Raiden (Satan’s Angels MC #2)

Chapter 9

Raiden

E lla. It’s such a soft, feminine name. Such a far cry from Widow.

“It’s a lot to explain. The men in my father’s club called me that, but I was kind of okay with it.”

I turn my face, searching for her mouth. She’s already there, meeting me hungrily. She kisses harder than she did before, slamming her body hard against mine, grinding our naked skin together under the towel.

It was an oversight not to strip down before the goddamn shower, but it’s too late now. A challenge? I’m not one of those men that can’t let it slide. I don’t need to prove myself to anyone. But this? Those jeans are going to be on the floor in under a minute as soon as we get to my bedroom.

The house only has two bedrooms and mine is the one next door. I guide Widow— Ella —there. It takes us forever. I smash into the bathroom doorframe. She nearly trips in the hallway. I hit both my elbows on the bedroom doorway again. I can’t stop kissing her. I devour her mouth and she battles me back.

My cock is a lead pipe in my jeans. The sodden fabric presses into my skin through my boxers, biting into the hardness trapped beneath. It’s so uncomfortable, cold and stiff, I can’t wait to take my own pants off as well.

I back her to the bed. It’s noon or just after. Even though it’s bright daylight behind the blinds, she doesn’t try and take in the room’s details like she did earlier. She’s focused solely on me, not the bright pink wallpaper with the rose border at the top. I know she’d laugh at the purple hamper in the corner, the white wicker headboard shaped like a flower, the French Provincial dresser in here with the huge mirror.

Confession time? Yeah, I did buy the house, and it came with everything, as Widow asked me earlier. The previous owner had passed and the family had all moved away. They sold via a realtor without even leaving wherever they lived. I got it cheap. I just needed somewhere to sleep so the retro feel didn’t bother me. I’d planned on doing it up, but I was busy with club shit and then my mom got sick, Lark came back, and… and things blew up from there.

Widow drops down onto the bed, bouncing violently. The mattress is as old as the rest of the place. I also have yet to check that off the furniture shopping box. She laughs playfully and spreads her legs for me. I grasp her thighs and tug her back, parting them wider, making room for me to fit between.

I spread out on my stomach. My cockhead punches into my fly, the zipper biting back like a bitch. It only makes me double my efforts.

The button and zipper on her jeans are no problem. I’m even able to grasp the wet denim and pull. They slide down about an inch and stop.

She throws her hands over her face, smothering her laughter. “Oh my god, I’m sorry. They’re brutal to even get into when they’re dry.”

“Are you sure I can’t wreck them?”

“They were expensive, and I love them. Please don’t.”

Fuck. She said please .

I don’t want to hurt her, so I go easy, wrenching hard, but making sure I don’t catch her skin. It’s a nearly impossible process. I have a vision of stripping her down just as far as I need, but trapping her in them would be an asshole thing to do.

I use a herculean amount of patience, and I’m finally rewarded once I get to her knees and the fuckers finally peel away, inside out, with ease.

“That has to be the hardest workout I’ve done in—” The words die as I look up and see her lace thong plastered to her body. It’s beige, translucent, and clinging to her folds.

I’m so uncomfortable in my jeans, but there’s no way I’m taking them off until I’ve made her come. The second I get my dick free, I’m going to want to be buried inside of her. It doesn’t matter how hard I am or how much pain I’m in, I’m eating her pussy like there’s not going to be a tomorrow.

I hook my arms under her legs, pushing them up and opening her.

The lace is in the way. I manage not to rip them off like an asshole. I sweep her panties aside, bearing her to me. She’s soft and smooth except for a strip of trimmed dark hair. I sink my hands under her ass, lifting her to my mouth. She’s got the firmest, rounded ass I have ever touched. I love that her curves overflow my hands.

Her panties fall back into place, so they have to go. I remove them without damaging them and fling them to the floor.

Instead of grabbing my face or head, nails scoring over my shaved hair because there’s nothing to get a hold of, she puts her hands flat above her head and pushes herself down to me. I lift her ass again. She cants her hips up into my face. I sink my tongue straight into her tight, wet heat.

She’s so sweet. Like summer cherries coated in fresh morning dew. Honestly, they’re my favorite fucking fruit and they’re the first thing that come to mind without a tinge of poetry about it.

My cock is pulsing unmercifully. I didn’t want to be in a rush, but I do want to get her ready to take my cock before I explode in my pants or my zipper shears my cockhead clean off. I can feel the heat of my dick weeping against the cold fabric.

I lick up her slit, rolling my tongue over her clit before I attach my lips there and suck on her greedily. I notch two fingers at her entrance. I push them inside of her stretching her. She whimpers and cries.

“Fuck. God. Yes. Raiden. More.”

She’s tight around my fingers.

I thrust them into her, stretching her slowly as I suck and play with her clit. I scissor them slightly when I fill her up to my knuckles.

“My cock’s bigger than this. It’s going to hurt to take it.”

“Mmmmkay,” she purrs.

I look up to find her looking at me, her lashes start, eyes black with desire. I want her looking at me when she takes my dick. I want her riding me, annihilating me, fucking me senseless with her goddess body. I want to look up into her eyes and see her destroying herself as she drives me deeper and deeper inside of her.

Soon.

But first, she’s going to be screaming, coming on my fingers.

Or not.

She twists away from me, pushing my face back to give me some warning before she slides out from under me. “If you’re not inside of me in ten seconds, I’m going to die,” she says, voice so pained and pleading that I almost believe she’s serious.

I stand up, get my jeans and boxers off in the least graceful, most frantic way, and then take a full minute to appreciate what’s on display for me.

Widow is on her knees, hips raised in the air, her stomach and breasts pressed into the bed. The position only exaggerates her full, round ass. She’s bared to me almost lewdly, her perfect pussy glistening and open for me.

I want to shove my face back into her and eat her until she’s so swollen and exhausted that she can’t hold herself up anymore.

Instead, I grab a condom out of the nightstand. There’s no way I’m going in raw, not if we’re both clean and not if she’s on birth control. There is zero room for a fuck up here. We’re not in love. Our situation is beyond complicated. I am not bringing a child into this.

I stroke my fingers down her wet seam from front to back, smearing her juices all the way up to her asshole. Ass play of any kind has never really done it for me, but seeing her firm ass makes my mouth water and my cock weep precum into the condom. If she told me to fuck there, put my fingers there and fill her, eat her asshole while she’s riding my fingers, any fucking combo, I would. Gladly .

My balls are so heavy they’re painful. My cock is like a blunt weapon I’m so hard.

I grasp her hips and kneel on the bed behind her.

I grit my teeth, determined not to be a beast that ruts into her in a single stroke. My cock is not small. It’s not even a nice-looking dick. It’s just long and thick and it’s going to tear her apart if I’m not careful.

I wouldn’t hurt her for anything. Even if I have to pull out and blow my load in the condom, shame the fuck out of myself, I’d do that before I ever caused her pain.

She turns around and watches me. “Raiden. Dying. Please. Fill me. Now.”

“Are you on the pill?”

“You’re using a condom.”

She reaches between her legs, and I can see her stroking her clit. Playing her fingers through her own juices. Heading to her entrance. I want to bat her hand away and do it for her, but who I am to tell her she can’t touch her own body?

“Not coming inside of you unless you’re on the pill.”

She tenses and I wonder if she’s going to flip me off, grab her shit, somehow work a miracle to get back into hose jeans, and leave. “You trust me enough to give you an honest answer?”

“Of course!”

I don’t know what the choked sound she makes means. “I have an IUD. It’s not the pill, but it’s basically the same thing.”

“I know what it is.”

“Okay.”

“Can I finish inside?”

My dick is practically at her entrance. She slips her hand back, stroking it up my length. My eyes practically cross because it’s such a strange, contorted position and I have the best view of all of it from back here.

“I’d like that. I’d like you to get inside and not leave. I’m about to be desperate enough to make you fill me up right away.” Her hips surge against me and since I’m lined up with her entrance already, my cockhead stretches her and enters her.

“Ella…” I gather up a fist of her long, soft hair, thread my fingers through it, and tug just hard enough that her head cants back. “This okay?”

“Yeah. Harder. Please . I’m not a scared virgin. You can fuck me like you mean it. You’re not going to break me. A little pain is more than okay with me.”

I grasp her waist with my other hand, palming her generous ass a little lower as I sink inside. She holds her breath. I go slow, despite what she said. She’s tight. I can feel her clenching all around my cock. I would love to be in her bare.

She moves before I do, grinding back against me with a flex of her hips. She whimpers, her hands clutching at the pillows. My throat closes up. It’s hard to breathe. Not another panic attack, but I’m near blacking out at how good it feels.

When I start to thrust, she matches me stride for stride. I love that she doesn’t stay still. That for every time I plunge inside of her, she wriggles to take me just a little bit more, pushes back into me, taking every inch of me to my balls.

“Raiden…” The edge to her voice is so desperate, my name drawn out. She bends her head, flattening her cheek to the blankets and pushing her hips up.

It just about pushes me over the edge.

I slam my hand between her legs, working her clit hard while I pump into her. She grinds against my hand, her breaths coming faster, sharper, sawing in and out of her lungs. I won’t stop working her until she comes. I can feel her walls clenching tighter and tighter with every stroke of my dick.

“Oh my god. Please. Yes.” She’s not afraid to cry out, to be loud. It’s just us in here, but it’s not a show. There’s nothing I hate more than when passion isn’t genuine. My balls slap against her ass, so heavy and full that every hit sends pain vibrating up my tailbone.

She screams when she comes, her tight pussy rippling around the length of my cock, her juices soaking my fingers on her clit, running down my thighs. I keep churning in and out of her, giving her the same pace, working her clit to keep the pleasure going. I don’t stop until she leans away from me, her hand brushing mine away because she’s too sensitive to take anything more.

“Come,” she pants. “Please.”

It takes me a few strokes. I’ve been holding back too long. I love the wet, messy slaps of my body meeting hers. Love how tight and swollen she is for my cock. My balls get heavier and heavier. The condom keeps me in the game for a few more strokes, but the second I feel my climax barreling down my dick, I pin her in place with both hands, not letting her go anywhere as I rut into her.

In a few brutal thrusts, I’m coming, filling that fucking condom instead of her with my hot, explosive climax.

“Fuck, you feel so good. So. Fucking. Amazing.”

“Yeah.” She closes her hand over my own, digging her nails into the back of my hand just hard enough to leave a few small marks when she lets go. “Yeah.”

I wait to pull out, slick with her juices and spent, but still half hard.

Normally, this is the point where the women I’ve fucked in the past get their clothes, throw me a smile and a goodnight, and leave. Never at my house. I’ve never brought a woman here before.

This is Widow, though. My wife .

I think about that as I strip the condom off in the bathroom, throwing it in the trash. She’s not going anywhere. I knew this would change everything, but I did it anyway. I still want to do it again. She’s not the kind of woman who’s going to expect that we’re a couple in the traditional sense just because we fucked. She doesn’t love me, and she’s probably seen enough to know how broken I am in that department. I can’t even take care of myself. Can’t get this fuckery in my head under control.

Worse than sex, she’s seen that . Twice.

Emotions roil inside of me as I head back to the bedroom. I realize, when I see her on her side, her head resting on the pillow, that I should have brought her something. A damp cloth? I don’t know the first thing about aftercare.

When I was a teenager, I was focused on the club and being a hang around had certain advantages. I had a few girlfriends come and go in high school, but we both knew it was nothing permanent. Did I ever disrespect a woman? I never meant to, even as a young shithead, but no one stayed the night. Ever. It was never that kind of serious, and then I went to prison. When I got out, I was too fucked up to even think about sharing myself in any meaningful way with another person.

Widow raises her head and sweeps her gaze lazily over me. Her soft smile hitches something inside of me, especially when she pats the bed beside her.

I swear I don’t want to go. I’m not going to cuddle her or hold her, but I find myself stepping forward. Sitting on the edge of the bed. I don’t like that when I sweep my eyes over her, naked and sinfully tempting as any siren, my chest clenches with a different kind of panic and another sweep of emotion hits my gut.

Her soft green eyes dance, emeralds in the early afternoon light. “I just wanted to tell you that right now, in this moment, I feel safe. And that I’m sorry, because this was about you, not me. I just- hope that I can help you in some way in the future.”

Her quiet admission and the sparkling worry when she looks at me hits me harder than anything. It’s not her job to fix me. I need to get my shit together. I know that she’s the kind of woman to stand beside me and support me, whatever I need. She doesn’t take bullshit, but I could imagine she’d soften for me if I softened for her. Even if we were only ever soft for each other, with an equal mix of sass thrown in, what a glorious thing that could be.

If we let it.

The sharp ringtone of my phone in the kitchen cuts me off before I can think anything further. I vaguely remember plugging it in because it was dead. Neither of us move. It stops, but a few seconds later, it starts again.

I curse under my breath and get up to gather clothes from the dresser. I toss a pair of sweats and a t-shirt onto the bed. Widow’s clothes are soaked. We’re going to have to leave soon.

I head out of there before I can contemplate what seeing her in my clothes means. I don’t have the capacity for attachments. I don’t have time. I don’t have the will. If I did, it would be anyone but her that I’d turn into a caveman over.

The ringing starts again as I reach the kitchen. It’s a private number, which means it’s probably one of our club burners. Ever since Zale involved my sister in that shit, calling her phone with the coordinates to the cabin where Gray was being kept, I hate picking up anything, even another burner.

I answer it anyway. Three calls in a row has to mean it’s one of my club brothers.

“Raiden.”

A small tingle of relief shivers up my spine. “Prez.”

“I know you’re at your house. Saw the alert when you got back. I need you here, as soon as you can. Widow too. I’m riding out. We can’t wait for you, but if you could hold things down at the clubhouse…” Panic isn’t something Gray gives in to easily, but I don’t like the undercurrent in his voice.

Something is wrong. Badly wrong. Again .

Fear sinks its talons into my chest and rips out flesh like a bird of prey landing on me from above. “What’s happening?”

“The warehouses are on fire.”

“Warehouses?” With an s.

“All of them.”

“In broad fucking daylight?” There’s no moderating my voice. What kind of shit is this?

“Yes. Most of us are going out to deal with it. They’ll be firefighters, cops, EMTs on the scene. Doubtful that it’s a diversion and not a strike, but I need someone at the clubhouse I can trust. We’re going into lockdown, as well as Lark and Penny, all the other old ladies and kids are heading there now. I need you.”

“I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.”

I hang up and slam my way back to the bedroom. The door is half closed. I throw my fist against it, crashing it into the wall so hard the spring stop can’t cushion the blow and the handle sinks into the drywall.

Widow is slipping my t-shirt over her delicious breasts and curvy body. She’s wearing my sweats. The clothing is huge on her. She ignores my furious intrusion and calmly twists the front of the t-shirt into a knot.

“Our warehouses are on fire! Every single one. Fire is Zale’s MO.” I slam a finger at her without stepping foot into the room. “You kept me distracted here, bewitching and seducing me.”

Her eyes were wide with concern and faux surprise, but now they narrow and grow dark. She picks up her jeans and underwear, shaking her head at me. There’s anger in the stiffness of her spine, but a certain sadness too that clings to her like old perfume. “Let’s focus on getting over to the clubhouse instead of hashing this out.”

She’s right, but I’m on fire as well, my rage caustic, bitter acid choking my airway. She’s looking at me with my immediate accusatory, hard expression and it makes me feel like a child. “You aren’t even going to deny it?”

“You said the first stupid thing that came to your mind. You didn’t even stop to think about it. You want to accuse Zale of setting those fires?” She stalks up to me, her chin tilted up high and stubborn, wet clothes in her arms. “Go ahead. But I didn’t know anything about it, and I doubt anyone else here did either. Question us if you have to, but don’t assume that out of a club with well over two hundred members, that the five you’ve been watching and keeping under high scrutiny are the culprits. Accuse me of being a traitor if it makes you feel better, but don’t ever accuse me of using sex to get something I want.” She shoulders past me, knocking me hard as she dodges around my body and stamps angrily down the hall.

I growl something incoherent, snatch up my cut, and ram my feet into my boots without socks. I know she’s right. She’s not even trying to mask the hurt. I have a past, but so does she. I can’t even imagine the harassment she would have received, looking the way she does, in a club like the Berserkers.

It makes me want to find every prick who ever gave her a hard time or thought he could take advantage, and break his hands clean off his body. Gray and I kept Lark safe from that shit while she was growing up. No man dared to even think about looking at her.

“Ella,” I call after her as she throws open the door and storms outside.

“No!” She turns around, feral with frustration. “That was for here. We’re not here anymore, are we?”

I gather up my wallet, keys, and phone from the kitchen. I have to lock up the door and by the time I get to the backyard, I’m sure that Widow will be long gone, but she’s there, leaning with her arms crossed against her bike.

She waited .

She mounts it, kicking it to life as soon as she sees me. “Let’s go,” she says stiffly over the roar of her bike. “There’s a fuck ton of damage control that’s going to need to be done. You don’t have to prove yourself above suspicion, but I do. We’re wasting time here.”

There isn’t anything I can say right now. She doesn’t wait for a response anyway, wheeling her bike around and gunning it down the alley, her inherent sense of direction taking her away from me as far and as fast as she can get. She won’t be away for long. We have the same destination.

The metaphorical blow hits hard all the same.