Curly (Hell's Handlers MC Florida Chapter 1)

His lips trailed the shell of her ear. “I think you get off on the idea of someone hearing us.”

She didn’t confirm or deny his assumption because she could no longer speak. He fucked her with sharp, rapid punches of his hips.

Seconds later she was clawing at the leather of his brand-new Hell’s Handler’s cut. The scent of it tickled her nose. “God, yes. More, Curly.”

He grunted as he fucked her faster and harder. Within mere minutes she was careening toward a powerful orgasm.

“Fuck, baby, can’t hold on. You gonna come?”

“Yes. Yes. Yes, now,” she chanted as she clamped her thighs around his waist. He powered into her one last time, then held himself as deep as he could go. Stars danced in front of her eyes as a full-body orgasm flooded her with immense, please. She gyrated against him, burying her face in his neck as he did to her.

They stood wrapped in each other until the trembling subsided.

“Fuck,” he whispered. “That goddammed skirt is magic.”

With a laugh, she unwrapped her legs. He let her down and helped right her clothes before fixing his own. It took a few minutes as they kept stealing kisses and running their hands over each other.

Once decent again, Curly smiled down at her. “Ready to go back out to our family?”

She ran her hands over the front of his cut as she peered up at him. Seeing him in the leather vest brought a huge surge of pride. Not only did it make him look hot and dangerous, but it bore a president’s patch, letting the world know who he was.

Not everyone would support them, understand their life, or agree with it, but in the few days she’d spent with the entire HHMC crew, Brooke got it. This wasn’t a gang of unruly bikers. It was chosen family of men and women who’d seen the darker side of life and decided instead of succumbing to their demons, they’d band together and create a wonderful life full of love, friendship, and joy.

It wouldn’t be all sunshine and rainbows. Hell, it hadn’t been even in the short time they’d been together. She’d had some difficulty dealing with the aftermath of Evan’s break-in and death. Nightmares, anxiety being in the house alone, guilt. But Curly had seen her through it and the worst had faded. Hopefully soon it would all be a distant memory she never called up. She’d never expected or asked for an easy life. Just one where she could be accepted and loved for everything she was.

And she’d found that with Curly and the Handlers.

“I’m ready for all of it, Curly. I love you.”

FOR SO MANY years, he’d thought the universe was out to get him. Amazing how he could feel like such a lucky bastard at this stage of his life after going through so much shit.

“Baby, I love you too,” he said just as there was a knock on his office door.

“Gave you two as long as I could, but they’re wanting the prez to make a speech.” Scott’s voice came through the door.

“Two minutes.”

“He doing okay?” Brooke asked with a furrow to her brow. She’d taken the guys under her wing as she did with her rescue dog. They became her pups, men to care for and love.

As he zipped up his jeans, he shook his head. “Not sure, baby. Seems like his fuse grows shorter by the day. Planning to talk to his sister and Rocket about him tomorrow.” Scott had become unpredictable and volatile, starting fights and drinking like a fucking fish.

With a smile, Brooke stretched up on her tip toes. “Then we’ll worry about it tomorrow. Time for you to go talk to your men.” She kissed him. “I’m so proud of you.”

Had anyone ever said those simple words to him?

Not likely. Damn, they made him feel like the king of the world.

He held his hand out for Brooke. “Let’s go. Stay right at my side, okay?”

Beaming, she nodded. “Nowhere else I’d rather be.”

Hand in hand, they walked out into the partially renovated clubhouse. In a few short months the work would be completed, and he’d have a home for his family. Men slapped him on the back and women kissed both his and Brooke’s cheeks as they wormed their way to the temporary bar.

A loud whistle ripped through the room, ending the chatter. All eyes of both the Tennessee and Florida chapters of the Hell’s Handlers MC focused on him. This was where he belonged. Where he’d wanted to be his entire life. He’d been here before but was too young and stupid to realize the many mistakes he’d made. Now, older, wiser, and harder, he was ready to resume his role as president of a motorcycle club. Having Brooke at his side made this moment a million times sweeter. He squeezed her hand as he smiled down at her.