Lana Cathryn
Grave
My cock is a steel rod threatening to rip right through my fucking jeans as I exit the clubhouse and head to my bike.
It’s alone in the lot since the rest of the club has already ridden out to the bar in the next town over—a rowdy joint in Joker MC territory by no more than an inch of land.
Supposedly, they know something we might want to know as well.
Switch alluded to it having something to do with our missing patch while we were on the phone. That’s the only damn reason why I’m leaving Celia’s side.
Her sated, glowing expression and the way she moaned my name almost had me undone. Ensnared.
After the call ended, I wanted to lie next to her, finally slide my cock inside of her, and finish what we began.
If I’d done that, I would have gotten my patch ripped off and shoved up my fucking ass by Konrad himself.
The prez is a scary son of a bitch. There’s also not a damn thing I wouldn’t do if it meant bringing a Reaper home.
Tomb is counting on us right now, and the longer he’s missing, the less likely the chances of us finding him alive.
As I ride out of town and set out on the highway, my mind flicks back to Celia—to what she asked me the first moment we made eye contact tonight.
Why am I Grave?
The last time I thought back to my days before the Reapers wasn’t a good one.
When I was just Garrett, I was facing a lot of shit no teen should ever have to. I’d grown up in foster care, been given to people who weren’t always kind.
There’s too much there to explain to her. A great deal more now I’m not looking back on the past as a kid.
I can’t bring myself to tell Celia about any of it yet. It’s not the time, and a selfish part of me wants her tied to me before I even think about putting us in jeopardy.
At the bar, I spot familiar bikes and park next to them. Instead of Slayer looking after our rides, a new guy with a patchless cut is.
I nod at him as I pass by. Normally, the prez would have us all sit down for a meeting when it comes to taking on prospects.
From the determination in this one’s eyes, I can only guess he impressed his way in.
I find Konrad and Switch sitting in a booth in the back of the bar. Crush isn’t far, eyeing the man across from the prez with caution.
He’s wearing a cut with a patch I recognize as belonging to The Lost Jokers.
I take the open seat next to the prez, and he signals for the guy to start.
Any other day, it would be just the two of us here, but since we’re not in Reaper territory, it’s the other’s jobs to keep us safe.
There are two other clubs in the state aside from The Fallen Reapers: The Grim Knights, and The Lost Jokers. They flank us when it comes to land.
We all get along fine—a few hiccups here and a few brawls there, but never has anyone crossed the line and stolen a member. Hell, never has any club’s member been murdered.
“The guys who jumped your prospects are a group of lowly thugs, so to speak. We’ve had our run-ins with them before.
“Our prez thinks they’re commissioned at random to stir up trouble in order to give their employers a leg up.”
Konrad leans forward with his fists clenched. “Why the Reapers? We don’t have a damn thing worth murdering for. And it wasn’t just prospects. They got our tail-gunner too.”
“Sorry to hear,” the Joker says. “And are you sure about that? I’m sitting here right now. You know, if asked, even one of the Knights would come talk.
“Respect is hard to gain. Fuck, if it isn’t coveted. And in any other case, some territory is better than none.”
I interject. “So the plan is to pit the Reapers against the Knights, get us to do their dirty work for them?”
The Joker tips his head in agreement.
Fuck. The Knights’ president is a mean son of a bitch. I met Roman one time way back, when he, Konrad, and the Jokers’ prez were touching base.
He nearly killed a teen with his bare hands for sideswiping his ride. I didn’t blame him; the guy was a punk, and if he weren’t so young, I’m sure Roman would have followed through.
For our sake and theirs, I hope all the clubs are aware of the shit storm that’s brewing. Warring with each other is the last damn thing we need.
“They’re not going to get very fucking far,” Konrad growls. “And what of our missing patch? This group often take hostages?”
Honest uncertainty crosses the Joker’s features. “It’s not like them. They usually just hit and run—leaves less blowback.”
It makes sense. If they’re the hired hands, chances are they don’t have backup to call if they fuck up. But something doesn’t add up. Where is Tomb at if they didn’t take him?
“They’re good at what they do,” the Joker goes on. He takes a cautious glance around the room and then leans close.
“My advice: Keep your patches home. Keep your women at a safe distance. Pray this blows over soon.”
Konrad tenses. I know what he’s thinking because the same worries are running through my mind.
If these guys have already killed one of ours, fuck knows what they’ll do if they get their hands on one of our old ladies. That would be the perfect bargaining chip for their boss.
The perfect reason for us to lose our fucking shit.
“Anything else?” The prez queries.
He nods. “One of the Jokers thought they spotted a patch of yours at the Cann. Said he was worse for wear and looked like he was running from someone.”
My mind reels, and Konrad turns to me. “You know anything about that?”
“None of the guys have left town. Not since—”
I stop when it finally clicks.
The prez catches on just as fast. “It was Tomb,” he mutters under his breath.
The feeling that something isn’t right returns. Why would Tomb be at the Cann instead of returning to the clubhouse after the attack? My head spins with reasons.
One being more terrifying than thinking he’s dead.
He betrayed us.
The Joker gives us a pitied look as he stands. “I have to get back now. Before my prez sends more reinforcements.”
His gaze moves to the window where, outside, two Jokers are just pulling in. “I’ll let you know if we hear anything else.”
Konrad nods and rises shortly after the Joker leaves. “Let’s go,” he states loud enough for the other Reapers to hear.
The clubhouse is silent as the ranking patches file into the meeting room and take their seats.
Prez is the first to speak. “We need to ride down to the canyon. Tomb might have been seen at the bar there.”
We all know it well. It’s a nice ride there, equipped with a breathtaking view of the Montana skies. There, it only gets better.
“The Cann doesn’t re-open for another week,” Switch points out. “The place will be deserted.”
“Then we go when it’s open. All of us. Even the old ladies.”
Konrad locks eyes with me, that no-shit-flies-with-me stare on his features.
I don’t like the idea of bringing Celia or Morrigan along a single fucking bit. The Joker warned us to keep our old ladies at a safe distance.
But I know that’ll just leave them more at risk if that distance is halfway across the state. I don’t think I could leave Celia behind like that anyhow.
Nor do I think the prez is capable of leaving Morrigan.
So I nod my head at him in agreement.
The meeting comes to an end shortly after, and we all disperse our separate ways.
Instead of going to my room, I find myself back in Celia’s. I kick off my boots and strip out of my clothes until I’m completely nude. I won’t need either for what I intend to do when she wakes up.
I slide into bed, hug her warm body to me, and fall asleep easily.
It isn’t more than a few hours later that a chiming alarm wakes me back up.
Celia remains dead asleep and tucked against me, head burrowed into the crook of my neck and a bare thigh strewn over my hips.
I reach over her and grab her phone, muting it by just shutting it off altogether. It must have been the alarm for her to get up and work with Morr, but that won’t be happening.
There’s no meeting this morning. And as soon as I wake her up with my tongue thrusting into her cunt, I’m going to fuck her raw for the next day.
Until my cum is leaking from her pussy with every step she takes.
Until there isn’t a damn chance she isn’t carrying my kid and a reason for her to let me stick around.
I locked the bedroom door last night. It was more on instinct than anything, though, right now, I’m glad I did because all distractions are gone.
I pull away the blankets from Celia and find her completely naked still. Fucking perfection.
I kneel between her thighs as I take her in. She’s pale, not a dot of freckles gracing her skin, suggesting a life lived indoors rather than out in the sun.
Her body is curvy in such a way that my hands ache to run over every bump and valley.
She has the most fucking stunning tits I’ve ever laid eyes on. I crawl up her body and lick the space between them.
I cup one in my hand and lightly bounce it as I test its weight and feel its softness.
Celia moans when I capture one of her rosy nipples in my mouth and flick at it with my tongue. I could do this all day.
But I need to have the taste of her pussy on my taste buds.
I nibble down her torso, leaving marks here and there so there’s no question I was here. Her body responds to me even as she sleeps.
She arches into my touch as I get nearer to the treasure between her thighs. And when I finally get there, she’s fucking soaked.
A mangled groan leaves my lips as I take in the sight. Her pussy is swollen with need, shining under the light that peeks through the curtains of the bedroom window.
I ease her thighs wide apart to look my fill… Then I dive in.
As soon as my mouth attacks her prominent clit, she jerks awake, a startled moan leaving her.
I smile against her when she lazily looks down at me between her legs.
I flatten my tongue and tap at her clit with it. Her lips part.
“Grave—”
She curses when I suck the fleshy bud into my mouth good and hard. Until her legs are shaking.
“Grave… Grave,” she moans.
Small hands slide through my hair and grip the untamed mop tight enough to sting.
I meet her intensity by sliding two fingers inside her snug cunt. This causes her to lift her hips and ride my fingers with wild abandon, need driving her movements.
I lap at her with hard strokes of my tongue and thrust deep inside her with my fingers. Her cries echo in the air, filling me with more and more lust. My cock aches.
I grind into the mattress to ease it and groan as I continue to eat her pussy.
When she cums, her juices drench my face, and her legs clamp shut, trapping my head between her smooth thighs.
I pry them apart and move up her body until my hips are against hers, the crown of my cock nudging her wet pussy.
“You ready for me, baby?” I ask her, knowing damn well she is.
A breathy moan is my answer, followed by the tilt of her hips that has my cock sinking inside of her.
Wet, tight warmth just as glorious to be inside of as yesterday destroys my control. I lift Celia’s right leg up until it’s resting against her upper body and sheathe the rest of my shaft in her cunt.
“Oh, yes,” she moans.
Grunting, I pull out and slam forward. Her nails dig into my biceps, leg wrapping around my hip as she hangs on.
I fuck her hard into the bed, drowning in her cries of pleasure, the sound of the headboard slamming into the wall.
Her pussy is slowly strangling my shaft, slowly milking my cock to a release that’s going to burn through me for days.
“Hang onto me, baby,” I direct after a moment.
I lift Celia against my chest, loving the way her breasts are right in my face, and start bouncing her onto my cock.
Fuck, does she feel amazing. My eyes roll back as I lift her and impale her with my length over and over again.
Her head falls back as she moans, and I take advantage and attack her neck with my mouth. I suck at her skin hard—without a doubt leaving my mark.
Every motherfucker will know she’s mine once they see it and me at her side. And if they don’t get the fucking clue, I’ll beat it into their skulls.
“I’m close,” Celia gasps. “So close.”
Her hands tighten on me—one gripping my shoulder, the other tugging on my hair. She rolls her hips into me fast and eager, meeting every one of my brutal thrusts.
Her cunt squeezes my cock tighter, tighter, as I jackhammer into her. Again and again, until the tension at the base of my spine transfers to my balls and I’m ready to blow any fucking minute.
At the last second, I pause. My balls seize up, painfully ready to burst. I grab a pillow and drop Celia onto her back, using the pillow to slide under her.
I grip her hips, which are now in my lap, and start fucking her like a beast mad with lust.
She gasps and throws her head back. Her pussy clamps down on my cock as she cums hard enough to set me off.
My cum bursts out of me like I knew it would: thick and violent. I groan long and deep as ecstasy overwhelms my body and mind.
I fall on top of Celia once my orgasm ebbs, my cock still embedded deep in her quivering pussy as she shudders beneath me.
“You good, baby?” I say in a breath.
“Yeah. Good,” she murmurs into my neck. “Really good.”
“Fuck!” I shout, my hands gripping the headboard as Celia’s pussy tightens around my sensitive shaft. I meet her sorry expression—but it’s too late for that.
I’m already fucking swelling inside her.
She squeals as I abruptly sit up and flip her onto her stomach.
I pull that gorgeous ass of hers in the air and start stroking my cock in hand at the sight of her spread for me—waiting, leaking my cum from her pretty pussy.
I grip her ass and explore her there, allowing the tip of my thumb to dip into her virgin hole. It easily slips in, our combined release lubing its passage.
Celia moans into the pillows and pushes back against me, seeking more. Hell yeah.
As I push in deeper and line my cock up with her dripping pussy, I promise, “I will claim you here, Celia. Not now, but soon.”
I thrust inside of her all at once and begin a steady, harsh pace.
“Grave,” she whimpers.
I push my finger further into her ass until I’m knuckles-deep. I know it’s adding to the fullness of my thick cock inside of her snug cunt. I can feel it, and it only heightens every deep stroke.
I reach down with my other hand and thumb her clit to ease the new dual sensation. She moans into the pillows, body turning liquid as she grinds into the torrent of my hands and cock.
The combination has her thighs shaking before long. I thrust into her at a leisurely pace, dropping my head back and enjoying the feeling of being inside her.
Every withdrawal and re-entry is pure divinity.
Soon, it’s torture, and I’m forced to pick up speed. The speed of my thrusts, the finger I have wedged deep in her ass, and the thumb I have strumming her swollen clit.
I angle my hips downward to strike her G-spot on my next thrust.
She gasps into the pillows and startles me when she cries out, “Garrett! Yes!”
Her pussy milks my cock a second later, distracting me from my reeling thoughts.
All strain is wrenched from my body with each tug and ripple of her walls, including a final burst of unhindered cum.