Their Private Need (Death Lords MC 3)

“I didn’t realize you were such a smartass, Annie. I might have made a run at you.”

“Good thing you didn’t. I don’t know how to compete with a granary.”

He opens his mouth and then surprises me by barking out a laugh. “You’re okay. I was a little surprised to see you show up wearing a cuff because it didn’t seem like you’d be that kind of girl. But if you can give a little shit and take a little shit, it’s all good. Wait here.” He pats a bar stool.

Behind the bar is a burly guy, about six feet tall and sporting a full beard. He leans back against the counter behind him and his muscles are so large I think his one arm might be bigger than my head. Both arms are decorated with colorful tattoos—a woman’s face, what looks like a snake or some other scaled creature, a dark tribal band.

I slip onto the stool. “Hi,” I say weakly. All my earlier bravado is gone. It’s one thing to tease an old classmate who I knew from grade school when he threw paper clips at girls to get their attention and another to engage a guy who so clearly thought I didn’t belong. Not even his beard could hide the frown of disapproval.

“Is it the clothes?” I say finally.

“What about your clothes?” he says.

“I just wondered if it was my jeans or top that you didn’t like.”

“I don’t care about your clothes,” he grumbles.

“Then it’s my hair? I need bigger hair? I’m not very good with the round brush.”

“I got no idea what you’re chattering about, girl. Want a beer?”

“Sure.” I don’t like beer but I’m not about to say no to Grizzly Adams.

He reaches behind him, pulls out a bottle and pops off the cap without taking his eyes off me or turning around. The counter is really a cooler, I guess.

“Your skill is impressive.”

He grunts.

“Annie, what are you doing here?”

I spin around to find Michigan sporting the same cross-armed stance as the man behind the bar and a frown every bit as fierce.

“I came for the party,” I say uncertainly. Had I completely misread Easy’s invitation? Because the look in Michigan’s eyes is definitely not one of welcome.

“What party?”

“The mash,” I say uncertainly.

“No mash tonight,” interjects the bartender.

“She’s got a cuff,” Dakota, I mean Rider, says with amusement from his position behind Michigan’s right shoulder.

I raise my wrist again to display the leather wristband.

Michigan grabs my wrist and twists, not hard, but I can tell he’s taken by surprise. My dread and embarrassment deepens.

“Where’s Easy?” I ask. “He told me to…” I trail off because I can’t remember the exact words, only that he’d pressed his big thing into my stomach and told me to wear the cuff and show up here. I can’t really explain that and I can feel myself turning tomato-red just thinking about it.

Michigan doesn't answer but stands in front of me wrestling with something internally. He comes to some unspoken decision and tugs me off the chair. Since he leads me up a set of stairs and not out the doors, I find my tongue and ask, “Where are we going?”

“You’re wearing Easy’s wrist cuff. You want to know what it’s like to be with Easy, then come with me.”

On the second floor, he guides me down a long hallway. As we get close to the end, I hear heavy guitar music, a few male shouts, and a sporadic clap. We enter a medium sized room—larger than a living room but not as big as the open space downstairs.

At the far end there are two women dancing on a pole that appears bolted to the floor. The entire back wall is a mirror and in the reflection I can see everything—the women, the men watching them, and me, in the far back wearing a wide-eyed gaze. Behind me is the imposing figure of Michigan, arms folded with an unhappy expression on his face.

I creep forward, down the side of the room until I’m standing next to a sofa. I can’t take my eyes off the mirror.

The men do not notice me. Their eyes are glued to the spectacle.

The women are beautiful but unfamiliar. They aren’t from Fortune but have the polished look of a Twin Cities woman. Their undulating bodies shimmer and glow in the soft light. Out of the corner of my eye, I catch movement and my gaze is drawn away from the women toward a man sitting in an arm chair. His legs are spread wide and between them a woman kneels, her head moving up and down. His one arm is bent backward and his hand is gripping the frame of the chair behind him while his other hand is buried in the hair of the kneeling woman.

If this is a quiet night, I’m wondering what a mash is.

“This what you wanted to see?” A low voice rumbles next to my ear. Michigan’s big body is behind me, close but not touching. A whiff of tobacco, spearmints, and warm male musk surrounds me. It’s intoxicating.

I don’t answer him right away but instead take in the entire room again. The men around the room are transfixed by the women dancing. A fire could be raging where Michigan and I are standing and no one would move. I’ve never seen a woman exercise this kind of power or be the subject of this kind of desire and adoration. Even if it is momentary, what a heady feeling.

“I didn’t know what I wanted to see,” I reply with heartfelt honesty. “But this is amazing.”

Chapter Five

Michigan

When Annie turns up at the clubhouse wearing Easy’s cuff, my first instinct is to shove her out of the granary and drive her back to the parish home. Then I would find Easy and beat him into the ground. It occurs to me that the beating won’t be a sufficient deterrent. What if he decides to spring this shit again? Bringing some innocent to the granary wearing his claiming cuff? He’s a fucking fool. Time to teach him a lesson.

It’s Wednesday and the regular mash takes place on Friday but there’s always something going on at the granary and tonight there’s a show. I lead her upstairs to show her exactly what being with a Death Lord entails so that I won’t have to kick her out. She’ll run out on her own, full up with horror. But now I can’t take my eyes off her.

She’s not what I expected.

Oh, she’s red as a beet but transfixed by what’s taking place. And aroused. Her hand is touching her pleasure points. Her throat, the top of her chest. She rubs a finger across her chest, getting deeper and deeper, lower until her fingertip dis

appears below the cotton of her neckline.

It’s a path I want to trace with my own tongue.

And the need to punish anyone has evaporated, replaced with a lust.

I don’t know what is turning her on right now but there’s no doubt in my mind that if I reached between her legs, she’d be wet. How wet is gonna drive me mad.

I counsel myself to calm the fuck down. Just because a strip tease and sex show turns her on doesn’t mean she’s ready to be sandwiched between Easy and me for even one night.

No matter how many lectures I repeat in my head, my brain has no control over my body. The lure of Annie is too great. My feet move and I find myself standing behind her, looming really. This close I can see the rapid rise and fall of her small chest.

“This what you wanted to see?” I ask.

Her breathy, forthright response shakes me. If she’s not going to resist, then how can I? I plant a hand against the wall, high above her head to prevent myself from ripping off her clothes and giving everyone else in the room something new to stare at.

“Ever been to an amusement park, Annie?”

She nods and fixates her doe eyes on me. It’s a good thing I’ve braced myself because being the primary focus of her attention is staggering. As she runs her hot gaze over my face, takes in my chest and then fixates on my obvious erection, I mentally recite the alphabet backwards. If I don’t gain some control, I’ll come in my pants like an inexperienced teenager looking at nudes on the Internet for the first time.

Her tongue darts out to taste her upper lip. I don’t know much about innocents but I do know what she’s thinking. She’s wondering how I taste. The needy look in her eyes is screaming for me to throw her down on the floor and take her.This is what made Easy leave his cuff behind. I want to cuff her too—cuff her to my side and never allow her to leave.