Ruining Me: The Insidious Seven MC, Book Two, page 13
“Beg me to fuck you with this toy, La Mia Alba,” I say as I tighten my grip around her hand and slowly push the toy until it’s fully sheathed within her heat, only to pull it back out. Her fingers tremble under my grip.
“I want you to cry for me, Brat. Plead like the needy fucking slut you are.” I smirk down at the whimpering mess below me.
“P–please, Declan. I’ll do anything if you just make me come.” Her words are distorted by my grip on her, but I hear her plea all the same. “Please, please, please,” she breathes her chant of promiscuity. “I’ve never felt anything this good, please don’t stop.” Her body quivers for me, causing her voice to shake as she begs so prettily. I grin down at her and ram the toy to the hilt as I ramp the speed up on high. She cries out and closes her eyes at the invasion.
“No,” I snarl and smack her again before clamping my hand around her throat this time. I squeeze as her eyes pop open again. Her cheek has a slight pinkness to it that makes my dick throb so much I feel like I’m about to explode here and now. “Look me in the eyes when I fuck you. Whether I’m fucking you with this toy, my fingers, or my cock, you keep those pretty little eyes on me,” I snap.
I fuck into her hard and fast, becoming increasingly jealous of the toy buried deep in her pussy. But I keep going. A thin sheen of sweat appears on her forehead as her mouth drops open on a cry. She’s close, I feel it.
“Who’s making you come?” I grit out harshly.
“You!” she whines.
“Say my goddamn name like a good little fuck toy,” I demand and press the toy at an angle that rubs directly against her G-spot. The moment her eyes lose focus, I know she’s coming apart at the seams. Her body convulses violently, and the sound of her orgasm washing from her pussy nearly has me falling to my knees for just one taste.
“Declan!” she screams right before I slam my mouth to hers, cutting off her wails of passion that are my rightful payment.
I push my tongue past her lips as she opens for me, tasting her for the first time. If I wasn’t addicted to her before, I just became a full-fledged junkie as her tongue dances with mine. Pushing and pulling. Biting and sucking. I don’t stop fucking her, even after she rips her hand away and tries to push me off; I keep going, rolling her into another earth-shattering climax. I fuck her with my mouth just as much as I do with the toy.
When the last of her tremors subside, I pull the soaked shaft from her weeping pussy. Ripping my lips away from hers, I turn the vibrator off and bring it to my mouth. I make sure she’s watching me as I press my tongue against the base and swipe it up to the tip.
“Fuck,” I groan as the taste of her cum washes over my taste buds. She tastes like the first spring rain when I’ve been dying from dehydration in the wilderness.
That first taste has me going mad with the need to fully consume her. All I want now is to rip my clothes off and crawl between her spread thighs. I crave the sensation of her slick pussy clamping around my dick like a vice.
But when I look down at the brat, still recovering from her descent into the abyss of passion, I’m not met with her warm cocoa-brown eyes. Instead, cold lifeless blue eyes stare back at me. Rather than creamy tanned skin, all I can see is the pale bloody remains of my past glaring at me. Sucking in a sharp breath as if it were being stolen from me, I squeeze my eyes shut as my memories of the woman I murdered assault me.
I take a stumbled step back as all the blood drains from my face. By some stroke of self-control, I never knew I possessed, I stop myself from taking this any further. Glowering down at Sofee, my chest heaving and skin crawling with equal parts desperation and horror, I feel an odd combination that has my hands shaking and legs ready to run. I rip my molten gaze away from her, and as I do, I feel as though my soul is being torn apart at the fucking seams.
I force my hand to release the lavender-colored vibrator and toss it onto the bed between her legs. As if someone else is in charge of my body, I turn away from the only woman I’ve craved so completely and stalk toward the door.
“Declan?” I hear her sitting up from the bed, saying my name like a soft-spoken prayer. With that one word, I know that if I leave her now, she’ll hate me forever. She’s extremely vulnerable at this moment, and if I walk out that door, she’ll never forgive me. And for the first time since meeting her, something inside of me screams not to let her hate me. A deep part of me, not tainted with darkness, howls to make sure she never despises me again. But I can’t allow that.
So, I ignore her before I do something foolish, like claiming her here and now. Pounding that last nail into the coffin that would condemn her to the same fate as Alana. Because I know that if I stay, if I take her now, she’ll be ruined. Maybe not today or tomorrow, but eventually she will meet the darkness of my past and won't survive the experience. Because nothing good can ever come from being attached to a monster like me.
I feel my fingers shake as I quickly unlock the door, step out, and slam it back in place with so much exertion the walls rattle. Then, I shove past my apartment door and slam it just as harshly before leaning against the cold wood.
I’m frantic as I tear at my clothes, ripping the button of my jeans open and freeing my throbbing cock from its constraint. As soon as my heavy length falls into my palm, I’m jacking myself like a fucking sex addict. I pull my tightened fist from my bulbous head all the way to the base in harsh movements, smearing the precum that weeps from the tip. Gritting my teeth, I smother my groan of pleasure as my balls tighten and my spine curls before bliss blinds me. Hot, thick ropes of cum spurt from my cock and land in splatters on the hardwood floor beneath me.
My chest heaves as I draw in harsh breath after harsh breath. Relief mixed with regret swirls heavily in my gut to the point where I can’t take it any longer. I’m absolutely disgusted with myself as I rip my shirt from my body and stalk to my bathroom. I turn the shower on and don’t wait for it to warm before stepping into the freezing water, not bothering to remove my jeans and boots. The ice water pelts my overheated skin like frozen knives, causing me to gnash my teeth together.
I press my forehead against the cold tile, hoping the water will wash away my sins. Pulling back, I thump my head there over and over again as if trying to knock sense into myself. But every time I close my eyes all I see is Sofee’s beautiful face, but with the foggy blue eyes of a dead girl.
“Fuck!” I yell at no one as I slam my palm against the wet tile. What have I done?
TEN
DECLAN
The blinking cursor on my phone’s screen seems to mock me as I stare at the text I drafted over twenty minutes ago. It's as if the phone itself is questioning whether I should really be doing this—asking for help from the one man who represents everything fucked up from my past. The irony of this situation, where I’m all but forced to ask for help from the very person who denied me aid all those years ago, is not lost on me.
I don’t know if there is a God, but if there is, I decided a long time ago that He was a dick with a warped sense of humor. Only a sick son of a bitch would put me in a situation where I’m all but forced to rely on those who once betrayed me to save a woman who should have nothing to do with me.
Yes, a cruel God indeed would make me ask the darkness from my past to save the girl I can’t have. The girl who still lingers within the fibers of my vest, making me salivate for just one more taste. The essence of her is so overwhelming that I couldn’t even bring myself to wear it after finding it this morning; instead, I placed it on the chair across the table from me.
I stare at it now, the slick worn leather I couldn’t bear to part with even after the sleeve was burned beyond repair. As if my subconscious needed a reminder of that day, I decided to simply cut the sleeves off so I could still keep and wear the garment. The logo embroidered on the back returns my stare as if peering into my very soul, the depicted hellfire consuming my being.
For a long time, The Insidious Seven patch was a symbol woven with great importance for me. That flaming skull with razor-sharp teeth was more than the mark of The Seven. It served as a reminder of my freedom - freedom from my family, my forced obligations, freedom from every blood-soaked memory of the past. But now I can hardly look at it. I feel as though I’ve sullied that freedom with my lack of self-discipline.
It was hanging on my doorknob when I finally came out of my room earlier. Discarded there by a woman who’s probably completely disgusted by how I acted only a few hours ago. Repulsed by the depraved things I did to her, the things I called her.
Except, even as I contemplate her being revolted by what I’d done, I struggle to fully convince myself of the fact. The way she responded to my touch and my demands was not done by someone who detested the things being done to her. Even if her lips never uttered the words, her body told me everything I needed to know. The silent language only bodies speak begged me to keep going, to never stop.
Even now, I’m baffled by the fact that I was able to tear myself away from her. All I wanted to do was bury myself so deeply within her soft body that I’d forget everything. Who I am, who she is, the imminent danger that lurks behind every corner. I wanted to forget it all.
But because of Alana’s memory, I was able to pull myself away from her before I tarnished everything good within her, before I ruined my friendship with her brother, and caused a rift between my brothers and myself. Because that’s ultimately where this would lead.
If I let all my primal urges flood to the surface, if I fucked Sofee like I wanted to, Liam would never forgive me for sullying his sister. And because he would never forgive my actions, I would no longer have a place within the MC’s fold.
Liam is the club's VP and has been a member of The Insidious longer than me. He’s a man who never needs to demand respect from any of us; he simply receives it. Partially because he’s a great leader, but mostly because he is a damn good brother. And if it ever came to a choice between him and me, I know who would be the one left in the dark. It’s no less than I deserve, after all.
My place in this world has been tremulous at best since the day I was born. I’m not the firstborn, so I found no future among the Morelli dynasty. I hated everything we fought for, so I never would’ve found my place as an Underboss. I thought I’d found my place beside Alana, but she was just the first visual representation of what being with me looks like.
When I found The Seven, I thought I was done searching for my place. I’d discovered this brotherhood that not only accepted my past, but embraced me despite it, because of it. We all have our reasons for joining the MC; all of us have dark shit we’re running from. We’re a unified group of misfits. But if I were to take advantage of the VP’s little sister, well, let’s just say I would no longer be welcome in this family either.
And that’s why I have to send this text. This is why I have to work with the monsters of my past so I don’t ruin her fucking future. The faster we catch Matteo, the faster I can get Sofee away from me. As long as he’s around, she will need to be watched. And now that I’ve defiled her, I don’t know how I’m ever going to be able to look after her again.
The glaringly obvious fact is that we need to work with Romeo. He has the info we need, and I have to shove all this bad blood down to get the job done.
I slowly inhale and glance over the one word on my screen once again. I couldn’t bear to type anymore as I swallowed my pride while pecking out each letter. Nothing more is needed anyway; I know Rome will understand my demand without question.
Talk.
I hover my thumb over the little green button that could either save me or damn me forever this time. Both of which are viable outcomes. Releasing my breath in a harsh exhale, I push the button with false determination and wait. Almost immediately, my phone buzzes in my hand with his response.
On my way.
I toss my phone onto the table in front of me and grab the bottle of Jack. An empty glass sits before me, but I ignore it as I bring the bottle straight to my lips. Tossing it back, I gulp down a mouthful of the spiced whiskey and relish the burn before taking another. Warmth coats my throat all the way down to my stomach as I place the bottle back on the table.
I had taken the full bottle from the shelf when I snuck out of my room and came down to the bar a couple of hours ago. The craving for the smoky liquor was the sole reason I had risked seeing her again so soon. The need to find the bottom of this fucking bottle was more powerful than my desire to hide in shame for the rest of the day.
It was pathetic, the way I slowly opened my door and listened for any signs of movement behind the door across from mine. I scoff at myself and flick the phone around in a circle on the tabletop. I’m a grown-ass man, capable and willing to commit truly heinous crimes against humanity. And she’s just one small female out of many who I’ve seen in such an intimate setting. Although, something was extremely different about it being her instead of some random woman. Witnessing her melt under my ministrations felt like returning home after wandering the streets for centuries. It felt like she belonged exactly where she was, under my harsh demands and roughened grasp.
But the thought of facing her again has me wishing the earth would open up and swallow me whole. I hate to even admit it, but I’m afraid of the way she’ll look at me now. The repercussions of my actions can only end in one of two ways.
One, she could come looking for more. The way she responded to my touch early this morning makes me think that she liked what I was doing to her and how I was demeaning her. And now that she’s had a little taste of the dark desperation I evoke within her, she could assume I want more and come seek me out for more perverted delights.
Or two, she could decide she wants nothing more to do with me. After all, what woman would want to share something so intimate with someone just to be abandoned right after? She could take my running away as a sign that I never really wanted her in the first place. The possibility of her thinking I did this just to be cruel, is a huge player in this outcome. And honestly, it would be best if that’s what she thought.
If she saw me as nothing more than a sleazeball who assaulted and humiliated her in a moment of vulnerability, I should be patting myself on the back. She shouldn’t ever want to be around me again, so I won. Won the battle that I fight daily to ensure that she hates my fucking guts.
So if I won, then why do I feel like such a goddamn loser?
I can’t even convince myself anymore that the second outcome is something I want. Somewhere down the line, I lost track of why I wanted her to hate me. I forgot why I needed her to stay away. And now the thought of her hating me forever makes me feel like I’m being stabbed in the chest. There’s a gaping hole inside my soul that weeps at the possibility of Sofee actually despising me.
“I’m such a fucking idiot,” I groan and slouch back in my seat. Tossing my arm over my eyes, I don’t see anyone coming down the stairs until I hear a deep chuckle.
“Little early to be brooding, don’t you think?” Coop's baritone voice has me sitting a little taller as I remove my arm from my eyes. Blinking rapidly, I hide my weariness as he walks closer to me. I watch him as he steps up to the table and grabs the bottle of Jack before pulling a chair out for himself.
He smoothly slides into the seat next to me, his gray eyes shifting between the bottle in his hand and my vest hanging on the seat in front of me. He quirks a dark eyebrow but says nothing as he pours a couple of fingers of whiskey into the glass that sits unused in front of me.
“Next, you’re going to tell me it’s too early for a drink?” I grumble toward him. His lips twitch with a grin before he pulls the glass of Jack to his lips and downs the drink with a single gulp.
“It’s never too early for a drink, brother.” He licks his lips before placing the empty glass back in front of me. Without uttering a word, he turns to face me, but I can hear his unspoken questions as if he were shouting them.
“What are you doing up?” I ask, avoiding his inquisitive stare as I grab the bottle again. He laughs as I take a deep pull before looking back at him. He’s full-on smiling now as he responds.
“Okay, we can talk about me if you want. I’m getting ready to start some grub for lunch. Maxine asked me to teach her how to cook, so I was gonna get some shit prepped before she gets down here,” he says, then glances me up and down. His quiet assessment has a growl building at the back of my throat that I dare not express.
Cooper is the biggest fucker I’ve ever met. He’s as stacked as any bodybuilder but still has a slight softness around his midsection. Some may say the softness in his belly gives him a “dad bod” but God help the man that calls him chubby. He’s a gentle giant, but I've witnessed him take down many men who underestimated his strength. They were gravely mistaken, just as I would be if I tried to pick a fight with him.
So instead, I reach for the bottle again, wondering if I’ll find the bottom before Rome gets here. But before I can even lift it from the table, Coop swipes it from my hand. I blink rapidly as I watch him pour another glass before placing the half-empty bottle on the table beside him, out of my reach.
I sigh and let my hand fall to the table with an audible smack. He eyes me as he brings the glass to his lips. “You wanna talk about it?” he asks into the glass before sipping the rich whiskey.
I shake my head. “There’s nothing to talk about,”
Coop’s shoulders bounce as he chuckles, as if I told some great joke, when in reality, the only joke here is me. He places his glass on the table before his gray eyes bore into mine.
“Really? Not even about what happened with Sofee this morning?”
I suck in a sharp breath and sit up straight. The low roaring in my ears becomes impossibly loud as I stumble over my words, searching for the right ones to say. “I don’t— How did— What—”
