Fire Inside (Chaos, #2)(16)

But Benito didn’t bother approaching Chaos for a piece of their island.

For over a decade it was known the five square miles around the auto supply store and custom car and bike shop the Chaos MC owned and ran was clean of drugs and whores. The brothers fought for it to be that way and went out every night to keep it that way.

Benito knew better than to ask.

So he was going to take.

Everyone who tried before Benito, and they were very few, left with a Chaos warning.

But the battle to free Chaos, inside and out, of all that shit had been fought so long ago, new players like Valenzuela didn’t know or didn’t remember how brutal it was. He didn’t know how far Chaos would go to keep their patch clean.

Hop remembered how brutal it was. That memory was burned in his brain and inked into his skin, the last just like every Chaos brother.

They didn’t need this shit.

Dog started talking and Hop turned his eyes to him.

They didn’t need Benito’s shit but they were ankle deep in it.

And it was rising.

Hop turned his eyes back to the night, listened to Dog reporting in, and he did this thinking… f*ck.

After patrol, he wanted to go to Lanie’s, take off his clothes, lay his body down in her soft sheets, curl her warmth into his and fall asleep smelling her perfume.

He couldn’t do that, for a variety of reasons.

Instead, he did what he had to do. When Dog finished his call with Tack, they moved to their bikes, threw their legs over and resumed patrol.

And when they were done, Hopper went home and laid his body down in his empty bed.





Chapter Two


We’ve Got Tonight


I was on an upward glide when I heard Hop’s voice, low and growly, order, “Enough, lady, come here.”

I didn’t go there. I kept working his cock, lips, tongue, suction and hand, bobbing and stroking, giving it my all.

His hands, both cupping my head, moved, his fingers sifting into my hair, and he repeated on a half groan, half grunt, “Lanie, enough. Come here.”

I ignored him and kept going. Pushing it. Wanting to give it to him. Wanting to drive him wild.

It worked. I knew this when his hips drove up, his hands in my hair pressing down, filling my mouth with his cock. I moaned against it even as he groaned, “Fuck.”

I pulled out all the stops and gave him more.

“Goddamn it,” he snarled, his hands moving from my hair to under my arms and I lost purchase on his cock because Hop hauled me up his body and rolled both of us so I was on my back, he was on top of me and he kept snarling but this time in my face even as he thrust inside, plunging deep, filling me, making me whole, “Come here.”

I was there, he was there and, incidentally, I was coming.

My eyes closed and my head shot back, pressing into the pillows but only for an instant because his hand drove into my hair, fisting hard.

“Look at me,” he growled, thrusting deep, so deep I knew tomorrow I was going to ache. Ache in a good way. Ache like I’d ached every day for thirteen days. An ache I savored. An ache, when it started to fade, I craved having back.

“Look at me, goddamn it,” he bit out and, even still coming, getting my fix, feeling the drug that was him course through my veins, I opened my eyes and looked at him.

The minute I did, his neck twisted, his hand in my hair yanked my head back, he buried his face in my throat and groaned deep against my skin as he buried himself to the hilt inside me and gave back what I gave him.

My arms were already around him but as he felt it, I wrapped my legs around him too and tightened both, holding him close as I came down. Holding him close as he came down. Waiting for it. The aftermath, the sweet crash I savored after the high.

I blinked at the ceiling when it didn’t come. When I didn’t feel the tickle of his mustache against my skin. The nourishment of his lips moving there. The nectar seeping in of his tongue on me.

I would know why when he lifted his head, looked down at me and I saw, regardless of the fact he just had an orgasm, Hopper Kincaid was pissed.

“Who has to clean up now?” he clipped and I blinked again.

Oh God, he didn’t use a condom.

Damn! He didn’t use a condom!

His hips pressed into mine and he kept talking, his words curt and angry. “I tell you to come here, Lanie, you f*cking,” he dipped his face closer to mine, “come here.”

He’d never been pissed at me and, looking into his face darkened with anger, not hunger, it scared the pants off me—though, obviously, I wasn’t wearing pants.

Still.

“Hop—” I began, but he interrupted me.

“I wanna come in your mouth, Lanie, I’ll come in your mouth. The big clue you got that I don’t is when I tell you to,” he paused and his face got darker and scarier, “come here.”

“I was—” I began again only to get interrupted again.

“Not listening.”

“I know, but the thing is—” I tried again only to fail again.

“The thing is, you gotta listen. You don’t, you drive me there, you get what you want but maybe not where you want it. I come in you, Lanie. You know that. You got two weeks of knowin’ that shit.”

He was not wrong.

Before I could say a word, he did.