Victory Rising (10 page)

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Devon was making Victory believe in something she’d never considered. Somewhere between dying and going to heaven and her current reality, Victory lost her mind, not to mention her heart.

Devon was everything she’d hoped for and more. He tossed her legs over his back and glanced up before positioning himself between her thighs. With his thumb pressed against her clit, he rolled the tender point, claiming her intimate lips like he’d just kissed her mouth. Slowly and affectionately, he worked his tongue between her slick folds as if he were French kissing her pussy, licking his way into the heart of a woman.

She gripped the bed sheets with balls of material clenched tightly in her hands, noticing how white her knuckles were, how numb her fingers felt. Her legs were spread as wide as they could part, and she was so lost in the experience, she temporarily forgot about their audience—future and present.

Cara and Tigger frolicked on a nearby sofa. Oral favors had been exchanged before Tigger mounted her. The sounds of sex filled the room as Cara and Tigger came together in the missionary position, Tigger rearing back and driving forward. His cock disappeared inside her, plunging deeper with every stroke.

As any normal, and quite curious, woman might do, Victory watched them, wondering if their presence there served a greater purpose. Were they swingers? Were they even a couple? Did Devon want to swap at some point? Was he anticipating an orgy?

Her mind churned with possibilities as her legs tightened against Devon’s head. She rose and fell with the building excitement, her pussy clenching around Devon’s tongue as he forced his way inside her, licking through her channel and wiggling deeper.

On the brink of an orgasm, Victory threw her weight forward, sitting up all at once. “Come here.”

Devon’s lopsided smile proved she’d played right into his hand. She sounded like a desperate woman, a lady who’d been here before and knew what the upcoming fuck held in store.

Running his large hand over his erection, Devon pumped his cock. With three fingers massaging the underside of his penis, he stroked the top with his thumb, dragging the pad over the slit.

Holding his tongue at the corner of his mouth, he motioned for her. Rising to her knees, she knelt in front of him.

“God, you’re sexy, woman.”

“Backatcha.” She smiled, noticed the red light on the camera and realized how it might later appear to anyone viewing their performance. She probably looked as if she were grinning for the camera, but the truth was, she only had eyes for Devon, for the man she’d long since decided stilled her heart, whet her whistle, and warmed her in all the right places.

She leaned forward, on a search for a heated kiss. He held his head away from her, stretching back and watching her as if he realized what his hot gaze could do.

Her pussy was damp. Her nipples were as hard as pebbles. And if he didn’t fuck her soon, she might have to join Cara and Tigger.

She glanced at her potential targets, now writhing against one another, only a few seconds shy of being completely spent. On second thought, those two weren’t an option. In fact, she had a pretty good feeling, regardless of their provocative and somewhat rocky start, once Devon laid her down, he would own her heart.

Devon should’ve been reprimanded for his goals. He should’ve stopped short of pursuing them. Down deep, he didn’t want to exploit Victory. He didn’t want to trash what they could potentially have in the future, but there he was, acting like the shoe fit. He was the charter president of one of the most notorious motorcycle clubs in the South, and because of his position, he wanted a surefire guarantee, an understanding of sorts. He wanted to make sure everyone knew the truth. Victory came to his clubhouse on her own accord.

He wanted Gaylord to see their joining and understand. Victory would soon become his old lady. This wasn’t a new idea or a last-minute decision. And he’d known because of their limited past, the two of them would come together like a magnetic force, inseparable from the start.

Since the day Damsel Road had been dragged away in handcuffs and Victory had stood up to him, ready to fight for the lives Damsel had already taken or destroyed, Devon had known. He wanted
that
woman. He needed Victory beside him.

In the MC, it was rare when a club member found a girl worthy of the colors he permitted her to wear. The brotherhood needed partners in life. Members ready to settle down often sought out a girlfriend or wife who would stand next to him one minute, ride behind him the next, and be the first to take a sudden leap ahead, prepared to tell the world how much she loved him.

True difficulty existed when one of them tried to find a submissive woman who was as strong as she was subservient, as willful as she was obedient. The MC couldn’t find many women like Victory. The closest he’d seen had been Sassy Road, and she belonged to Logan.

“Let me see you twirl those pretty nipples,” he crooned, nipping at her bottom lip and avoiding an outright kiss.

Victory fingered the diamond-shape buds. Her breath hitched in her lungs as her chest rose and fell. “Like this?”

“Yes. That’s real nice, sugar.”

She cupped his neck and drew him forward. Right before their mouths met, she said, “Let me kiss you, Sir. Please, Devon. May I?”

“Go ahead, sub,” he said, arching a brow when he addressed her.

She never flinched, acting as if she didn’t even realize he’d addressed her as his submissive. Her fingers latched around his locks, and she gently tugged at the strands.

“Hmm,” he whispered, enjoying her mouth on his. She’d lit another spark, found another flame to fan. Good God, he loved a woman who didn’t hesitate to pull his hair, who liked to play rough and took as well as she gave.

“You love that, don’t you, Sir?”

The scattered chill bumps across his arms surely gave him away. What he enjoyed more was her willingness to submit to him, her eagerness to take her newfound position and serve him well. Oh yes, he couldn’t wait to shower her with his affection, dote on her like she deserved.

“You did like that, right, Sir?”

“You know I did,” he said, aware of the eyes watching them.

Apparently, her question had captured their audience’s complete attention, providing an additional reason to give them the floor. They were the focal point.

The activity behind them came to an abrupt halt after agonizing seconds of promises and threats, swearing and cursing. Tigger must’ve had more stamina than a few hundred Olympians, and Cara either experienced numerous multiple orgasms or she was the biggest faker this side of a counterfeit dollar bill.

At the moment, Devon didn’t care if they observed or left. As far as he was concerned, their presence there no longer mattered. They’d served their purpose, initiated a new broad who would never be passed around or enjoyed by others. In fact, this was it. He had no intentions of allowing anyone else inside their bedroom again.

He had already acknowledged an unsettling need rising inside him. He wanted to protect and hold Victory, shield her from the world. And yet here he was, ready to make love, prepared to fuck her and what? Give a few deserving men a glimpse of what they were missing? Show the competition what kind of leader he was, or perhaps just prove to the Angels that Victory apparently thought he was the better man and the Heroes and Rogues stood as the better club? And what purpose would that really serve?

Victory framed his face. She brushed her lips over his then kissed him hard, carefully raking her thumbs over the texture of his mouth before dipping her tongue between his lips. She drew him into a full throttle kiss, twirling her tongue around and around.

Her kiss was like a direct hit of electricity and more potent than any drink of expensive whiskey. One peck, and he was staggering like a man without direction, a fellow who’d lost his senses, almost all of his control.

He bunched her hair in his hands, returning the kiss as if they were on stage auditioning for a part, rehearsing for a debut film certain to gain at least one interested viewer, but he couldn’t help himself. He had the option of dragging her away from the camera but there were motives, ulterior ones overshadowing his better intentions.

This was their first time together. He wanted to celebrate their moment by filming the beginning, regardless of who sat and observed their affair at a later date.

Asking for permission, under normal circumstances, would’ve begun to tire Victory, but considering the numerous rewards she’d received throughout the late afternoon and early evening—heavenly oral sex, a rapid finger-fuck, and the additional perk of watching the pornographic Tigger and Cara side show—she was anything but bored. Devon’s touch heightened her interest, drove her curiosity, and encouraged her spontaneous nature.

When Devon finally towered over her, she was exasperated, but far from sated. “Fuck me, Sir.”

“Where?” he asked, reaching under her and fingering her ass.

Her bottom clenched around his probing fingers, and she gasped, stilled by the intrusion. His cock parted her folds. His penis inched inside her as his fingers tweaked her puckered outer rim.

“There, Sir,” she pleaded, releasing an “ah” when he fully penetrated her pussy and ass. Working fingers thrummed between her cheeks as his cock impaled her.

“Like that?”

“Yes,” she whispered. “Just like that.”

His strokes were broken and tortured as he filled her with his size, stroking her walls with uneven beats. His fingers wiggled higher. He caressed her asshole, sliding his fingers in and out of her rectum as he hammered forward.

“Lift your hips,” he said, leaving her long enough to toss her legs over his shoulders. Raring back like a wild stallion on a mission, he stared at her pussy and smacked his lips. “Will you hold it against me if I eat your pussy instead of fucking you?”

“At this point? Yes, Sir!” she exclaimed, jerking when he entered her again.

“You’re right. We’ve played enough for one day,” he rasped, pounding her pussy with a delivery that was hard to beat. He dropped his head over her chest and nuzzled her breasts, lapping at one nipple then the other.

“There, Devon,” she whimpered, raking her nails down his biceps. “Right there, sweet Sir.”

“That’s my pretty little sub,” he said, rubbing his rough cheek over her breast. He slowed his pace then changed things up, driving into her like he couldn’t stay long enough. He screwed her like there wasn’t rest for the weary then held completely still, working his cock deep within her channel. “Oh my God, Victory. Right there. Yes, sub. Clench around my cock. Ah, fuck me, baby. Wear me out. Use me.” His pace picked up again, and he thrust inside her, setting a tempo, striking like an intimate drum.

Her body gave way to pleasure. Her eyes wandered to the flashing red light on the video camera and she wondered. Was she being used? If so, what did Devon hold in store for her?

After he collapsed against her, she curled up in his arms and decided, without reservations, in spite of what brought them together or what might eventually tear them apart, this was a day to remember, a moment to cherish. Regardless of what the future held, there would never be another man who made her feel so comfortable in his arms.

Chapter Seven

Hours later, Devon left the bed and stood over Tigger and Cara who slept soundly on the sofa. He thought about asking them to leave, fearing they might awaken and ask Victory to join them. While highly unlikely, a man had a right to protect what was his, and Victory was, in every way he found to explain things, his woman. Soon, he’d put things into perspective and publicly claim her as his old lady.

Maybe then he’d tell the world—he’d loved her since he’d first held her in his arms.

Then everyone would know why he’d been so concerned with Damsel Road, why Devon had given up trafficking drugs and women. Why he—much to the majority of the club members’ dismay—had begun to operate legitimate businesses within the local chapter of the Heroes and Rogues.

He’d cleaned up his act for a reason. He’d stayed committed to his cause for a purpose. He’d known this day would come. He just hadn’t known the precise day, the approximate hour.

Meeting Logan in the conference room, Devon handed him a disc secured in a plastic case.

“You look freshly fucked,” Logan said, tucking the flat square inside his leather jacket.

Devon sank to the chair he’d taken many times, the executive seat his father had once occupied. He faced the window, wondering if Logan suspected there had been a change in plans, a different course to follow, new goals formed after an unprecedented reason for changing directions.

“Are you sure about this?” Logan asked.

“Just make sure Gaylord gets it.”

Logan sighed. “It’s not too late to back out, Devon. There’s nothing written in stone that says you have to prove to Gaylord she’s your woman.”

“Unless he sees proof, he’ll keep coming back.”

“And if he sees this, you may provoke a monster you can’t contain.”

“Gaylord doesn’t scare me.”