you,” she whispered, pulling him into her with his heels.

He entered her, thrusting into her slowly, taking her lips as pleasure radiated though him. He settled onto her, wanted to feel as much of her against him as possible as he rocked his hips.

“Fuck!” he snarled, tangling his hands in her hair, tucking his arms in tight to her sides, the pleasure of their love making flaying him.

“Harder,” she begged, wanting him to come.

He began to drive into her faster, his whole body tightening in effort. “I can’t!” he gasped, but he thrust into her harder still. “Fuck! I can’t!”

She gripped him tight, holding him to her. “You can! I want you to come!”

He whimpered, then threw his head back, his face twisted in anguish, his eyes crushed closed, his lips bared in a silent snarl.

“That’s it, keep fucking me,” she purred, holding him to her.

“I can’t come again!” he cried, wanting to scream in pleasure, in pain, his need devouring him.

“Keep fucking me,” she breathed.

“Fuck!” he snarled, driving into her harder still, burying his face in her neck, unable to stop and yet unable to go on.

She could feel the tickle of another orgasm, his cries of pleasure stoking her desires. If she came, she would come, but she was focused on pleasing him, drawing her pleasure from his. She could sense the need in him, the burning desire to rapture, and she wanted him to have it. He’d come three times in less than fifteen minutes in the motel, and now she wanted to make him come again, then again if he could, wanting to drain him so he was totally spent.