Dominic: Cerberus MC Book 4 Page 7

  He sneers, gripping my arms tighter, the evil in his eyes almost a tangible thing. “This was your daddy’s idea.”

  I shake my head, rejecting the thought. He wouldn’t, would he?

  “Open up for me little girl,” he gurgles, the smell of hot beer on his breath enough to make me sick, even if his fingers weren’t trying to pry my thighs apart. “I’ll be gentle if you cooperate.”

  I wail, unwilling to give into him, my body just won’t allow it. I shriek, beg, plead with whoever may be around and can hear him hurting me. I know no one will rescue me. They didn’t the first two times he came into my room and touched me. I shouldn’t expect a miracle the third time.

  “Mak. Makayla!”

  Arms wrap around me, but the voice in my head turns from the taunting and torment of Grinder to the soothing and reassuring baritone of a familiar voice I can’t quite identify.

  “You’re safe,” he whispers. “He’ll never hurt you again.”

  I calm as he consoles me in the safety of his arms.

  “Dom,” I whisper as my eyelids flutter and sleep threatens to take over again.

  “I’m here, baby. Go back to sleep.” The warmth in his tone comforts me more than I have the energy to analyze right now.

  “Don’t leave me,” I whisper. “Don’t let him hurt me.”

  “Never again,” he vows.

  “I never wanted it,” I mumble as sleep clings to the edges of my mind.

  “I know, I know,” he chants softly until my mind eases completely and restful slumber pulls me under.

  ***

  If someone would’ve asked me if I’d enjoy waking up in the arms of a half-naked man, I would’ve denied it. Never having experienced the act myself, I would’ve been sure that just their body heat alone would be too much to bare. I would’ve been lying. What seemed like a bad idea before the actual participation is complete heaven. I snuggle into Dom’s side, trying to get a few seconds of pleasure before he wakes and shoves me away.

  His scent, the soft sound of his breath, the long cock against my thigh, all overwhelm my senses.

  I press myself harder against him, the tingling between my legs almost too much to ignore. With eyes closed and not allowing my brain to overanalyze the situation my hand travels over the bumps and ridges of his perfectly defined abdomen. Humming deep in my throat, the hair on his stomach tickles the tips of my fingers. I’ve never invited a man into my bed, and even though I didn’t encourage Dom last night, my nightmare pulled him to me. I’m not mad that he stayed. In fact, I’m happy he’s here.

  Temptation prevails, and I reach lower tracing the outline of an undeniably thick cock. The tingles turn into a clenching need, but the fear of rejection, like the other day in his kitchen makes me unsure. My body demands attention, to the point my hips move against his leg, a desperate attempt at friction as my fingers grip him over the fabric of his boxers.

  His husky groan and the tightening of his arm around my back are the only incentives I need to tug the band of his boxers away. Eyes finally open, they find my grip on his body.

  “Jesus,” I huff, the sight of wetness on his tip is my destruction.

  Stroking from base to tip, I relish the small circle of his hips.

  “You shouldn’t be doing that.” The warning is a contradiction to the gravel and urgency in his voice. “Scorpion wouldn’t like me fucking his sister.”

  I smile against his chest, keeping my eyes low on his cock. Looking in his eyes right now seems too intimate, and intimacy is the last thing I’m looking for. Right now is about feeding the necessity my body feels when he’s around.

  His legs fall open a few inches when I cup his heavy sac, but my eyes are drawn to the bead of precome on the crown of his dick.

  I begin to move down his body, pushing the limits until he tells me to stop. The words never come, and my mouth is around him seconds later. A full body tremble wracks his body when I pull him deep and swallow around him. I smile at his reaction and almost gag when his hips jolt up, forcing him deeper.

  “Look at me,” he pleads.

  I ignore him, knowing the eye contact isn’t something I can handle. Maintaining my attention down south is much easier than facing him, much easier than seeing what I do to him. I’ll long for him when he’s gone, and wanting something that’s impossible to have is the greatest torture. It’s how I feel about my freedom from the club. The desire is toxic, especially when you know you can never have it.

  “Now, Mak.” The command in his voice pulls my eyes open and up until the hazy gray of first-morning sight looks down at me. I exhibit no control over my choices when he uses that tone with me, a natural reaction to his demands. “Fuck, that’s good.”

  A strong hand grips my messy hair and the other is gentle against my cheek. The sensations war against one another, rough with the bite of pain on my scalp, but beautiful and accepting against my face. My mouth waters as the need to please him sinks inside my blood. His lips part, and it’s almost as if I can feel the warmth of his breath all over my body even though he’s several feet away.

  “Enough,” he grunts, tugging my hair until he slips free of my mouth. I sweep my tongue out to get in one final lick, but he’s out from under me and pushing me up on my hands and knees within the same breath.

  I moan when he rips the panties he had delivered right down the middle, and nearly die the most blissful death when his hot mouth finds my center. He alternates between long leisure filled licks with soft sucking on my throbbing clit. My fingers ache from gripping the soft sheet in my hand, but he doesn’t relent. I quake, tremble, and come violently as he mumbles praise against my flesh.

  “Fuck, hold on,” he grumbles, almost incoherent to my hazy mind.

  The bed shifts. Certain he’s thought better of what we’ve done and is leaving, I can’t stop the sting of tears behind my eyes. It isn’t until the bedside drawer opens and closes and then the sound of a box being opened and foil being torn hits my ears do I realize he’s not leaving but preparing to take me all the way.

  Warmth, once again, against my thighs sparks a lust in me I’d only thought had waned after my release. Uncontrollable need has my hips pushing back as his fingers graze my entrance.

  “Ready?” He asks but slams into me before I can confirm my assent.

  I whimper, my hips darting forward to ease the ache he’s created with his intrusion.

  “Don’t,” he says with a quick slap on my ass. Both of his hands grip my hips to prevent me from pulling off of him again.

  My mind is arguing that being hit during sex isn’t right, physical pain doesn’t go hand in hand with sex which is supposed to be sweet and loving. My body, however, grows slicker, greedier for him to do it again.

  The sting at the nape of my neck when he wraps my hair in his fist and pulls is another sensation I can’t analyze right now because his hips are relentless.

  “Fuck,” he hisses. “I’ve wanted my hands tangled in your hair since the second you showed up on my porch.”

  My hips slam back, colliding with the front of his thighs. He grunts each time he shoves into me, and I weep each time he pulls away. A mist of sweat covers my body, muscles coiling, preparing until they grasp at him, pulsing with my release.

  He withdraws and what I think is going to be repositioning turns into hot bursts of come on my ass and back as he groans and increases the pressure of his weight against the back of my thighs.

  I crumple in the sheets, now cool from the circulating air. I can’t imagine anything that could wipe the smile from my face.

  It falters when I hear the bedroom door open and close, and falls away entirely when I hear his door open, and the lock clicks into place. I swallow back the tears, refusing to allow him to cause me pain, but when it dawns on me that not once did our lips meet, not once did he whisper sweetness, not once did we do anything short of fuck, I can no longer hold them back.

  Silent tears leak from my eyes, mingling with the water from the sh
ower when I finally get over the shock of being deserted. I wonder as I wash him from my body if he would’ve acted the same if he knew he was the first man I’d willingly given myself to, the first man I’d desired enough to wrap my mouth around. He may have been my first in those respects, but the outcome is the same. I’m always left crying and filled with a self-loathing no amount of hot water and time can wash away.

  Chapter 12

  Dominic

  Regret is soul deep by the time I make it back to my bedroom. I can’t regret the sex, and I won’t even pretend I do. Something that amazing doesn’t allow for it.

  Smacking her ass, forcing her to look me in the eye while she sucked my cock like a common whore, and leaving before even offering her a washrag to clean herself up after I degraded her is causing the regret to swim in my gut.

  She’s no comparison to the countless women I’ve been with, each one before her nameless and forgettable. Kicking off the boxers I couldn’t be bothered to strip off of my body when I fucked her as I walk across the room, I know I’m going to hate washing her scent off of me. It’s why I walk faster and turn the shower scalding hot.

  Only here a couple of days and she’s in my head, somehow managing to climb into almost every thought that consumes me.

  Dangerous.

  Not in a physical sense, even taking the issues with her club into consideration.

  Deadly.

  For the way she makes me feel, compromising the life I’ve chosen to live since walking out on my wife and her fuck buddy.

  Holding my breath, I let the water cascade over my face until my lungs are begging for air. The sensation of drowning is better than the desire I have to go to her and apologize for treating her the way I did. I don’t make amends. Women know what they get when I give them even a fraction of my body. My head chooses this moment to remind me that conversations along those lines were never discussed with her.

  I scrub myself clean, my cock inflating when I imagine her in the other room doing the same. The thought making me scour my body with harsh swipes of the wash rag. I will her from my mind, push her right out of conscious thought, a skill perfected after losing so many brothers in twenty years of constant war in the Marines.

  It isn’t until the water runs cold, sending chills over my body that I climb out. Even with the softness of the towels stocked in my bathroom, drying off brings a stinging sensation to my overheated flesh. I relish the feeling. Bad decisions or not, what’s done is done, and there’s no going back.

  Pushing her from my mind, even after her scent is long gone from my body, is an impossible feat. I can still feel the tug of her gorgeous hair in my fist, see the satisfaction in her eyes when she sucked my cock.

  “Damn it,” I grumble as I get dressed, the echo of her orgasm still alive and well around my cock.

  Sitting on the edge of my bed, I hang my head into my hands. I’m not a stranger to fucking things up, making the wrong call in the heat of a moment that results in tragedy. As many times as a decision has gone bad in my life, I can’t help but feel like this one is going to have drastic consequences.

  Staying in my room, hiding out like a chick with morning after regrets is an impossibility, and I refuse to even hint at the chance that she’s gotten to me. I vow as I get dressed and leave my room that I’ll apologize to her.

  I need her to know my intention when I came into her room last night while she was in the throes of a violent nightmare was not to fuck her. I almost pulled away from her numerous times last night as I lie awake for hours plotting the death of several Renegades. Each time I attempted, she clung to me tighter, whispering, begging me not to leave her, not to let them hurt her anymore.

  Getting up and walking out was the only thing on my mind when I woke with her hand on my stomach, those thoughts nothing but smoke in the air when her hand wandered down to my cock. I shut my brain off then, refusing to listen to the small voice in my head that knew nothing good would come from it.

  I resist the urge to punch the wall as I leave my bedroom. I’m not one to have buyer’s remorse, but fuck if this isn’t a jacked up situation.

  My steps falter as I make my way into the kitchen, not feeling human without coffee, no matter the eye-opening orgasm I’d had not thirty minutes earlier. Fully dressed and standing at the stove, Makayla doesn’t look over at me when I pour coffee in the empty mug sitting on the counter.

  “Thanks for making coffee,” I say with genuine pleasure.

  “No problem,” she answers in a chirpy voice.

  My eyes narrow as she smiles and turns her attention back to the eggs in the skillet.

  “You’re out of bacon, but I found some thick sliced ham in the fridge.” She points her spatula at it on the counter. “I’ll fry that up for you after the eggs are done.”

  “Mak,” I shake my head. “I’ve told you, I don’t expect you to cook for me.”

  I’m more worried now, afraid she’s thinking in some kept housewife capacity, and that thought alone makes me want to throw her out on her ass regardless of the danger she’s in.

  Fuck, I’m an asshole.

  She shrugs as she scoops the eggs out of the pan, placing them on a plate she has to the side. “I’m living here with no way to repay you. Cooking is the least I can do.”

  The least?

  Oh, fuck no.

  “Is that why I woke up with your hand on my cock this morning? Is that part of the least you think you have to do?”

  My brain can’t process how fast she turns from the stove to look at me. Her eyes narrow with indecision, but the smile she’s had plastered across her gorgeous face since I walked in here never wanes. “That was… scratching an itch. Sex. Nothing more, nothing less.”

  Not what I expected from her, but I can’t do anything but take her words at face value. Turning back to the stove she places two pieces of ham in the sizzling skillet.

  In an attempt to keep my eyes off of her even though she’s fully clothed in pajamas, I sit at the dining room table and look out over the lake.

  “How often do you have those nightmares?” She’s pretending that nothing happened last night and this morning, and it may just be another form of torture, akin to her staying here, but I need to know.

  “They usually only last a week or so after… each assault.” She shoots for indifference, but the pain around her is palpable.

  The sound of my ceramic coffee cup cracking under the pressure of my hands is the only outward emotion I show. I don’t mind her knowing how pissed off her abuse makes me, but after this morning I have to be more cognizant of my reactions to prevent her from thinking there’s more going on between us than there is.

  “You said he didn’t rape you this time, but he hurt you pretty bad.”

  She keeps her back to me, and for a while I think she’s ignoring me, refusing to talk more about it. I understand her hesitancy, but my need for information is too strong to let it go.

  “It’s not as bad as it has been before. No broken bones this time at least.” She gives me a quick reassuring smile over her shoulder, but the hurt is there.

  He’s already broken you more than you realize.

  “You confronted him about the underage porn.” She nods. “How much does he know that you know? Scheduling? Will he change his filming schedule now that you’re in the wind?”

  She shakes her head as she pulls ham from the pan, places it on the plate, and walks over to set it in front of me.

  “I’m not eating,” she says when I don’t make to pick up the fork to eat. “You should go ahead.”

  “You need to eat.” I cringe at how fatherly that sounded, not wanting that picture in her head at all.

  “I’ll grab something later. I’m just not hungry right now.”

  I keep my eyes on her until she pours herself a cup of coffee and sits down across from me at the table.

  “He only knows that I’m aware that he’s filming,” she begins when I pick up the fork. “I questioned the age of t
he girls, but he denied they were underage. I’m only twenty-four, and they’re sure as hell much younger than me. He insisted they were seventeen and older.”

  “I’m no expert, but I’m pretty sure you have to be eighteen across the board to be in porn,” I tell her around a bite of food.

  “I thought the same thing, and it was confirmed after I looked it up online. He thinks I just walked in on filming and beat the shit out of me for questioning him.” Her eyes glaze over, and I see she’s looking past me rather than at me when she talks. I hate not having her eyes, but who am I to command her attention. “He’s threatened to kill me before, but I never truly felt it was a possibility until this last time.”

  “What does he tell your brother when you show up with marks all over you? Unexplained broken bones?” I shake my head at the inattention her brother has.

  “When he broke my arm, he staged a car accident. My brother called me an idiot for wrecking a car and said he hoped I’d learned my lesson. I was disgusted, but I don’t see my brother much and when I do Grinder is around. I haven’t bothered to tell him because I honestly don’t think he’d care. I’ve never seen Scorpion outwardly abuse a girl before, but he’s his father’s son, and my dad was one of the vilest, most brutal men I’ve ever met.”

  She pauses, finding her steaming cup of coffee easier to look at while she speaks than chancing catching my eyes.

  “The things Breaker used to do to my mother.” She shakes her head. “My mom was his side piece for the longest time. He’d have a falling out with Calypso and take his rage and anger out on my mom.”

  “But he never hurt Calypso? Why beat the shit out of the girlfriend and never touch the wife.” I hold my hand up when she begins to speak. “I’m not saying he should’ve ever hit your mom. I don’t think that for a second, but abusive men, usually struggle controlling their temper.”

  She huffs a laugh, and I realize I don’t know shit about her club. “Calypso was the president’s daughter. Breaker inherited the club after he died in a motorcycle accident. Grinder is one of the original crew from her dad. My dad wouldn’t lay a hand on Calypso because he was terrified of Grinder, even after her dad died. The ‘daddies’ in the porn are from the original club. Decades of power and control. Breaker had no real control, and neither does my brother.”