“Keeping it in the family…” – Texas

 

 

Just once he wanted to see her in a pair of ratty cut off denims that molded to her legs because she hadn’t taken two hours to dress by carefully selecting something from an endless supply of clothes hangers in a boringly organized walk in closet that probably cost more to upkeep than the local food banks. Skin so pale she could almost look washed out in the Ackermann designer pants and blouse she’d come to him dressed in.

Texas had peeled her out of those fast.

Always so impatient to get to the ginger between her legs.

Oh yeah, a true red head, even if she did dye the hair on her head a richer red. Between the apex of her thighs when he got his tongue there, licking and sucking the bud, she was as ginger as a nut. Fucking edible, dragging his tongue the full length of her wet slit.

If he went too hard, too fast, it would be over and he wanted to gulp her in, savor her in his mouth before he even let his swollen cock near her.

God, he was aching, his cock dripping onto the bed.

So much pain to fuck.

When she delicately fingered his hair, he wanted to yell for her to pull harder, her secret moans becoming louder he smiled, spanning her waist, keeping her pinned to his bed.

He licked her slow, she whimpered and begged, it went against every personality trait she had, he wondered if the pleading words shamed her when he made her dirty.

He made this refined girl indecent with the things he said and did to her. She would hate it that he reduced her to pleading, though she never told him so.

Thumbs pressing into her hipbones, he sank into the perfectness of her taste.

There was nothing good about the way she sprawled on his simple cotton sheets.

He wanted her crude with his come, pound it into her until he felt a sense of completion finally, until his bones settled in his skin, because this forbidden want was never ending.

“Please. Please, Tait.” He shouldn’t.

A fast fuck. That’s all it ever was.

It was never enough. Never. Texas wished it was, oh god, how he wished it would just go away.

The way she moaned in that way of hers, throaty and desperate, almost like she was resenting how he made her feel so damn vulgar lying in his sheets with her legs spread out wide, made his cock stiffer than ever to the point of agony.

How she was tarnishing that veil of picture-perfect she projected to everyone.  She was far from perfect. She might sit on a million charity boards, she might help to raise money for the underprivileged but he saw beneath her veneer she portrayed and what he saw wasn’t always good.

But Texas had no room to talk. He couldn’t judge a person for the same weakness in himself. He was a weak fucking man.

They both knew how wrong this was.

Texas palmed himself, a current of pleasure punched into his lower belly, rubbing rougher than ever before just to give himself something, anything. He was a pathetic man to let it control him as he did. As he knew though, he fell to weakness more than any other drug.

Hardwired to always fail.

He was harder than the iron throne, it weeped at the tip, eager to go home.

Prowling over her, he locked her in, tense and sweating muscles trembled from exertion, he’d been giving her head for what felt like a week, getting her ready, making her insane to be fucked in the way he needed to fuck, looking down into that pale face with her smattering of beauty freckles across the bridge of her nose, bare pink lips pouted, daring him, taunting him in her silent way she always had.  

How long had it been? Months, weeks, days, years?

He felt like he’d always been fucking Addison even when he wasn’t. Even when she was out of his sight he’d been fucking her with the tenacity of someone insane.

No more waiting, he couldn’t. His cock jutted painfully reminding Texas just how long it had been since he’d sank into something warm and soaked, he placed it at the opening of her wetness, notched himself up to drag against her clit.

She inhaled and said his name sweetly.

A crease appeared on his forehead, a cringe to only have silence. He didn’t want her to talk, couldn’t have that voice in his ear, he raced his tongue into her mouth to swallow all her words.

He pressed deep and hard and had her with a mindlessness that completely took him over, sent him somewhere else, where only orgasms and nails raking down his spine made any sense.

He pumped and rammed her pussy full of the cock that obsessed over her. Eyes clenched closed, listening to moans of ecstasy that felt wrong, it was wrong.

He couldn’t get into her deep enough, it was never enough, frustration clawed at his skull, pushing even harder.

Texas reared back, took a lung full of sweet air and drove forward again, hitting bottom.

The women with the exemplary reputation taking it from the outlaw she was ashamed of, the same outlaw she hated for turning his back on his family.

It was almost comical.

It wasn’t right. It wasn’t right. His skull bristled with the guilt.

He distinguished it somewhere, even as sweat dripped into his eyes, when his back turned to steel and his hips had no rhythm, only feeling the wet clasp of hot sex so incredible the roar came out of his chest like a speeding bullet.

He was making her come.

He shouldn’t. This wasn’t right.

He was coming.

Couldn’t stop.

Hips giving their last uneven drives. She was so fucking wet he felt her everywhere on his bare cock, her lithe ballerina body pressed up against every inch of his.

Couldn’t stop.

Addison mewled his name, he filled her up until she was dripping.

Oh, god. Oh, shit. And then that look flashed through her eyes as they pinged open.

Guilt and shame for her desires.

Growling anger, teeth bared, he wanted to punish her for it, for this need that wouldn’t leave him, fucking idiot, wasn’t he? Weak, so fucking weak.

He was brutal with his last slam, his roar filling his ears.

It was the force of Texas rearing up off his own bed, leaving the mattress completely as he pumped fresh air that hurtled him back into full consciousness, the dream breaking away, leaving him shaken and horny with shudders from his spent orgasm still tearing through his bloodstream.

Lungs felt broken as he heaved for oxygen, falling back to the bed, sheets wet underneath him, he’d spilled his climax all over his belly.

For hell’s sake, a wet dream at his age? The climax had annihilated him from the inside. He was disgusted in himself. Couldn’t even control his lusts in his damn unconscious mind.

At some point, he’d kicked the covers off him, they sat in a heap on the floor when he rolled himself out of the bed and cursed his way to the bathroom to clean himself up in the shower.

Even while dreaming he couldn’t fully enjoy what he couldn’t have, the guilt always there looking over his shoulder, reminding him what wasn’t his to have. At least his subconscious had its head screwed on right.

His body on high alert, he scrubbed against his unshaven jaw, breathing through the commotion of his head. He hadn’t dreamed of her in months, maybe longer. He thought that nonsense was done for until Malachai had proceeded his one cop campaign to take down all MC’s and started using her name against Texas as sly digs, to pull him in line. Nothing like family for knowing where the weak spots where.

He knew why he was having dreams now though. Everything bad he was doing was tied to his past. To Malachai. To Addison. He could barely think one name without the other being attached. It was how it had once been.

A visible shudder streaked down his spine meeting his image in the mirror while he scrubbed his wet hair.

Shame and sin looked back at him.

When had his life turned into this giant clusterfuck? He was a regular stand-up guy once upon a time, wasn’t he? Not so long ago in fact. Now he was weighed down by secrets he didn’t even fucking want. He was trapped in a maze with no way out.

Looking down at himself, passed the hard muscle of his tattooed torso, the cock between his legs twitched with a semi-erection that wouldn’t quit, one thought of Addison and he was ready to rut, ready to commit a crime even he couldn’t come back from.

He never would.

He couldn’t.

That’s why he’d taken off, wasn’t it? Keep remembering that.

His list of felonies within his rank of treasurer in the Souls were racking up without adding Addison to it.  

Only in his debauched dreams was he free enough to do as he wanted to, by parting her creamy thighs and ramming home spilling everything onto her skin to mar her in the same dirt he carried around in his head. Shaming them both.

Addison.

It was an echo.

A wrong sound.

It had never felt right, not at all, but then, as any of his brothers would tell Texas, what weakness had ever felt right on the skin? Addictions become chains and it’s only the strong who can break free. It was still debatable if Texas was among those strong, he sure as hell didn’t feel like it.

He never spoke it aloud, wouldn’t let his tongue shape the letters. As far as Tait---Texas was concerned he’d left her behind as easily as he’d left Harrison New York years ago and had no plans to ever go back to his well-to-do hometown or to see her again. If he was honest he hadn’t missed her, either. She was a remnant, an echo of a past he no longer wanted to be part of. He wasn’t that person anymore, never was really, it had taken falling in with the Renegade Souls to finally feel at home in his own bones. He couldn’t do country clubs any more than he could gouge out his own eyeballs and smile about it. No matter how much his family wanted to shove his square peg into a round hole, the fit was just all wrong.

Feeling severed from any sense of logic, he dressed without looking at his guilt worn face again, styling his hair with products he kept on the bathroom counter, he took an inordinate amount of time choosing a tie today, tying the thick teal knot at his neck, slipping into his leather cut with the Renegade Souls emblem on the back, his corrupt sin felt like a weighted anvil around his neck, tight like the designer jeans he wore every day.

Sitting on the side of the bed he was lacing up his boots when his phone rang and rang and rang.

Tempted to ignore his twin brother, he pressed green before he could change his mind.

“What?”

“Good morning to you, too, Tait.”

Pain cranked his chest wide open. Nervous energy had him popping up the moment his boots were laced, he paced out into the wide-open plan of his apartment to grab a coffee, the phone hooked against his neck, he waited.

“Mom wants to -------”

“Nope. It’s not happening,” he cut Malachai off instantly before that conversation got any speed behind it. “Don’t even finish that sentence. She made it clear where we stand.”

“You’d say no to your own mother?”

“Absolutely,” his mother didn’t deserve the sweat on his brow if she were on fire. “Was that it?”

Malachai’s voice became muffled as though he was talking to someone on his end. Texas had a mouthful of sweet coffee when his elder brother by a few minutes came back on the line.

Nothing good came from these calls and god help him they were becoming more frequent. Change my damn number already.

He couldn’t do whatever Malachai wanted.

He wouldn’t hurt the club.

He’d only had the club for the longest time. They were his family who’d picked him up even when they didn’t know they were doing it.

They knew nothing about his time back home. His other life.

He fucking hated himself.

Deserving of that pine box, he was ready to confess his sins to Rider and let the chips fall where they may.

“Well, our mother wants you home for her birthday. I passed the message along to you, it’s up to you if you wish to disappoint her further, it’s at the Dorian Estate Club at five pm. And Addison says hi.”

A truck of concrete poured over his head. The punch to the throat made his vocal chords sound strangled.

“Tell your wife hi back. I have to go. I won’t be home, don’t expect me, Malachai.”

And he hung up.

Pure fucking agony dogged Texas’ steps as he bypassed eating breakfast, everything would taste like sawdust in his mouth, he grabbed his wool jacket, slipping it on and locked up taking the steps that led to his place and out to where he parked his bike.

They wanted him to come home for a party. It happened every year and every year he said the same.

No and hell no.

He stayed away for a good reason. He’d once been best friends with his brother, thick as thieves, they’d done everything together, as expected with twins, until the age-old adage of falling for the same girl had caused a rift Malachai wasn’t even aware of. All he knew was his twin no longer wanted anything to do with him and Texas allowed it without explanation.

Wasn’t being in love with his twin’s wife good enough of a reason? His mother had told him to stay away, so he was staying hell away, you’re welcome, mom. It hurt in that place he didn’t access anymore.

It should have been you, Tait.

All these years later he could still hear the last words Addison spoke to him.

But it wasn’t. He scowled, clipping on his helmet and kicked off the stand with the toe of his boot. It never would be.

With a burning in his sternum, Texas rode off and headed towards the club compound.

He’d lose his mind in money and numbers.