Forged: A Devil's Spawn MC Novel (17 page)

I’m close, so close, to begging him to fuck me that my hands are clenching the sheets, and my eyes are squeezed shut trying to hold back the words. Reading my every movement, Tobias leans down so his front is pressed along the length of my back and whispers in my ear.

“You want me to fuck you, baby? You want me to slide my cock in side you and make you come? Tell me what you need from me and I’ll do it, Tilly. Anything. I’ll do anything if you just give me the words.”

“Yes,” I breathe. “Yes, I want you to fuck me. Hard, Tobi. I want it hard.”

Then, I instantaneously forget everything except the exquisite feeling of Tobias’s cock sliding inside me. The way he strokes and then grinds his pelvis against mine every time he hits the entrance to my womb. The feeling of his rough hands gliding along my rib cage, wrapping me in his arms and holding me tight. I can hear his ragged breathing, the pound of his heart, and feel the rhythmic throb of his cock as it gets impossibly bigger inside me. He stretches my sensitive tissues to accommodate his length. His teeth nip at my shoulder, and his weight keeps me grounded so I don’t float away with on the wave of pleasure he’s giving me.

Nothing else exists. Just me and him. Us together. None of the ugliness of the outside world intrudes on the cocoon Tobias is creating for us. The fact Demon is still missing and no one has been able to locate him doesn’t register. Stacey and her vicious lies about my husband, the ones I very nearly made a permanent decision based on don’t bother me now. Neither does my dad intervening on my behalf, but not with my permission when he withdrew the divorce papers. None of that factors in here. Only the stunning reality that I have my husband back. Finally having my Tobias back penetrates my lust riddled brain with an intensity I’d only hope one day to feel again.

I cry out as my climax washes over me suddenly. It’s so big, so powerful, that it almost steals the very breath from my lungs.

“Tobi.” I murmur. “I love you, Tobi.”

Tobias drops to cover my back again still continuing to thrust inside me until he finds his own release. Its then, and only then he whispers back,

“Now and forever, baby. Now and forever.”

Tilly wanting to come with me to see my parents’ means the world to me. Not that I thought she wouldn’t offer as soon as she heard, because I knew she would. What I didn’t expect was for her to take it upon herself to organize it before I could even broach it with her.

After getting off the phone to her mom, I showed her exactly how much I appreciated her support by fucking her mindless. I left her lazing in bed while I got up to shower only to come back and find the sneaky little shit on the phone again. Apparently ten minutes is too long to leave my wife unattended with a phone that has internet access, because in less than the time it took me to shower and dress she’d called my dad and arranged to meet him and my mom at eleven tomorrow morning in Denver. She’d pre-booked us a hotel room close by in, Cherry Creek for the night too.

Figuring I’d be pissed at her, Tilly pretended to be sleeping when I reemerged from the bathroom. That is until I stripped the covers off her, spread her legs, and devoured her pussy not allowing her to climax until she fessed up to what she’d done. Needless to say she relented almost immediately and I finished her off as a reward. Not for her, for me.

It’d been months since I’d had the chance to taste her. And if I hadn’t needed to be inside her with an urgency I’d never known, I would have started with that and built up to the rough, hard fucking I’d given her earlier. Based her moans and the way she screamed my name over and over again, I get the impression she didn’t mind in the least it ending this way instead of beginning.

Within the hour we had packed, Tilly was showered and dressed comfortably for the long ride, and we were on our way to Denver. It may not be the best of circumstances, and the reason for our overnight might have been less than desirable, but all of that paled in comparison to having my wife once again wrapped around me on my bike. Having my old lady ride with me was fucking spectacular, and just another thing I didn’t realize I’d missed so much until I didn’t have it anymore.

I was noticing that a lot lately. All the things I’d missed out on. And not only after she’d served me with the divorce papers. I’d noticed well before that. For years, two and a half of them, I’d missed out on the simple things with Tilly. The Sunday rides we went on with the brothers and their old ladies. Parties and hog roasts where she’d be sitting on my lap while we sat in front of the bonfire, talking and laughing until the early hours of the morning. I missed showering with her. Lathering up her body before I’d slip my hand between her legs, stroking her, manipulating her pussy until it creamed for me. But what I missed the most was when every night, just before she fell asleep, Tilly would curl up tight at my side and whisper how much she loves me, and what her icing for the day was.

Tilly started this a month after we’d started sleeping together, as soon as she was a permanent fixture in my bed every night. Before then her sleeping over the entire night had been sporadic at best. Two or three nights scattered throughout the week, some weeks more, some less. Having had enough of waking to a cold bed, no warm willing woman to take care of my morning wood, and missing the shit out of her sweet, soft snores, I told her she was moving in with me. She didn’t put up a fight, she gave in to my demand immediately. If she had decided to raise an objection to it she wouldn’t have won, but I think she knew that, hence her not bothering to argue with me.

The first night she spent in her new home Tilly curled herself around me, one of her legs between the two of mine, and told me she loved me. I thought she’d fallen asleep until she proceeded to tell me what I’d done that day that put the icing on the cake of our relationship. That night she said she was thankful I’d given her a home, but not any old home, a home with me. If I wasn’t already madly, unequivocally in love with Tilly before that I’d have fallen then without a doubt.

Every night after, without exception, Tilly told me what put the icing on her day. And every night I fell a little more in awe of her. The way she looked at life. The way she took care of her family. That meant all of us, not only her immediate family but her extended one being the club too. Tilly retained an air of innocence I desperately hoped she never lost. There was something about a grown woman, a wife and mother of three, that could look at the world with wonder dancing in her eyes that deserved to be cherished and nurtured.

When the shit with Stacey happened, Tilly’s eyes darkened as if her internal light had gone out, but I was mistaken. My actions had made her harder and caused her to erect a wall to protect herself, but there were fleeting glimpses of the old Tilly, my Tilly hiding just behind the façade. That was all I needed to keep my hope alive through those dark days. A flicker of the old Tilly to remind me she was still in there, and what we had, however damaged, was worth fighting for.

Now, sitting across from my wife at a diner in a place I didn’t want to be, waiting on people I didn’t want to see, I decided it was time for me to start repaying Tilly for some of the beauty she’d brought into my life. There was no fucking way I’d ever be able to come close to what she’d done for me, but I could sure as hell try.

Taking her tiny, slim hand in mine and meeting her gaze head on I ask,

“Do you want to know what my icing was yesterday?” With a suspicious look on her face she nods squeezing my hand tightly. “My icing was for the first time in a long fucking time I didn’t need you to tell me you loved me to believe it. You showed me by taking my back with my parents’ and coming with me. You showed me by taking me inside your beautiful body. And you showed me by not giving up on us.”

Tears fill her eyes, her lower lip wobbling as she tries to hold them back.

“Mine was you forgiving me, even though I didn’t deserve it. I jumped to conclusions about you and that nasty tramp, and for that I’m so sorry, Tobi. So very sorry I didn’t ask you what was going on between you. I should have…”

“You’ve got fucking nothing to be sorry for, babe.” I snap cutting her off. “Like I told you, that shit is on me not you, and it’s done. Well and truly done. We’re moving on and leaving that shit in the past where it belongs. You and me are good, we always will be.” Before I get a chance to lean over the table and kiss her the way I want to, a throat beside us clears and I look up into the eyes of my dad.

Jade green eyes, the exact shade as my own, pierce mine with an intensity born of pain. His hair may be greying around his temples, but other than that it shows no signs of thinning, hiding his true age. My dad always took care of himself, eating healthy when he could, working out in either our home gym or the one at work, and I notice that hasn’t changed. If anything he looks better than he had when he was substituting regular meals with scotch or whiskey. At six-foot-one, only two inches shorter than me, what Jack Phillips lacked in stature he made up for in presence.

He’d always been a man that could command the attention of a room with one look, but Jack Phillips didn’t lord his position or power over anyone, because he didn’t need to. His reputation spoke for him, and in the circles he travelled he was well liked and treated with the respect he deserved. But at home, it was a different story altogether. At home Jack was relaxed, the voice of reason, and the parent both he and Finley went to if they needed something they knew their mom would immediately say no to. No, at home his dad wasn’t the corporate, suit wearing shark that lacked tact or a conscience, he was a good man and an equally good dad…Until he wasn’t.

Unsure what to say, I move out of the booth and slide in silently beside Tilly. I thought this would be easy, but within seconds I realize my mistake. There’d be nothing easy or relaxed about this reunion, and I’d be counting on Tilly to keep me calm and sane. I could already feel the resentments and anger of old resurfacing, and I only hoped I was in control of myself enough to keep it locked down tight.

Following suit, my mom and dad slide in across from us allowing me to take my first look at the woman who gave me life. At this point that was all I was willing to concede she’d done for me. Sure, she’d been around until Finley died and she’d done it in a way we knew she loved and cared for us, but that changed and so did my perception of her. Mom mightn’t have been as free with her praise as dad or involve herself in every minor detail of our lives, but there wasn’t a day that went by that we didn’t know we were important to her.

The best way to describe Lillian Phillips is, elegant. Everything about her from the top of her boutique salon, platinum blonde dyed hair, to her weekly pedicure painted toes is elegant. There had been more than once in the months leading up to me leaving home when I wondered if I’d ever see her like this again. Put together and poised. I’d dreamed that one morning she’d wake up, realize what she was doing to us, and announce she was off to her hairdresser or a manicure appointment. As odd a thought as that was to have, I wouldn’t have cared less if she’d spent that time actually working on herself rather than consoling me. At least that would’ve proved she was moving on, that she would one day come back to us. But she did none of that. Instead she wallowed in her own despair, let herself go to the point I no longer recognized her, and let our family disintegrate.

Looking at her now I can see she’s not the woman I left behind. The shadows of Finley’s death still lurk inside her blue eyes, but they aren’t blood-shot and unfocused anymore and the pain is deep not right on the surface. They’re the crystal clear, blue eyes I saw smile down at me in my childhood memories. Her five-foot-seven frame was always willowy, but unlike the gaunt, skeletal figure she had years ago, she’s healthier now. I’d almost say she’s back to resembling the woman I knew when I was seventeen.

Her dark, pinstriped slacks, cream cashmere sweater, and the signature single strand of pearls are all reminiscent of the outfits she wore to work every day. My mom would carefully plan out her wardrobe choice the night before, laying everything out on the armchair in the corner of her and dad’s room. She always said preparation is key, organized people are the masters of their own universe. Words she lived and breathed before everything went to shit.

Lillian Phillips wasn’t the kind of mom who baked with her kids, got her hands dirty, took them to after school activities, or read them bedtime stories. What Lillian Phillips was, was a Mother who doted on her children from afar, bragged about their accomplishments to anyone who’d listen, and always prided herself in opening doors for them most other kids would’ve only dreamed of. In her own way it was how she showed she cared. How she showed she was proud of Finley and I.

I didn’t get it at first and I wouldn’t until Finley explained it to me, but my mom’s mom, our Grandmother, wasn’t the maternal type. She was strict, exacting in her standards and what she expected of her only daughter, and she didn’t tolerate overt shows of affection. Growing up like that, with a woman obsessed with how society viewed her, basing all her decisions on what she believed was proper and what the right etiquette was rubbed off on my mom to no small extent. She wasn’t half as uptight as her mother was, but she was still wound tighter than most. But now, sitting across from her for the first time in fifteen years I notice something I’d never seen before. Vulnerability.

Covering Tilly’s hand that’s made its way to my thigh in a non-verbal show of support, I interlace our fingers stroking the pad of my thumb along the outside of hers.

“Well, I’m here, you’re here, do you want to give me what you said you had for me over the phone now?”

I don’t see the point in wasting time with small talk. It’ll only serve to give them false hope there’ll be a reconciliation in the future, something that won’t be happening.

“Hello, Tobias. It’s so good to see you looking well.” Mom whispers quietly. Glancing at Tilly she asks, “And who is this beautiful, young woman you’ve brought with you?”

I can see the cogs turning in her head. She’s trying to work out if Tilly’s merely the woman of the week, my girlfriend, or something more. I’m not sure why and I hope I don’t hurt Tilly by saying it, but I reply with a non-answer.

“None of your business. We’re here because I was told you have something of Finley’s for me, no other reason. You’ve changed your mind, fine, but this meeting isn’t a fucking family reunion and I don’t have time to sit around playing nice while you decide what your new angle’s gonna be. So, either hand it over or we’re leaving. Those are your choices. Now, make one.”

Tilly clears her throat delicately, throwing me a reassuring smile before she addresses them both.

“I’m sure you can understand that your call came as somewhat of a shock. Not hearing from you for a number of years, and then all of a sudden out of nowhere you call wanting to reconnect, that would be a surprise for anyone. What you don’t know, and would have no reason to, is that your call came at a particularly troublesome time for us. No disrespect intended, but knowing your son as well as I do, I would highly consider sharing what you have with him and then try to broach conversation not the other way around. Tobias isn’t a patient man on the best of days, and drawing this out will only make matters worse, not better.”