Page 69 of Property of Necro (Kings Of Anarchy MC: Illinois #1)

Chapter

Forty-Five

This is it.

Today, I make My Soul mine. Forever.

Today, No One will take a wife, a woman who will carry his name.

Our surname—Larrsen. The name bestowed upon me and my brothers by our foster father, the man who put up with our shit, and kept us alive, Lars.

It’s a Viking tradition to carry the name of your lineage.

Son of Lars. That is what we are. A product of the man who gave us this life, this church…

and, by extension, this woman. It’s only fitting she also carries his name as we do.

Coffin, being the only one of us with a father, hyphenated his last name, whereas I never had one, and Rot can’t even remember what was written on his birth certificate from the woman who bore him but no longer wanted him.

Speaking of Rot…

Racing up the center aisle, between the pews like his ass is on fire, Rot reaches the dais and stops beside my throne, grumbling under his breath. “That fuckin’ woman,” he huffs .

“What?” Coffin chuckles from the other side of me as I smile.

It’s impossible not to, given she said yes.

Sure, it wasn’t automatic, but we didn’t expect it to be.

Sola is her own woman. Living with her for almost a year, or has it been longer?

Who the fuck knows…We’ve gotten to know every inch of her, inside and out.

The good, the great, and the broken bits we’re trying to glue back together.

Shaking his head in frustration, Rot unfastens his jeans and drops them to his ankles. He quickly removes his boots and kicks everything to the side so he’s just as naked as we are, ready to welcome our woman into our world forever. Naked. Bared to her. Our hearts. Our souls. Our cocks.

Cockroach collects Rot’s clothes as we wait for the church doors to open whenever she’s ready. We left Creature outside to guide and protect Sola since none of us can, given we’re the grooms.

Processional music you’d hear in those silly chick movies Rot loves plays through a speaker as the wooden doors open, much like the day when she first arrived.

Stepping onto the tile, Sola’s eyes latch onto mine and never leave as she slowly glides to us like a queen, head held high.

“Fuck me,” Coffin grunts, and I snicker at his appreciation of our woman.

She chose the black dress just as I knew she would. Pride blooms in my chest that I chose correctly. Her. The gown. The day. The ring. My brothers. My life.

The black contrasts perfectly with her milky, freckle-kissed skin and red hair, just like I knew it would.

I stroke myself slowly, swirling my precum around the tip with my thumb as she floats to us like an angel. She never falters. Never slows. Her steps are sure as she watches me pleasure myself to her, waiting, wanting, needing.

When Sola steps up onto the red tile, Rot and Coffin go to her. Kneeling on the floor on each side of our woman, they take her hands and rest them on their heads like we practiced.

Mama stands from a pew as our only other witness today, besides Creature, who sits in the back row. The rest of the brothers will not observe our union as it is for us. Not them. We can celebrate later, as a club, when the time is right.

Dressed in a black button-down and matching slacks, Mama steps beside our woman as her protector and friend. “Do you, Sola, accept these two men—Coffin and Rot—who kneel before you to be your husbands?”

Chewing her bottom lip, Sola nods and visibly shivers. “I… I do.” Her fingers run through their hair as they stare up at her like she is their everything.

And she is.

Our everything.

“Good girl,” Rot praises as Mama hands Coffin his knife.

“Do you, Rot, take Sola to be your wife, your everything, your one and only, ‘til death do you part?” Mama recites.

Inching closer to Coffin, Rot offers his chest to our brother.

“I do,” Rot vows, and Sola’s eyes widen as Coffin smirks like a fuckin’ deviant and carves a deep S in Rot’s pec. Blood rushes down his abs, to his thigh, and over the root of his cock. A hiss passes his lips as he takes it without complaint.

Mama repeats the same to Coffin, and Rot accepts the knife to carve an S into his pec, opposite the bite tattoo.

Blood washes down their fronts and pools on the floor at Sola’s feet as she watches them with those big, bright, green eyes.

“Come down,” Rot urges her, and with their help and a shaky hand, Sola kneels before them in her dress, soaking the lace in their blood. Their sacrifice.

Coffin gently cups the back of Sola’s head and brings her lips to his damaged chest. “You are mine, and I am yours,” he groans as she takes the cue like a pro and traces the wound with the tip of her tongue, tasting his blood, his devotion, his love.

Coffin drops his head back and moans as she laps at him, cleaning him up, before moving to Rot to do the same.

Taking her time, she savors him, humming in pleasure as she laps his thick pec.

Once she’s through, Sola pulls back and licks her lips, her lids heavy with lust, chest heaving for air. Much like my brothers, as they touch her softly, everywhere.

“Go to him,” Coffin urges, nuzzling his nose to her neck as he looks to me.

“Make us one,” Rot whispers, nuzzling the other side and dragging his lips up her cheek, where he kisses her.

The hairs on my arms stand on end as Sola’s orbs lock on mine, and she crawls to me, through the blood, across the tile, and up the steps, leaving a ruddy trail in her wake. At my feet, she sits back and places her hands on my bare thighs, waiting patiently.

I thumb a dribble of blood from her chin and across her lips.

My heart thunders as she stares at my fucked-up face, with pure love and devotion.

The brothers approach, and at my sides, they wield their knives and carve her name into me.

S.O.L.A. from pec to pec. I take it, staring at the woman at my feet as I revel in the sting, the burn, the forever scar I will bear for her and only her.

‘Til death do us part.

Blood washes down my abs and across the root of my cock, down my balls, where it pools on the seat of my throne, her throne, our throne.

When they’re through, air saws in out of my lungs. Sweat drips from my brow, but I remain hard. Needy. Starving.

Adrenaline seeps into my veins—a heady concoction of lust and love.

Mama spouts a bunch of marriage shit that I give zero fucks about as I scoot forward on my throne, and Sola licks me—my cock and balls, up my abs, each ridge she laps and groans as she consumes my sacrifice.

When she reaches my chest that weeps for her, she traces her name slowly.

Air sputters out of my lips, and my eyes roll into the back of my head as I grab the base of my cock to keep from coming.

“Good girl,” Rot praises, stepping behind Sola and slowly unbuttoning her wedding dress as Coffin grips her hair and guides her across my chest, forcing her to lick every last drop. Her heavy pants warm my throbbing flesh as she trembles between my parted legs.

Helping her from the floor, her husbands, my brothers, peel Sola’s dress down her form until she’s bare to me. Inhaling deeply, the scent of her sweet arousal draws a broken groan from my soul as I grab her waist and make her straddle me.

It’s a tight fit, but we make it work as Sola’s cunt settles over my awaiting cock.

Reaching beneath her, she glides the pierced tip to her entrance and sinks, ever so slowly, to the hilt.

When she looks up, those eyes glisten with unshed tears as they tether to mine.

She threads her fingers behind my neck and presses her breasts against my bloodied chest.

“I love you,” I croak, knowing she may not understand the broken fragments of my words.

A single tear trickles down the corner of her nose. “I love you, too.” Her bottom lip wobbles, and she smiles. “You spoke to me.”

I did.

And she understood.

She is everything.

The sun.

The moon.

The Earth.

The reason I breathe.

Mama hands our rings to us before we consummate this union. Sola slides each black tungsten band up our ring fingers, claiming us for life.

Swallowing thickly, Rot looks away and swipes the back of his hand across his face as Coffin stares at his ring in awe.

I don’t bother with mine.

It sits heavy around my finger, but I don’t care.

All I care about is the woman on my lap.

Threading her fingers around my neck once more, her tits smash against my pecs, her lips on mine, Sola owns me. Her pussy squeezes my girth, and it’s everything. Kissing her. Fucking her. Taking her. Owning every inch of her beautiful flesh.

Sliding up behind our woman, Rot drips the lube down her ass and across her stuffed pussy. Pressing his chest against her back, he slots himself next to my cock.

“Fuck,” he grits as he breaches her cunt alongside mine.

“Oh,” Sola moans as I tilt her hips just enough to give him plenty of space to fit in with me. Her walls quiver as they stretch to accommodate our cocks, and she takes it perfectly.

“That’s it.” Rot rubs her shoulders once he bottoms out, giving her a chance to adjust to the intrusion.

Fuck, if it isn’t incredible having him in there with me, feeling her as I do, together.

For hours, we fuck our wife.

Taking turns sharing her pussy, stretching it wide, filling it with cum.

Coffin claims her ass over and over again.

We fuck her on the throne and the dais, with her back on the hardwood, legs hitched over our shoulders.

Then, like the first day she arrived, when we claimed her forever, we drape Sola over the altar and Rot lights the candles.

Only she doesn’t wear a blindfold. She isn’t quiet, doesn’t endure, and isn’t still.

She writhes as we take her, as the skulls of our enemies watch on.