Hellbent (Four Horsemen MC Book 5) (29 page)

Fuck.

And now all he could think about was Pretty Boy naked. All lean muscle, soft freckles barely visible in tan skins and white, gleaming scars. Black hair rumpled and mussed around his flushed face, eyes blown and lips parted …

Shep's cock hardened in his jeans. He bit back a curse.

How long was this song? How much longer could he watch Pretty Boy in just his boxers and his new cut, walking around like fucking sex on a stick in front of all these people? Part of him wanted to yank Pretty Boy off that stage and drag him out back. Make sure they all knew who he belonged to. He was drunk enough to admit a deep, primal urge to fuck Pretty Boy on that stage, right here, right now. What the fuck was wrong with him?

Pretty Boy's gaze connected with his like he was a goddamn mind-reader and they locked there. He continued rhythmically moving against the chair and giving him the deadliest
come fuck me
eyes Shep had ever witnessed.

Like he was picturing the same thing Shep had been. Moving his hips the same way he had in Shep's truck the other night. Flashing faces a man only made while fucking. Faces Shep had become all too familiar with.

"Damn son, you shoulda bought that fucking chair a drink first!" Voo shouted over another chorus of catcalls.

Shep clenched his fist, trying to maintain his composure. He had made the right decision. This right here proved it. Fantasizing about fucking the newest member of Famine? And oh yeah—he was in love with Pretty Boy, too. Hide his feelings under those kinds of ties? He couldn't do it. But he knew that he'd hurt Pretty Boy. What he hadn't expected was his reaction to seeing Voo's tattoo on Pretty Boy's body.

He didn't fucking like it.

To the point where he had almost told everybody the horseshoes tattoo was his. That Shep had marked him first.

He was just sitting here, fucking losing his sheet in a crowded bar and there wasn't a damn thing he could do about it. He just had to grit his teeth and take it. Prayed nobody paid him any attention.

He watched Pretty Boy, helplessly turned on as longing swept through him. He pictured the look on Pretty Boy's face when he claimed to be a top. The way he'd looked at Shep, knowing exactly what he was picturing at that moment. How he'd confessed to being a bottom, voice all soft and promising, want and submission. Shep had felt it all the way to his marrow. He was so hard, he'd pop if he so much as adjusted himself.  He throbbed and ached, his throat dry and his eyes fastened to the man on stage. He chewed his lower lip. How could he possibly want something this badly that he knew he'd never get to keep?

Pretty Boy was fucking gyrating on top of that chair, crooning out the words in that beautiful honeyed rasp. He stared at Shep blatantly, insolence in the curve of his mouth,
come get it
in his eyes. Damn right Shep wished he was that chair.

The song finished. The guys hung their arms over each other's shoulders and took a drunken bow.

Pretty Boy shot him a look over his shoulder as he jumped off the stage and headed through the employee door.  Shep's phone buzzed again.

Out back. Now.

He was out the door before it occurred to him he hadn't given anyone a reason for his sudden departure. He wondered if they'd been looking at him. If they could tell what his problem was.

He rounded the corner of the building, following the scent of tobacco. Pretty Boy leaned on the wall they'd kissed against. He didn't say anything, just watched him with those gleaming green eyes as the distance between them closed.

Shep tried to remind himself about personal space, but knew he was still standing too close. He breathed in his scent as Pretty Boy checked him out, gaze raking down his body and settling on his obvious arousal.

Pretty Boy smirked. "I locked the back door on the way out. If someone wants to interrupt, they’re going to have to come out the front and around the way you did."

His body fucking pulsed. He grasped for words. "What did you think you… were you doing up there?"

"Are you angry?" Pretty Boy's eyes flashed. "You've been in a foul mood all night—on patch night."

Shep gritted his teeth, wishing his hard-on would go away. He couldn't shake the images of Pretty Boy on that stage out of his head. He stepped closer before he could help himself.

Pretty Boy wrapped a hand around the back of Shep's neck, resting his tattooed wrist against his shoulder. He whispered, "I think you're salty because of my new tattoo. I think you're fighting the urge to prove to everyone I still belong to you. And you don't want to think about what that means."

"What do you think it means?" Shep asked, voice rough. He rolled his hips, trying to ease some tension, but found himself brushing against Pretty Boy. Once he did, he couldn't pull back. He just couldn't physically force himself to move away.

Pretty Boy hooked Shep's belt-loops with his thumbs. He tugged Shep's hips flush against his. His lips touched Shep's ear. "You wanted to fuck me on that stage."

Shep nodded, eyes squeezed shut as he leaned against Pretty Boy.

"Wanted to strip me down, push inside me?" Pretty Boy mouthed his way down Shep's neck. "Wanted to see how much I like being bottom for you? Feel how much you can make me shake? Wanted everyone else to see it?"

Shep let out a choked moan and pushed his hips sharply forward, grinding Pretty Boy against the wall. He covered Pretty Boy's mouth with his own if only to get a few seconds respite from the trash coming out of it, pushing him too close to the edge.

Pretty Boy thrust his tongue in Shep's mouth, rough and desperate. As he took the kiss over, Shep couldn't choke off the hungry sounds coming out of his mouth. His head buzzed, the world twirling around him and he pushed Pretty Boy back just to get some air, panting and gasping obscenely into the night.

He could hear the muted sounds of the bar behind them, but the door was locked. They'd hear anyone coming around the alley. They were basically alone here.

The thought did nothing to cool his desire.

"Just so you know, that's what I was picturing," Pretty Boy rasped in his ear. "And I loved every second."

"Thought you were pissed at me." Shep desperately tried to think of a way to justify what was going on, but he just couldn't make himself stop.

"Doesn't change you and me," Pretty Boy hissed fiercely. He swallowed hard. "Doesn't mean I'm not yours."

Shep didn't like the darkness in Pretty Boy's tone, but then he dropped to his knees in front of him and Shep's brain just shut off. He wet his lips. "W-what are you doing?"

Pretty Boy's lips curved mischievously as his fingers tangled with Shep's belt buckle, nimbly undoing the fastenings. "I'll give you three guesses."

The belt gave way and Pretty Boy flicked open the button on Shep's fly, rubbing his hand firmly down the ridge of Shep's erection. Shep couldn't stop his soft groan.

"Look at me," Pretty Boy demanded.

Shep looked down. Pretty Boy knelt in the cracked concrete of the alley, in just his boxer briefs and his leather cut. His hair was damp and tousled about his face. He wore smudges of dirt and scratches everywhere from the burial.

"I want to do this right now. And all you have to do is lean forward and let me." Pretty Boy slid his hand up Shep's torso, underneath his shirt, fingertips skimming his abs. He purposely positioned his Death tattoo in Shep's view. "Say yes."

Shep tried to say no, to force the words out. But he just couldn't.  Every part of him ached and all he wanted was to touch Pretty Boy. "Yes."

"What was that? I don't think I heard you." Pretty Boy grinned, eyes flashing. He caught Shep's zipper in the corner of his teeth and tugged it down slowly.

Shep shoved his fists against the wall, the muscles in his arm shaking. He pressed his forehead to the cement and gritted out, louder, "Yes."

Pretty Boy hooked his fingers underneath the waistband of Shep's boxer briefs and tugged them and his jeans down to the top of his thighs. Shep gasped. Pretty Boy wrapped a hand around his erection and stroked firmly.

"What's the matter, Shep? Didn't want to be bare-assed in an alley?" Pretty Boy smirked.  He leaned forward and swirled his tongue over the head of Shep's cock. Shep could feel Pretty Boy's smile as he tried to hold himself up. "But worth it, if I'm the one sucking you off?"

"Shut up," Shep growled. The muscles in his neck bunched as he tried to show anything close to resembling restraint. And fucking failed, epically.

Pretty Boy braced a hand on Shep's hip and began working him over, slow and rhythmically. The sounds Shep was making into the wall of Perdition were fucking filthy and echoing down the alley. When his cock bumped against the back of Pretty Boy's throat, he
whimpered.

Shep couldn't believe the heat rolling through him. When he looked down and watched his hard dick sliding in and out of Pretty Boy's mouth, his balls tightened and he thought he was done. Pretty Boy's eyes opened, held his gaze for a moment, then slid back shut as he let out a hedonistic moan that vibrated up and down Shep's length.

He cupped Shep's balls in his hands, gently squeezing. Then he slid a finger behind them, stroking the skin in a line to Shep's entrance. Pretty Boy sucked Shep all the way down his throat and pressed his finger firmly against the tight circle of muscle.

"Holy fuck," Shep hissed, his muscles seizing. His hands dropped to Pretty Boy's head, fingers tangling reverently in his hair as he ground himself into Pretty Boy's mouth, uncontrollable groans rolling through his throat.

Pretty Boy milked him, hands and lips riding him through the orgasm as his throat swallowed around him.  Shep shook, leaning against the wall as Pretty Boy's head rested against his hip. He stared until those deep green eyes looked up at him. "You destroy me."

Pretty Boy gave a soft, dry laugh. "You built me."

Shep reached down, grabbing Pretty Boy's shoulder and yanking him to his feet. He shoved him against the wall, pressing their bodies together. His breathing was ragged. "What the fuck just happened?"

"I know you haven't wanted to put words to this thing between us, but let's call a spade, a spade." Pretty Boy's lips brushed Shep's ear. "I just blew you with your pants around your knees behind Ryker's bar. And you loved every second of it."

Shep shuddered as he buttoned up his pants. He leaned his forehead against Pretty Boy’s and wet his lips. "I don't know if this means anything to you, but I’m sorry you couldn't be in Famine."

Pretty Boy snorted, leaning back. "Doesn't change your mind though."

"No."                                  

"Shep," Pretty Boy whispered. "I know I got a dog in this fight, and maybe my advice doesn't mean much to you. God knows I've fucked up things often enough. But, as a friend, I gotta tell you—you need to start figuring out what you want. And just take it, man. Whatever it ends up being, just fucking do it. No apologies. No guilt."

Shep swallowed and stepped back. "What makes you think I don't know what I want?"

"Because if you knew, you'd just get it done. You wouldn't drink yourself to death trying to figure out which way to go." Pretty Boy crossed his arms, shivering a little.

"Which way would you go?" Shep stilled. This was as close as they'd ever gotten to having a real discussion about the 'let's-not-name-it' between them.

"Me? I go both ways." He smirked. "But you knew that."

"Not quite what I meant."

"I can't make that decision for you, Shep. No matter how badly I want to some days." He turned and headed back towards the street. "But I'll be around. When you figure it out. Either way."

Chapter Twenty-Nine

You mess with one of us—you mess with all of us.

~Four Horsemen Charter

* * *

Pretty Boy's heart felt like a cornered animal in his chest, raw and broken pulsing behind his ribs. He raced down the straightaway, willing his bike to soothe the ache inside. He had flipped on his pre-fight playlist, letting angry lyrics and testosterone-soaked voices egg on his adrenaline.

He leaned into the curves, stretching his abs and flexing his sides, feeling out his nearly healed ribs. It loosened up okay, but was still a hell of a weak spot in a fight with Manson. He funneled his frustration with Shep into his energy reserves, determined to use it if he was stuck fucking feeling like this.

He'd spent the night at Crash's last night, without telling Shep where'd he be. And Shep hadn't said one goddamn word about him missing in action. No call, no text, no fucking smoke signals. Nothing.

Pretty Boy had glimpsed him in the crowd at rally events throughout the day, snacking on fair food and chatting with Axel and Ryker, or smoking behind Perdition's makeshift bar by the tire-burner competition.

But he'd fucking bite his tongue off before he broke the silence first. Shep either owed him an apology or an explanation. When he manned up, he could find Pretty Boy. Always did.

Pretty Boy swung into Seventh Circle Motors, parked next to Shep's bike for spite and headed around back. They'd carved out a fighting ring by setting up sawhorses and tying nautical rope between them. The ground was solid dirt, all the gravel swept away.

Considerate.

But most striking, the place was covered in Horseman. Bikes and brothers he didn't recognize from chapters he'd only heard the name of strolled around the place like they'd lived in Hell all their life.

He climbed off his bike, bouncing on his heels as the energy of all the bikers swept across him, punctuated by rowdy shouts and revving engines. Fires contained in barrel trashcans criss-crossed the yard, casting the graveyard of totaled and transformed cars in flickering shadows. Voo worked the Caddy grill, a good distance back from the ring and the smoky aroma of his whiskey-soaked barbecue ribs sizzled in the air.

If Pretty Boy wasn't about to throw down with the Raptor Prez, he'd be helping himself to the biggest plate he could find. He was contemplating risking one, when Duke melted out of the shadows or some shit and appeared by his side.