Page 28 of Wild Ride (Vicious Reapers MC #1)

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

DAKOTA

I watch as Bishop climbs into the driver’s seat and wordlessly shifts the pickup truck into Reverse before backing down the driveway. Then he turns his wheel and shifts it into Drive , and off he goes down the country road, all in silence.

My brain doesn’t register what’s happening. I watch as he drives, his focus on the windshield, and I wonder if I should say something to him.

Does he even know I’m here?

Then, before I can put the words together to ask him what is going on or to let him know that I’m sitting right here in the back seat, the truck veers off the road. It goes down a single dirt lane before veering again, this time into a small thatch of a wooded area.

As he does all of this, he stays silent. Then he shifts. The truck goes into Park , and he kills the engine. I suck in a breath, holding it as I wait for him to say or do something. Slowly, he turns his head, and his eyes find mine.

And in that exact moment, my breath comes out in a whoosh.

“Baby,” he says. That single word. It’s all I need.

My entire body melts into the seat, or it ignites. I’m not sure. But when my eyes find his, they water instantly. Then, before I can even attempt to blink them back, the tears fall. My vision blurs, and I don’t know how to calm myself down. I’m not even sure I can breathe anymore.

But when strong arms wrap around me, I don’t turn away from them. I turn into them. Feeling his arms apply pressure when he squeezes. Lifting my head, I look up into his eyes, trying to blink away the wetness there so I can see him clearly.

I cup his cheek, his short stubble rough against my palm, and close my eyes in a long blink, imagining that roughness sliding along my inner thighs. I want that, want him.

When I feel his lips touch each of my eyelids, then my nose, then my cheeks before they press against my lips, I let out a heavy sigh, my lips parting instinctually. When his tongue slides inside of me, it swirls around my mouth, tasting me.

Moaning, I slide my other hand around his back, gripping the leather of his vest, feeling the stiff embroidery against my hands. Holding on to him, I pull him closer to me. His tongue delves deeper, and my whole body melds with his.

Bishop nibbles my bottom lip then shifts his hands, gripping my waist before he drags me across the seats to straddle him. I expect him to whip the T-shirt off, but he doesn’t. Instead, one of his hands glides up my thigh, hip, waist, and then his fingers curl around my breast.

My breath hitches the moment his thumb slides across my nipple. My aching center isn’t just aching any longer—it’s throbbing. My entire body thrums. I can hear nothing, see nothing. There is just him.

Just Bishop Drake.

He is all that matters.

At least my body feels that way. There is only him. Nobody else means a fucking thing, not even me. I don’t exist, not when he’s near me. Moving my hands, I reach between us, my fingers finding his belt, and I unbuckle it.

He grunts and lifts his hips slightly, and I tug his jeans down as much as I can before I reach inside his underwear and free his length. I know that my fingers are shaky as I wrap them around his length and gently glide them up and down, once, twice, and then I lift my hips and position myself on the head of his cock and sink down—three times.

When I take him completely inside of me, my head falls back, and I let out a heavy sigh. His fingers grip my breast, my back arching as I relax my body and allow myself to feel him stretching me. I am so full. My body begs to move, but I don’t.

I want to feel him with each move I make. I want to feel his body inside of mine. Every inch of him. Every single centimeter. Then he lifts his hand, and that’s when his fingers curl around the front of my throat.

Straightening, I look at him. His lips curve up into a grin as his fingers grip my throat tighter. “Move,” he hisses.

His jaw is clenched, his eyes are on mine, and that is when I move. My hips jerk once, then roll, and I find my rhythm. His fingers flex around my throat. I’m unable to stop. My brain has taken a vacation, and my body is in control. Complete and total control. I can’t even breathe. All I can do is feel.

My eyes connect to his as my body searches.

Climbing higher and higher, I can’t look anywhere else but into his eyes as I ride him. His fingers flex against my throat in pulses as I grind against his pelvis. His lips curve up into a grin, his eyes darken, and I watch as sweat breaks out over his forehead. It’s sexy as hell.

“Come,” he demands. “Come all over me, baby.”

He doesn’t have to tell me twice. I am already there. Right there. And then it happens. My hips buck once, twice, three times before I come. My body feels like it’s floating away. I become lightheaded, and then darkness begins to consume my vision. Before it goes black, he releases my throat, and I collapse against his chest, my mouth against his throat.

He moves his hands to my hips, his fingers digging into my flesh as he uses my body to jack his cock. It only takes once, twice, three times of him moving my body up and down until he pulls me down hard and then groans as I feel him fill my body with his cum.

And I welcome it.

In fact, I think I might actually crave it now.

BULLET

Keeping her body tightly held against mine, I don’t shift her off me. I know that my cock will be softening soon, but I don’t care. I need to feel her heat around me for as long as humanly fucking possible.

She lifts her head once she’s caught her breath, then looks into my eyes. Releasing her hip with one of my hands, I cup her cheek and slide my thumb across her bottom lip as I look into her eyes. I have so much to say, so much to tell her. I just don’t know where to start.

“This life, it’s not pretty,” I begin.

She snorts but otherwise doesn’t say anything to me. So, I take that as my silent cue to continue speaking.

“But you’re strong. You’re a tough bitch.”

“Bishop,” she exhales, beginning to protest.

Shaking my head once, I slide my thumb to her lips, keeping her from speaking. I need to finish this because I need her to know just what the fuck she’s getting into. Not like she has much of a choice. She’s my woman, whether she agrees with me about it or not. She doesn’t have a fucking choice at this point. It’s her life or death. And I’m going to protect her life with my own.

“When you’re my old lady, it’s as good as being my wife in my world—in this world. That being said, you’ll be my wife, too, Dakota.”

“What?” she exhales.

“You’re moving here. You’ll be my wife. And that is fucking that.”

She presses her lips together and rolls them a few times, and I’m not sure what I expect her to say. I assume she’s going to say no, and maybe I sound crazy. I’m sure I do to an outsider. But in this life, I am not crazy.

We move fast, and I need her to be my old lady to protect her from more attacks. Not that I expect anyone to attack again, but they fucking could, and she’s a prime target. Never again will I let her walk around with a target on her back.

“I’ll be your wife?” she asks.

“You will.”

“And if I refuse?” she asks.

My lips twitch into a smirk. “There’s no refusal, baby. I’m inside of you. You’re mine. Your father brought you here. I trusted him with my life, and now I’m trusting you with my future.”

She doesn’t say anything immediately. Instead, she watches me, my cock ready to slip out of her at any given moment. As much as I don’t want it to, it’s inevitable.

“I want to keep you, baby.”

“Do you want to keep me for me or because of who my father is?”

She has my number there, but I don’t even skip a beat before I answer her. “Your father, being who he was, brought you to me. You, being who you are, make me want to keep you.”

“And the rules?” she asks.

“You’re mine, and that means that when it comes to the club, I own you. You are my property, and that means everything you think it does.”

“But at home?” she asks.

“At home, we’re this. You and me. Bishop and Dakota.”

She leans forward and touches her lips to mine, and in all of my forty-two years, I didn’t think that I could feel this way. I can’t describe it. I can’t even begin to explain what it is that I feel, but maybe it’s love.

I know for a fact I’ve never felt that before.

“And when I’m in your clubhouse, I don’t have a voice or an opinion? You are in charge?” I know that it’s supposed to be some kind of dig. It’s supposed to be something bad, but it’s not.

“I’m in charge, but you have a voice and an opinion with me.”

She snorts, leaning closer. “I’m sure,” she exhales as her lips touch mine, then slide along my own before she shifts backward slightly, and her gaze meets my own again.

“You’re staying here in Thunder Rock. This is where you belong.”

“What happened to me…” she begins, but her words trail off as my mouth touches hers in a chaste kiss.

I hope she is going to forget to continue when I lean back slightly, but she doesn’t. “He didn’t touch me. He had lots of things that he said he was going to do to me, but he never touched me,” she says, and the way she speaks them so quickly, I know she is nervous and worried, maybe that I’ll think less of her or something.

“Baby,” I say in a hushed voice. “I wouldn’t care what they did to you. None of that shit matters to me. None of that was under your control.”

She sinks her teeth into her bottom lip, then releases it as she leans forward and touches her lips to mine. “I can tell you that I think I’m falling in love with you,” she murmurs against my mouth.

“Thank fuck,” I exhale.

She leans back slightly, her eyes meeting mine. They’re wide and gorgeous, and I wish I could fuck her again right this second while looking into those fantastic fucking eyes. Next time, I’m laying her down and taking my goddamn time with her.

“It would be really fucking weird to marry me if you didn’t even like me,” I say.

Her lips curve up into a grin, and I watch as she laughs. The movement causes my softened cock to slip from inside of her. I wrap my arms around her, flexing my arms, and let out a chuckle.

“You good, baby?” I ask.

Dakota lets out a sigh and exhales, folding her body so that her chest rests against mine and her cheek presses against my shoulder. “I’m good, Bishop,” she whispers.

Sliding my palm up and down her back, I keep her close to me. “You gonna marry me, have my babies?”

She lifts her head slightly, her eyes searching mine for a moment. “Babies?” she exhales.

“A whole fucking houseful.”

A whole goddamn fucking houseful.

I want them all with her.

I want it all with her.