Cruz (Dark and Dirty Sinners' MC #5) - Serena Akeroyd Page 0,87

until he didn't.

Until he pulled his fingers free, and I came.

Liquid trickled out of me in a short, pressurized mass, and I groaned as the pleasure was painful when it ricocheted around my being, darting off the joints that ached from being restrained, off the mind that was tired of thinking.

"Open your mouth," he instructed, and I didn't think to disobey as he slipped his fingers between my legs, touching the mess he'd made before he shoved them between my lips.

Like always, he wasn't tender. I didn't need that. He was rough. Hard. And he made me gag before he pulled back.

Before he left me, a wreck on the bed, he pressed a kiss to my dirty mouth and whispered, "Get your breath back."

Who the hell was I to argue?

I lay there in my stupor. It could have been for five minutes or five hours for all I knew, but the scents of roasted chicken, baked veggies and a tangy sauce caught my interest.

He didn't call my name, didn't tell me to get ready for dinner, so I didn't move.

I didn't have the energy to.

I just lay there, a little insensate, a lot blurry, and waited for his next order.

Not that it came.

He moved to the bed once more, and bundled me into his arms. When he carried me out of the bedroom and toward the living room, I saw the TV was playing The Goldbergs, and there was a dish on the coffee table. A large one. No knives or forks though.

A little perturbed, my brow puckered as thoughts intruded, but I should have known he had it handled.

Cruz had everything handled.

Always.

He seated us in the corner of the L-seater sofa, not stopping until my back was pressed against the cushions even as I was on his lap, still bundled in his hold.

The coffee table was, I realized, closer than usual, so he didn't even have to lean forward to grab the bowl.

He placed it on the cushion, then dipped down to grab a piece of chicken. He swirled it in a sauce I hadn't seen him make, then pressed it to my lips.

"Open up, Indy."

I obeyed.

Keeping my forehead to his throat, I kept half my attention on his fingers when he fed me and on the TV, listening to the dialogue but also to his cues:

"Chew, Indy."

"Open your mouth, Indy."

It was freeing. Not to think, not to even feel, just to do.

And when he placed his sticky fingers on my chest, coating me with sauce, I thought nothing of licking his fingers clean, of sitting there, dirty.

He wanted me like this?

That was how he'd get me.

And I was more than okay with that.

Fourteen

Bear

"Hey, kid. What's up?"

"A lot."

Rex had written the playbook on not only a poker face, but a poker voice, but I heard him loud and clear.

He didn't have to say a word, I just knew.

"Need me to come back?"

Silence.

Then:

"I swear, I'd think you were a goddamn mind reader if the idea of that didn't freak me the fuck out."

My smirk made an appearance, not that he saw it, and most of it was wasted on the side of a warehouse where I was watching a couple of DEA agents pull a deal with a Colombian cartel that was trying to make a go of it just off the Florida/Georgia border.

They'd already managed to sweep through Arkansas, peddling coke that had more goddamn rat poison in it than coca leaf, and were trying to merge into the upper eastern seaboard.

I knew NYC was safe thanks to that lunatic Aidan O'Donnelly, but I'd never liked the Colombians on principal. They were nasty cunts. Always willing to come in, slice throats first, ask questions later.

Not that they were my reason for being here.

The DEA agents were.

See, they weren't wearing their little Kevlar vests emblazoned with the alphabet, but that didn't mean they weren't here without being under the radar.

Something stank worse than horse shit, and I knew I needed to get a level on it before things derailed even further.

"I'm no mind reader, kid, I just know my son. What happened?” It hadn’t been that long since I’d seen him in West Orange. I rode up there every now and then to visit my Old Lady's grave, and he always seemed to know and would join me out by the MC’s cemetery. “You don’t normally call.”

"This a secure line?"

I snickered. "Mav gave me the phone, Rex. Yeah, I think it's secure."

"Just checking." He sucked in a breath, which keyed