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Brittany

T usk’s always been kind and patient, but I know that if I’m ever going to be truly accepted by the old ladies, I’ve got to get my behavior under control. I don’t want the man I love to be a laughingstock among the brothers because he’s with the club girl who always made trouble. I’m trying, I really am, but Silver knows how to push my buttons.

I’d consider talking to the old ladies about how they handle stuff, but because I’m not a proper old lady, they see me as an outsider—apart from Clara, who’s Tusk’s ex-sister-in-law, she’s been nice to me. I even bought a self-help book to help me with that issue. I talk about some of it as we eat, and Tusk is very supportive.

We’ve been daydreaming about this night ever since we got together, so I know what the plan is. We’re going to stay for a few hours and enjoy the party, shoot some pool, and go easy on the drinking. Then, the plan is to ride up the East Coast on his newly tricked-out bike and get a fancy hotel for the night. I even bought him a gift to celebrate being patched in.

Once we finish eating, I shove our plates to the side, pull his gift out of my purse, and slide it across the table.

“What’s all this, sweetheart?” he asks.

“I got you a little something to mark the occasion. Let’s call it a patching-in present.”

He reaches for the neatly wrapped black and gold gift. “You didn’t have to do that. I know you don’t have much cash lying around now that you’re working a day job.”

“Shush and open your gift. I spent a long time trying to figure out what to get you. I hope you like it.”

He slides the gold ribbon off and carefully peels back the black wrapping paper. When he sees the box, his face lights up. He pulls the top off and takes out an eight-inch hunting knife with a buffalo horn handle. The blade is inscribed with the word Patched and today’s date.

“How in the hell did you get this engraved so fast? I only got the text to come to church a few days ago.”

“I know the brothers think it’s a bad omen to talk about getting patched in between the time they invite you to church and the start of the meeting, in case you don’t make the cut. But Zen’s old lady dropped me a clue that he was going to nominate you. I bought the knife a couple of months ago and got it engraved at a local jewelry store.”

He tugs it from its housing in the box and tests the feel of it in his hand. “This is an amazing knife. It has some weight to it.”

“You really like it, babe?”

“I fuckin’ love it. Thank you, sweetheart. You’re a good woman, and I don’t deserve you.”

Happiness zings through my chest at his words.

He reaches into his cut and fumbles around in his inside pocket. “Which is why I got you a gift as well.”

My mouth drops open. “Me? A gift? Whatever for?”

Pulling out a rectangular velvet case—the kind that screams jewelry but not a ring—he answers, “It’s a little something to express my thanks for you sticking by my side while I was a lowly prospect. You’ve been amazingly supportive and never made me feel less than for not being a brother. You deserve recognition for your loyalty and caring.”

He slides the red velvet box across the table and says, “The moment I set eyes on it, I thought of you. Hope you like it, babe.”

I lift the lid and find the most beautiful bracelet I’ve ever seen. It’s one of those bracelets with several strands all lined up. One is the most luxurious velvet. Another is gold beads. The next is smooth, round red garnet beads. The top strand is white pearls interspersed with smaller gold beads. There is a diamond-trimmed heart with a gold arrow shooting through it. The inscription is in the style of names carved into a tree. It says: My Girl xoxo.

Tears well up in my eyes. I can tell by the weight of it and the clasp that he splurged on this token of his affection.

I hold it close to my chest and tell him, “Oh, babe, I love it. It’s just my style. You know exactly what I like.”

He’s still running his hand over his new knife but stops long enough to tell me, “Of course I do. You’re my girl. I pay attention to everything that has to do with you.”

The way he says that is so wholesome and sweet.

I point to the knife box. “There’s supposed to be a holster for your knife in the bottom of the box.”

He chuckles, low and warm. “It’s called a sheath, not a holster. Holsters are for guns.”

Unable to keep the smile off my face, I say, “My bad. I’m just a girl. I don’t know anything about weapons.”

“Well, you have excellent taste in knives. This is the kind of knife that lasts a lifetime if you take good care of it.”

I watch him pull out the sheath, affix it to his belt, and slide his new knife into it. It looks real nice on him, if I say so myself.

He jerks his chin at me. “Let me help you put that bracelet on. It’ll be a little pop of color against that black outfit of yours.”

He’s not wrong about that. My black leather miniskirt and sleek satin camisole are the perfect combination of wicked and sweet.

I open the clasp, lay the bracelet on the table, and put my wrist down on top. I watch as Tusk’s big hands carefully bring the two pieces together and close the clasp tight. I lift my wrist and test it to make sure it’s not going to pop open on me.

Once I’m convinced it’s secure, I tell him, “Ready when you are, handsome.”

He really is a looker, this man of mine. He’s got shaggy brown hair that he’s growing out, a scruffy beard, and brown eyes that sparkle with excitement.

We go back into the clubhouse and join in the revelry. I take a big piece of cake, intentionally cutting the piece out of the middle with his name on it. It’s written in the shaky hand of one of the old ladies, but I don’t care.

Tusk and I hold the piece of cake up in front of us, and several people snap pictures and send them to us. I like making special memory moments like this, I want to be able to look back on all my good times when I’m old and gray. I don’t have many good memories from my time before I ended up in Las Salinas, so I want to make up for those years of misery.

We party into the night. At some point, Tusk hefts me up onto a table to dance for him. And dance I do.

I give him a seductive dance, removing my camisole and then my skirt. He loves watching me shimmy around, wearing only my extra sexy black bralette and panties. It’s all in good fun, and I don’t care who looks because they’re not seeing much anyway.

Eventually, Tusk pulls me off the table, throws me over his shoulder, and stalks out the front door with me.

We’re laughing and having so much fun that I don’t realize until we’re outside that he grabbed my purse and clothes. I slip them back on as Tusk exclaims, “I felt like I was getting a second gift with that dance, sweetheart.”

“Maybe I can give you an extra special one when we get to the hotel—one that doesn’t come with underclothes.”

Helping me onto his bike, he tells me, “Hell yes to that idea, sweetheart. Only a fool would say no to an offer like that.”

I love how open to new ideas Tusk is, not to mention how he makes me feel sexy and smart for suggesting something fun for his special night. Being with a man who truly cares about me is a new experience, and it’s everything I always hoped it would be.

But I hope he never finds out about my dark past, he’d lose all respect for me. Sometimes, I think about telling him all my secrets. I think he deserves to know, though each time I try to bring it up, I always chicken out.

Maybe some things are better left in the past where they belong…

Pushing those dark thoughts to the back of my mind, we ride down the interstate with my arms locked tightly around his muscular body. I remember when he first came. I wouldn’t say he didn’t have muscles, but he’s been working out with the brothers and is totally ripped now. I was attracted to him before he bulked up, and that’s never going to change because I like the man inside the body. Still, he gets a lot of attention from women because he’s built like a Greek god. I guess I’ll have to learn to deal with my jealousy a little better, especially now he’s a fully patched-in brother.

Riding on the back of Tusk’s motorcycle is becoming one of my favorite pastimes, especially when we ride down the coast. With an ocean breeze coming in from the left and all the nighttime scenery on the right, it’s just beautiful. Tusk says being on the open road is the closest thing to freedom he’s ever experienced, and I tend to agree with him.

***

The hotel he picked out is luxurious. When we go up to our room, I drop my purse and fall back onto the bed. It’s seriously the most comfortable one I’ve ever laid on. Tusk pulls off his cut and the belt with his new knife on it, then walks over and strips off his clothes right in front of me.

I’m not ashamed to admit that I scramble off the bed and get on my knees for him. His fingers knot in my long blonde hair, and he takes control. This man of mine is a bit of a control freak in bed. It’s more than fine with me because I love it when a strong man takes charge.

“That’s my girl. Show me how much you like my touch.” His low, gravelly voice is a huge turn-on.

I take my time, teasing him and watching his reactions. I love to push him just enough to make him lose control. Eventually, though, he pulls me up without letting himself finish.

“Why did you make me stop?” I ask.

He reaches out to cup my pussy, sliding one finger back to tap my opening. “When I come, I want it to be when I’m deep inside your warm, tight body. My cock’s been dying to get in there all day. It’s his favorite place to be.”

A hot flush of pleasure radiates through me at his words. I’ve had men talk dirty to me before, but the way Tusk goes about it always hits perfectly. I nod. “Alright. My body was made for you. No one else—just you.”

“That’s what I like to hear, sweetheart. Now, I’m gonna sit back and enjoy the private show you promised me earlier today.”

I grab my phone and pick out a golden oldie, Private Dancer by Tina Turner. As soon as the music starts, I move to the beat. I love to dance, and Tusk loves to watch me dance—that’s why he put me on the table at the clubhouse earlier. Taking my time, I really get into it, gyrating my hips and lifting my arms over my head. Slowly, I pull my satin shirt over my head for the second time tonight, exposing my body to him. This time, I reach out, wrap it around his neck, and pull him in for a long, lingering kiss.

This is something I do for Tusk that I’ve never done for any other man.

When I step back and begin working my black leather skirt off, this man of mine is all eyes. I keep to the beat as I push it down my legs and kick it away. Standing there in my bra, panties, and high heels, I feel sexy and powerful. When he reaches for me, I twirl away, laughing. He just smiles at my playful antics.

My hands disappear behind my back as I unclasp my bra. Bringing my hands out to my shoulders, with an end in each hand, I tease it back and forth before tossing it to him. He catches it and, predictably, brings it to his face and inhales deeply. I roll my eyes because that’s so typical. Sometimes, he sniffs me just for fun.

Next come the panties, and I try to make a production of removing the tiny scrap of satin and lace. I don’t get very far because he lunges forward, picks me up, and tosses me onto the bed. The sexy bastard looks me right in the eye as he rips the panties off my body and brings them to his nose.

“Damn, baby. Those were brand new for the occasion.”

He starts with a kiss and works his way down my body, hitting all my pleasure spots. By the time his face is between my legs, I’m already trembling. He licks over my most sensitive spot with the lightest of touches, and my body quivers. I’m right on the edge. One more like that, and I’m gone. Tusk knows my body too well and eases back, teasing instead of giving in. It’s all pleasure, so I run my fingers through his hair and let myself enjoy it.

After he takes me to the peak twice, I pull him up because it’s too much. Wrapping my legs around his waist, I tell him breathlessly, “It’s time for the main event, babe. You must be about to explode.”

His voice is rough. “I’m so hard it hurts, but he’s all yours if you want him.”

I push him back and climb on top of him. He wasn’t joking. He’s huge, swollen, and ready. The veins are bulging, his body tense beneath me. He quickly positions himself, and I bear down, trying my best to take him all at once. He has a nice, thick cock, so I have to rock back and forth a bit to get him all the way in. But finally, he bottoms out.

“Go ahead and say it. I won’t be upset. I know I’m a pussy full. Get used to it, sweetheart.”

I laugh because he’s always catching me off guard. His expression is amused and happy. He often says the last thing I expect.

“Alright, handsome, I’m absolutely going to rock your world. Are you ready?”

He jerks his chin at me with one corner of his mouth turned up in a lopsided grin. “Always. I’m always ready for you, sweetness.”

I put my hands on his chest and start moving. Every second or third stroke, I give my hips a little twist. After about fifteen minutes of this, his control issues get the better of him, and he rolls us over so he’s on top. Having him on top, taking control, is incredible.

He likes it when I run my nails over his chest and stomach. It turns him on, makes him go a little wild. I decide to try something new and run my palms over his nipples.

He gasps. “What the fuck are you doing to me?”

The poor man looks so conflicted that it makes me want to up the ante. So, I pinch his nipples and gently scrape them with my nails. If I thought he was wild before, it’s nothing compared to now. He wraps one arm around my back, grips my opposite shoulder, and practically slams into me. Pleasure sparks up my spine, overwhelming me.

I cry out, and three thrusts later, he follows.

Sex with Tusk is always mind-blowing, but tonight is off-the-charts hot.

As we calm down, he keeps himself inside me. One hand cups my face, and he looks me dead in the eye.

“Do not ever do that nipple shit again,” he says sternly.

Confused, I say, “But you liked it. It drove you insane with lust.”

Pulling out, he curls around me. “Yeah… and now I know why women like it so much. The problem is, I ain’t a woman. And nipple stimulation is for women.”

My poor, uptight man. I stroke his beard and tell him, “It’s for anyone who likes it. I can’t believe you’d turn down something you enjoyed just because you think it’s not for men.”

“It’s not appropriate and kind of emasculating.”

I cuddle closer to him and say soothingly, “We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do. But I think you should know—a lot of men like nipple stimulation.”

“Not brothers,” he responds confidently.

I could tell him a few tales, but I decide to save that conversation for another time. He’s weirded out and probably needs to process.

Instead, we snuggle closer and drift off to sleep. Falling asleep in Tusk’s arms is my happy place.