Grace
FLEA SPOONED CHOCOLATE sauce onto my breast and ran his tongue along the sugary sweetness, sucking it off my nipple. I giggled gripping his head, trying to keep the stickiness from dripping onto the sheets.
“Fuck me, didn’t think you could taste any sweeter,” he said, sucking my other nipple and releasing it with a loud ‘smack’ sound.
I giggled again. “You are having way too much fun with this.”
“Love eatin’ you, baby, but topping you with chocolate’s a good bonus.”
“Well, big man, that chocolate was supposed to go on our sundaes.”
He kissed his way down my body. “Kinda thinkin’ I should get the ice cream and lick it off your pussy.”
I shivered. “Do you have extra sheets?”
“Several.”
“You can take the time to get it after you make me come.”
“Maybe I’ll turn you into a sundae.”
I grinned. “After you make me come.”
He chuckled, kissing one knee, then the other. “Wanna know my favorite kind of sundae?”
“What?”
He pushed my knees apart. “The split.”
I laughed, but that quickly turned into a gasp when his mouth landed on my core and he ran his tongue over my folds. He sucked my clit, sliding two fingers inside of me and twisting them against my walls and I mewed as I ground down against his fingers.
Flea wrapped a hand around my thigh and kept me anchored to the bed while he fucked me with his fingers and mouth. I grabbed at the bedding, arching my pussy harder against his mouth.
“Flea!” I cried out as my climax washed over me.
Sliding his fingers out of me, he lifted them to this mouth and sucked them clean. “Don’t move.”
“Like I could if I tried,” I grumbled.
He returned quickly, holding up two small pints of ice cream. One vanilla, one mint chocolate chip. “Which one do you want?”
I sat up slightly. “If you’re going to eat it off me, shouldn’t that be your choice?”
He grinned. “Vanilla it is.”
Setting the mint on the nightstand, he popped open the vanilla and dug a spoon into it, stretching out beside me. “You ready?”
I bit my lip and smiled. “Only if I get to lick the mint chocolate chip off of you.”
“No promises.”
“Afraid of shrinkage?”
“What the fuck?” he growled, reaching over and grabbing my waist and squeezing.
I squealed with laughter as he tickled the crap out of me, the carton falling onto its side and dropping a blob of ice cream onto the sheet.
“Goddammit, baby, you are so fuckin’ beautiful,” he rasped, rolling me to my back and linking his fingers with mine, guiding our arms over my head. He kissed me, sliding his cock deep inside of me, the ice cream forgotten, and I wrapped my legs around his hips to pull him closer.
He kept my arms pinned with one hand, while he moved the other between us, his fingers whispering over my clit. I whimpered with need, arching into his hand. “Harder,” I begged.
He pressed a little harder against my clit, then slammed into me, moving his hand to my breast and rolling my nipple between his fingertips. My hands were imprisoned by his, so the only part of my body I could move was my hips… which I did.
“Harder,” I growled.
He stilled his hips and cupped my cheek. “You want hard?”
“How did you guess?”
“On your knees.”
He pulled out of me and I sat up on my knees. He settled himself behind me, his arms sliding around me, one hand slipping between my legs, the other cupping a breast. “On all fours, Grace.”
I complied immediately and was rewarded with his cock sliding into me from behind.
“Oh my god,” I rasped.
“You okay?”
“Yes. Fuck me, please.”
“Mmm, begging. I like it,” he whispered, and slammed into me.
I squeaked, grinding my ass against him. I had never felt anything so perfect. Flea gripped my hips and buried himself deeper and deeper, faster and faster, as my body was swamped with sensation, but when he slid his hand between my legs and pressed his fingers against my clit, I exploded, screaming his name as I fell to the mattress.
Flea continued to thrust into me, building me up all over again.
“Wait, baby,” I begged. “Don’t stop.”
“Get there, Grace.”
“Harder,” I demanded, and he complied. His hand connected with my ass, and I came around him, my orgasm washing over me so quickly, I could barely catch my breath.
He wasn’t far behind me, rolling us both to our sides and kissing the back of my neck. “Fuckin’ perfect.”
“I want to do that again. All of it. Especially, the spanking part.”
“You liked that, huh?”
I craned my neck to smile at him. “Probably more than I should.”
He chuckled. “You really are a minx.”
“Only because you make me one.”
“Best job ever.”
I giggled, shifting and connecting with cold and sticky liquid. “I’m either in ice cream or cum, either way, it’s kind of gross.”
Flea kissed me gently, then climbed off the bed. “Head to the shower and I’ll strip the bed.”
“Are you going to join me?” I asked and slid off the mattress.
“Yeah, baby. I’ll put this shit away and be right in.”
I smiled, reaching for him and standing on my tiptoes to kiss him. “Don’t be long.”
“I won’t.”
I walked down the hall to his bathroom and turned on the shower. His place was an older unit, but it was surprisingly clean for a bachelor pad. When I opened the shower curtain, I almost cried. He’d stocked the shelves with my favorite body wash, shampoo, and conditioner, and when I looked under the sink, I found thick towels that felt new.
I turned when he walked in and wrapped my arms around his waist. “I love you.”
“Love you, too.” He chuckled. “What brought that on?”
“Um, let’s start with all my favorites stocked in the bathroom, along with my favorite wine in your kitchen, and end with you defending my honor with your mother.”
“You’re welcome,” he said, and kissed me gently.
“You got a little sauce right there.” I leaned forward and ran my tongue between his pecs.
He lifted my chin and kissed me, lifting me into the shower.
We spent the next twenty minutes getting clean… then dirty again.
* * *
Flea
I woke Grace early, so I could have a few minutes with her before heading into work. It was the first day without her at the shop and I was gonna fuckin’ miss her.
“Hi,” she whispered as I kissed her neck and slid my hand between her legs.
“Hey, baby. Ready to start your new adventure?”
“Not really.”
“You’re gonna rock their world, baby.”
She sighed, rolling to face me. “What am I going to do without seeing you all day?”
“Die.”
“Probably,” she said, kissing my throat. “Will I see you tonight?”
“Yeah,” I said.
“Can you stay at Grams?”
“Probably.”
“You should bring a bag.”
“I can do that, honey.”
“Good.”
“Gonna hit the shower, then I gotta go. I made a key for you, so you can lock up. Keep it. Want you in my space whenever you feel like it.”
She met my eyes and smiled. “What if I want to buy flowery bedding.”
“Do you want to buy flowery bedding?” I challenged.
“Answer my question first.”
I smiled, stroking her cheek. “Nothing yellow.”
“Oh my god, are you ever not going to be perfect?”
“Nope.” I kissed her again. “Your turn to make breakfast.”
“I’ll start with coffee.”
“That’d be good.” I climbed off the bed and headed to the bathroom.
* * *
I’d been at the shop for about an hour, when I got the all-hands on deck text from Crow. “Shit,” I hissed, sliding out from under the Chevy truck I’d been working on. “Cam!”
“Yeah?” Hatch’s brother replied.
“Gotta head to the club.”
“You heard something about Connor?”
“Not sure yet. Are you good to hold down the fort?”
“Yeah, man. Whatever you need.”
I nodded. “Thanks.”
I washed up, then climbed on my bike and headed out. I hoped to God they had some news. I needed my Sargent out of fuckin’ jail.
I arrived at the compound just as Finch and Flick were pulling up.
“You heard anything? I asked Finch as I got off my bike.
“Just to get down here A.S.A.F.P.,” he replied.
I nodded, and we made our way inside. Every Dog was in attendance, so the great room was at capacity.
“Good, you’re all here. Let’s get started,” Crow said. “Listen up, because I have a lot to throw at you, and very little time.”
We stood at attention, arms folded, grunting and nodding in understanding as Crow filled us in.
“We have some good news, and shit-ton of bad news, but the broad strokes are as follows; we’re confident that it’s Los Psychos who’s behind everything, and with the right evidence we can get Hatch out of jail and his name cleared. The bad news being, we have very little time to get what we need, and we need to do it before the feds take custody.”
“How little?” I asked.
“About three hours,” Jaxon said. “And we’re lucky to have that. The only reason the FBI haven’t taken custody of Hatch already is because all three of the Portland office’s armored vehicles are either currently in use in the field, or in the shop. Truck number three is scheduled to be street-ready by late-afternoon. Any other Special Agent in charge of a branch office would have picked him up in a U-haul rather than let Portland PD sit on him any longer, but fortunately for us, Matt’s my brother and he’s running everything ‘by the book.’
Matthew Quinn just so happened to be Ace, Knight, and Jaxon’s brother, and he ran the Portland FBI field office, which meant, he was able to buy some time.
“We almost have all the evidence to prove that Hatch was framed, and that Los Psychos are the ones behind it, but we need whoever did their tech work to prove it,” Jaxon continued.
“We don’t think it was done in-house?” I asked.
“At first, I thought maybe it was,” Booker said, turning the laptop he was holding toward me, as if I could make out the nerd hieroglyphics written all over his screen. “They’ve got some pretty good guys in their crew, but the more I investigated the footage, the level of sophistication needed to forge the time code synch on this digital video is beyond anything I’ve seen from Los Psychos, by leaps and bounds.”
“So, who’s behind it?” I asked.
“Second piece of bad news,” Crow said grimly. “We think it’s Kitty.”
“Oh, shit.”
The room filled with the sound of grumbles and shuffling boots.
“Who’s Kitty” Finch asked.
“Kitty was a Dog; a long time ago. One of the originals, and one of the only Dogs to ever patch out,” Crow said, looking at the floor.
“The only one to be patched out as a matter of fact,” Mack added.
Kitty had been with the Dogs since the very beginning and had been involved with computers since his early training with the Army. He was smart, knew how to disappear, and could kill a man with his bare hands. Hell, Kitty could rupture a man’s spleen just by looking at him. He was also a powder keg who needed very little reason to take situations to a physical level. His violent nature, and lack of a war to fight, led to one-too-many clashing of the heads, and Kitty was asked to leave the club… and Portland. Like a good soldier, he did as he was asked, but not without making it very clear that the Dogs of Fire were to watch their backs from here on out. We’d kept an eye out over the years and would sometimes hear reports of him showing up here or there. One time it was Florida, another time at a bike show in Minneapolis.
“What have you seen that makes you think it’s him?” I asked. “He’s not even supposed to be in Portland, Booker. Earlier you said, whoever was behind this was working locally.”
“It’s not what I see, but what I don’t see. Whoever did this work has intimate knowledge of Portland’s digital infrastructure. They know how to hack the local ISPs without leaving a trace, and they also know how to cover their tracks. This is the work of a high-level pro, that must have already known their way around town, so-to-speak.”
“Okay, but surely Kitty’s not the only hacker in town,” I said.
“No, but he’s the only one qualified who would do business with Los Psychos to get back at us,” Crow said.
“Pro hackers do everything within their power to fly under the radar,” Booker added. “No player on the west coast would dare to throw in with their crew right now after we just ran them out of town, especially with the FBI involved. It would simply bring too much heat on them.”
“Not unless their personal hatred of Hatch, and the Dogs, burned hot enough to get them to ignore all that,” Crow said.
“Alright, so let’s say it is Kitty, how in the hell are we supposed to find him in less than three hours, let alone deal with him? This is Kitty we’re talking about here,” I challenged to even more grunts and nods.
Finch chuckled. “What’s so scary about some computer geek?”
“Don’t let the name, or the computer science degree fool you,” Crow said. “Kitty was Special Forces.”
“Not to mention he’s 6’11” and mean as hell,” Mack added.
“I’ve got someone working on locating him as we speak,” Crow said. “And as soon as they confirm his location, they’ll be extracting and detaining him for us.”
“Who the fuck was stupid enough to sign up for that job?” I asked, nervously laughing.
“The Burning Saints,” he said.
I frowned. “Minus agreed to tracking down and capturing Kitty?”
“Minus doesn’t have a fucking choice. He owes me, and I’m calling in my chit. I’ve asked him to reach out to Kitty about a job. He’s going to tell Kitty that he knows he’s in town and that he wants to meet, face-to-face. When he does, they’ll grab him and get what they need out of him.”
“Which is what exactly?” I asked.
“An encryption key,” Booker said.
“Isn’t that your job? To break into places that need keys? Why don’t you just hack in?” I asked.
“I fuckin’ hate Hollywood. They’ve set such unrealistic expectations,” Booker grumbled. “Hacking isn’t a matter of performing a couple of key strokes and mouse clicks like you see in the movies. To access the meta-data which contains the sub-coded information we need to prove Hatch’s innocence, I need a unique key code. This is because whoever hacked into Hatch’s computer to plant that phony search history and various bomb schematics, covered their tracks with a scorched earth trojan.”
“I thought you covered up with a trojan to prevent scorched earth,” Mack said to zero laughs, although the attempt to lighten the mood was appreciated.
Booker continued, “If I try to access the meta-data with the wrong code, even once, all of the data will become instantly and irreversibly corrupted. We have to get the code from Kitty himself, and we have to be one-hundred percent sure that it’s not a decoy, or else Hatch’s evidence is up in smoke.”
“Jax, why can’t you and your fed crew deal?” I asked, then turned to Booker before Jaxon could answer. “Why aren’t we turning everything we’ve found over to the United States geek patrol and let them track down Kitty themselves?”
Booker glanced at Jaxon, then back to me. “Because, if I know Kitty, the moment the FBI starts poking around too deep, he’s going to fry the data remotely. He wants them to see what he has right now, but should they begin to question the validity of the files, he’ll burn it all down.”
“What about the video footage? How in the hell did Kitty, let alone any hacker, pull that shit off?”
“I think Los Psychos handled that end of the job, and I think it was quite simple. All they had to do was take someone with the same height and build as Hatch and dress him up in a wig, a beard, and a cut. Once disguised, all he had to do was purchase the supplies, and make sure he was seen on camera. The same goes for the red-light cam. If he was driving the same model truck as Hatch, they could have easily put a fake license plate on it without getting pulled over, if they only had to drive long enough to run a red.”
“Why take this big of a risk just to get back at Hatch?” Finch asked. “You said yourself that hackers don’t usually do things that will knowingly involve the feds. Not to mention, both Kitty or Los Psychos could easily just kill Hatch if they really wanted revenge.”
“Because they don’t want Hatch dead. They want to do to him what he did to them. To exile him. To banish him from Portland; far away from his club. They know that in this day and age, framing someone for a bomb threat is the ultimate form of swatting. Except, he’ll be in Guantanamo Bay for six months before they even start figuring out what the fuck happened here.”
Jaxon coughed. “Look, I’m on your side here, but I’d like to think that the FBI is better at our jobs than that—”
“Sorry Jax, no offense, but it’s like Booker said, we’re running out of time before Kitty knows we’re onto him. He could fry the data or set up some new firewall before we have the chance to grab him,” Crow said. “If the FBI gets to him first, there’s no telling how this thing goes for Hatch.”
“What exactly are Minus and the Saints gonna do with Kitty if they do find him?” I asked. “We’re not about to Guantanamo on this guy ourselves, are we?”
Crow’s features became more severe. “Our hands won’t have blood on them.”
“But Minus’s will, at your behest? Jesus, Crow, is that what we’re about now? I thought Minus was trying to turn his club around and that you were supposed to be his President Miyagi or some shit,” I said.
“Careful,” Crow growled. “I’ll do what I have to do to protect Hatch, and you’ll stand by whatever the fuck I tell you to.”
I looked at Jaxon. “I’m surprised you’re okay with this. Maybe the FBI really do get off on torturing people.”
Crow walked to where I stood, and leaned in to whisper, “Take a knee,” before hitting me with a stiff shot to the solar plexus. The old man could hit, that’s for damned sure. I’d lost all my wind and dropped straight to the floor instantly.
“That’s enough fucking questions!” Crow shouted. “While I share Flea’s passion for upholding our club’s code of conduct and appreciate his willingness to bark at the big dog in the name of defending it, this move is not up for debate. The wheels are in motion and I’m awaiting an update from Minus. I don’t want blood on anyone’s hands, but I don’t see Kitty going down without one hell of a fight. The Burning Saints want out of the bone breaking business, and they know not to get carried away. I trust them. Hatch is Minus’s family after all.”
I fuckin’ hoped he was right.