Lake’s Legacy (Demon Dawgs MC: New Orleans #3)

Chapter Twenty-Three Lake

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE: LAKE

While I tug off my shirt, Olivia’s nimble fingers unfasten my belt. The hunger in her eyes has my dick pressing painfully against the zipper. Relief comes when she pushes my jeans and boxers to the floor. I let her push me to the edge of the bed before I fall back. Taking my cock in hand, I stroke it as I watch her strip for me. First, she loses the top but leaves on the pale pink satin bra that glows against her olive skin. I groan as she exposes her gorgeous body. My eyes feast on her as she loses the matching panties and, finally, that sexy bra.

“Come here and sit on my face,” I order. Grinning at her full-body shiver.

Placing one knee on the bed between my legs, she crawls up my body, pausing long enough to lick the pre-cum off my hardened dick. I shudder at the feel of her mouth on me, but I want to be the one to make her shudder.

Grabbing her by the waist, I place her right where I want her. Burying my face in her sweet-smelling pussy rejuvenates me. All the stress of today evaporates as I lose myself in the taste of my woman. Her moans and whimpers as I lick and nibble on her clit are like a live wire in my system. Soon, she’s grinding on my face, searching for her release. Too soon, her body quakes with the impact of her orgasm.

Snagging a condom, I tear it open. Olivia snatches it out of my hands and then sits on my legs. Placing the condom on the tip, she uses her mouth to sheathe me. “Fuck, baby,” I groan as I struggle to keep from embarrassing myself.

She lifts her head and grins at me, the little imp. Planting her pussy alongside my cock, she wraps her hands around it so she can glide up and down. Holy shit, the woman is trying to kill me. “Baby, I need you to ride me. Need to see those breasts jiggle.”

Putting me out of my misery, she lines her slit over my cock and impales herself. Her long groan of pleasure has my hips jerking in response. Planting her hands on my chest, she fucks herself on my cock. Grabbing her hips, I increase the pace until her titties sway and jump in my face. Mesmerized, I can’t tear my eyes off the beauty before me. Squeezing her ass makes her groan loader as her juices flood over my cock. Sliding my finger down the crack of her ass, I press against her tight bud.

“I’m going to take you there one day,” I warn her before pressing my finger inside. She shudders and cries out as the pleasure washes over her as the orgasm rips through her system. Taking over, I piston into her, my eyes on her beautiful face until I explode inside her.

“Oh, shit,” Olivia mutters as she collapses on top of me. “If you taking my ass is half as erotic as you talking about it, sign me up.”

She mumbles her words into my chest, but I hear them. Chuckling, I roll her to the side so I can get up and dispose of the condom. When I return, she’s in the same spot I left her. Chuckling, I gather her up in my arms and cradle her with one hand while pulling down the sheets. Tucking us both under the covers, she murmurs as she snuggles into me.

Even though I’m exhausted, I lay awake. My mind goes over everything that happened today, and I think about what tomorrow will bring. Becoming chief is a role I’ve avoided, but I’m willingly stepping into it tomorrow. Even telling myself that it’s only temporary doesn’t relieve the tightness in my chest.

I must eventually doze off, but a dream about drowning in paperwork has me gasping for breath.

It doesn’t take a therapist to explain the meaning. Years of watching my father dealing with paperwork and attending endless tribal meetings gave me a clear idea of what my life would hold if I followed his path. His repeated insistence that I learn my role early to become a better leader in the future gave me the impetus to forge my path in a different direction.

Carefully, I slide out from under Olivia. Leaving her to sleep, I quickly shower and change before heading downstairs. I find Zip already up and drinking a cup of coffee. He has several colored pencils and a few sheets of paper in front of him. Something that is not uncommon. As a tattooist, he’s often sketching out ideas. However, when I sit down, I see he’s drawing a map. This, too, isn’t unusual. Zip’s hobby is cartography. His work is detailed and stunning. One of his best pieces, a map of New Orleans, holds pride of place in his office.

I watched him work and realized that his map depicted tribal land. He’s completed the mainland and has moved on to the bayou. As he draws, he refers to his laptop.

“What are you doing?” I ask him.

“Mapping out the bayou.” I roll my eyes before he continues. “I had a thought when I was looking at the BOEM map. Who patrols the area?”

“You mean the bayou? I guess the Coast Guard. Why?”

“No, I mean the tribal lands. Does the tribe have a police presence?”

I shake my head. “No. The Sheriff has jurisdiction. Why?”

“Would you say they have a strong presence?”

I chuckle. “No. We get a few patrol cars occasionally coming through, but for the most part, they let us police ourselves.”

“That’s what I thought. If the chief gains recognition from the US government, they’ll get funding for a tribal police force. It might not be more than a handful of cops, but they’ll provide more coverage than the Sheriff currently covers. Right?”

I slowly nod as I consider the additional ramifications of tribal recognition. “You think someone doesn’t want that to happen?”

“I think it’s a possibility.” He flips the paper around and hands me a red pencil. “Can you draw the boundaries of the land your people own?”

I take the pencil and outline the area from memory. Drawing the property lines on the mainland is easy, but I have difficulty remembering how many islands belong to the tribe. I slide it back to Zip when I think I’ve done a decent job. “I think that’s right. It’s been a while since I lived here, but property doesn’t change hands often. What are you thinking?”

“Your people own a direct path between the mainland and the Gulf of Mexico. It’s a smuggler’s dream. Look at all the locations where they could hide merchandise.” Using his finger, he indicates a path through the bayou that passes by various tribal landholds. Once they reach the mainland, they have direct access to the highways and backroads to move it.”

I studied the areas he pointed out and realized that Pieter’s land is the perfect location for moving cargo into or out of tribal territory. Joseph’s land is on the water and connected to Pieter’s land via a tiny sliver of swampland. Is that why the skinheads focused their attention on these two families?

“Remember, I told you about the Oxbridge’s and the Billiot’s?”

“The families harassed by the men we have at The Farm?”

“Yes. These are their landholds.” I point to the two locations.

Zip nods. “If I was setting up a smuggling operation, these are the two places I’d need. Look at them. They’re perfect. I’m guessing they have at least a house on each plot?” I nod. “Perfect for storing goods. Cut a path through the swamp, and they’d have easy access between the two properties. The area’s remote. How much do you want to bet the Sheriff doesn’t spend much time patrolling this far out?”

“Wouldn’t make that bet. Shit. Do you think that’s what the skinheads are doing? They want the land to use for smuggling?”

“I’d say it’s a good possibility. Especially if we consider what Dr. Sinclair overheard, say their leader sent them here to establish a smuggling route but somehow got involved with whoever wanted to exploit the land for oil. How perfect would that be? The oil company would come in and set up rigs, leaving the skinheads free reign for their smuggling efforts.”

“Both plans would fall apart if Coyote managed to convince the government to recognize our tribe. But there is no way these guys attacked Coyote. You guys shipped them off to The Farm before the attack.”

“What’s The Farm, and who did you ship there?” Toff asks, coming into the kitchen and going toward the coffee maker.

Zip and I both grimace before turning to face Toff. Neither of us says anything, which has Toff turning to study us. “Well?”

“It’s club business,” I tell him.

Toff studies me before returning to the coffeemaker and pouring himself a mug. He turns back. “I’m your brother. You can trust me.”

“Yes, you are, and yes, I can, but it’s safer for you and us if you don’t know. Just drop it. Okay?”