Dementor (Rolling Thunder MC Birmingham Book 1) Read online

  I started to tell her I wasn’t connected to him, but I realized what she was really asking, so I told her, “One of my brothers is close to Tess. She hired Aaron to keep her safe. There isn’t really a connection, and I think that’s why I’m here.”

  “Because it’ll look like we’re having a fling.”

  “Yeah, that’s my take, but am I your type?”

  She stopped spooning cookie dough onto the sheets, put one cute little fist on her hip, and pointed to a chair with the other. “Sit.”

  Oh, hell no. I braced my feet a little better on the floor, crossed my arms, and held her gaze.

  The little thing didn’t blink. She met my gaze without hesitation and didn’t look away.

  She meant for me to sit in that chair. She expected it. I didn’t move. I didn’t refuse. I didn’t comply.

  She’d have to make the next move.

  Twenty seconds later, she smiled and laughed, and went back to putting cookie dough on the tray.

  Had that been a test? Was she seeing if I was her type?

  “A few years ago, you were exactly my type, but I’ve been trying something new. Looks like Aaron’s reminding me...” A sigh. “Yeah. You’re my type, but to answer your question, you aren’t at all what my team’s used to seeing. There’ll be questions, but I have a feeling you’re good at playing the strong silent type. You’ll be fine.”

  I put six trays into her sizeable oven, and she set the timer before she went back to loading up six more trays. My grams had four trays, this chick had twelve. Damn.

  I wanted to ask if she was close to her parents, and why Aaron and Sophia were taking care of her instead of them. I wanted to know how old she was, and why she was taking criminal justice classes. She didn’t seem bothered by the fact I’m a biker, was it possible she didn’t understand the implications?

  But mostly, I wanted to know why she’d changed types, and what kind of guys her team was used to seeing. I figured asking the last question wasn’t being nosy. It was a legitimate operational question.

  “What kind of guy does your team usually see you with?”

  “The kind I can Top. I figure it’s probably a phase, but it felt important. Balance.” She sighed. “Okay, no idea why I’m sharing, but here goes. My uncle traded me to the owls while he was still King. When Sophia came into power, she negotiated for my freedom, but I didn’t want it. I mean, I appreciated some of the autonomy that gave me, but belonging to the owls was...” She shrugged. “I’d always wanted to have a grand adventure. I was close to several owls. One especially. I thought I loved him. I didn’t want to leave, but then...”

  I smelled grief. Not just sadness, but the kind of heartbreaking sorrow that makes people sink into dark places they don’t always recover from. I wanted to pull her into my arms, but that was ridiculous. Wasn’t it?

  She took a deep breath, blew it out, and kept going. “The owls I was close to were killed in the fighting.”

  I could only nod. In Birmingham, the bad guys had kicked our asses. More good guys died than lived. “We lost most of our club. Still haven’t recovered. I’m so sorry you lost people important to you.”

  She nodded and turned away a little, so I couldn’t see her face. “We all lost people. I know. I’d been taking classes at UA, but I needed a change. Too many memories down south. Aaron and Sophia moved me here because finishing my degree within the same university system means I don’t have to retake any classes, and moving to Chattanooga would’ve put me behind on my degree. I’m closer to them here, and we have roller derby, so...” another shrug.

  “And you went from owned to owner? Is that it?”

  “When Sophia negotiated on my behalf, I asked her to change my title from slave to toy. It worked for me, but when I moved, it felt like I needed to find a balance. Strap-ons and shit. I’ve bought floggers and paddles and whips and all kinds of fun little CBT tools. It’s been completely different, and I’ve needed it.”

  “Because the little bottom-boys were fun, but playing with them let you stay emotionally distant?”

  Her face jerked up, her eyes widened in surprise. “How could you know that?”

  I shrugged. “Experience. You went from toy to dominant. You seem to be interested in me, which means your submissive side is still there. The question is, will you accept your inner submissive or push her down? You don’t have to go all the way back to toy. There are plenty of options in between.”

  She looked out the window, her eyes unfocused. I didn’t interrupt her thoughts. Finally, she shrugged. “I want to be my own person, so the toy thing won’t really work for me anymore. It made me happy, but with Able dead, I need to find my own way in this world.”

  Able. Alabaster. The Owl King. More royalty. There was no way I stood a snowball’s chance in hell with this woman, but I couldn’t help myself. She called to my soul.

  “How old are you?”

  “Twenty five. You?”

  “Got you beat by five years. Do you have a cool roller derby name?”

  Chapter Two

  Ember

  If Aaron puts someone in my house, they need protection. They need a safe haven. A calm port in a scary storm. My job is to make them feel welcome and sheltered. Secure. Mac will have told them the upstairs is my personal space, the main floor is the public space, and the underground rooms would be Tess’s personal space. No need for me to reiterate that. The smell of baking cookies would make the place smell more like a home. Plus, I like feeding people.

  I wasn’t sure what to think of this huge mountain of a man who smelled of bear. I’d never had sex with a bear. Swans, all kinds of cats, wolves, eagles, and of course owls since I’d been given to them. Also, vampires.

  But no bears.

  He’d asked a question, but he’d just met me so I needed to explain before I answered. “Coming up with your derby name is a big deal. It’s best if it’s some kind of pun, but it still needs to scream that you’re a badass. I mean, you can be a glittery badass if that’s your thing — girly is fine, but nothing weak. Also, people will call you part of that name. So, I thought of FireFlightHer because I’m a swan named Ember, but humans don’t know I’m a swan, so no one would understand the flying part. Plus, what would people call me? Fire? Flight? No. Also, I didn’t want to be called something different, so I needed something with Ember in it.”

  He leaned against the counter and smirked. “You gonna tell me your name?”

  I rolled my eyes. “Ember Waves of Pain.”

  His smile told me he enjoyed the pun.

  I assumed Dementor was a nickname, but it seemed to fit him. He’s scary looking, but he doesn’t scare me. Have you ever seen one of those dogs who are so ugly, they’re cute? Maybe it sounds mean, but that’s the first thing I thought of when I saw this man. He’s huge, and his nose isn’t quite right, and his eyes don’t seem to be lined up exactly right, or maybe they are and his forehead is off. It’s hard to tell.

  And yet, his scent and posture and body language made me see something besides the misshapen face.

  But when he heard my derby name, I saw him truly smile. Looking back, it’s possible I started falling in love with him in that moment. His smile lit his face. He didn’t roll his eyes at the corny, silly name. He laughed. He totally got it.

  I’d moved the cookies off the pans and onto cooling racks while he loaded the oven with the other pans, and now I was reloading cookie dough onto the first set of pans after giving them a few moments to cool. I lifted a cookie from a cooling rack and held it to his lips.

  For a second, I worried he wouldn’t let me feed him, but he opened and took a bite, making sure his lips closed over my fingers when he bit down.

  “Mmmmm. Those are damned good cookies. I didn’t see any secret ingredients. What gives?”

  “Half milk chocolate, half dark chocolate chips. Raw, unbleached sugar. Butter sourced locally from happy cows.”

  Humans usually laugh when I say food from happy cows tastes bette
r, but other shapeshifters know I’m right. It boggles the mind that people can’t understand a cow who’s miserable will make less than optimum milk, while a healthy, happy cow will make sweet, healthy, nourishing milk.

  “Mac took Tess downstairs. I’ll put some on a plate and run them down.”

  And he was thoughtful?

  I shook my head. “Dumbwaiter’s to the right of the stove. Mac will know food’s on the way when it starts working. We don’t have to tell them.”

  “How often does Aaron put people here?”

  I shrugged and changed the subject, since I didn’t think Aaron wanted me to share that information. “What do you do for the MC?” I asked as I took the final six trays out of the oven and moved them to the cooling rack.

  “Bouncer. Usually at Blaze, sometimes for the restaurant, occasionally at the spa.”

  Blaze wasn’t that far from the University, so I knew it was a stripper bar. I skipped over that and asked, “The spa needs a bouncer?”

  “We keep our people safe.” He touched my chin. “I’m thinking we eat the cookies a little later. Where’s your bedroom?”

  “Stairs lead up from the pantry.”

  He shook his head. “On second thought, I have a perfectly good bedroom downstairs.”

  “No. I don’t go down there unless I’m invited.”

  “I’m inviting you.”

  “No. By Tess or Mac. You’re the decoy. We go to my room.”

  He frowned. “I have condoms downstairs. You got any upstairs? Or should I make a run downstairs to get mine?”

  “I have coconut oil upstairs, if that works for you. No condoms needed.” Technically, the odds of a mammal and bird procreating were super-slim. It almost never happens, but I wasn’t prepared to take the risk. We couldn’t pass any diseases onto each other, but I wasn’t prepared to be a mom anytime soon. If ever.

  The next thing I knew, he’d slung me over his shoulder and I had a view of the floor as he walked across it to the pantry.

  “You’re going to need my palmprint.”

  “Too bad it won’t take a cheek print.” He put me down in the center of the pantry, and I walked to the pasta section. The palm scanner was installed at an angle, so it isn’t noticeable and only needs an inch and a half of clear space on the shelf. Once it registered my palm, the entire shelving unit slid sideways. I only managed to take a single step before I was slung over Dementor’s shoulder again.

  He’d topped the stairs before I could draw in a breath to tell him, “No bruises below my knees, or on my arms, chest, neck, or face. Don’t do anything I’ll need to change and heal for.”

  It felt wrong to be giving orders, but Topping men had taught me it’s okay to provide these kind of boundaries.

  “That’s it?” He dumped me on my back on the bed. “Nothing about tickling, or fisting, or using hot pepper oil on your clit?”

  My insides ignited without warning. My heart beat faster. I knew he could smell what his words had done to me, but it was too late to stop it. “No. I’m yours for about an hour, just remember I’m going to be on skates getting beat up by human women for two-ish hours tonight. Let’s say nothing from the knees down at all, just to be safe, but only because I have a match tonight.” Somehow, I managed to talk without sounding like a needy little toy.

  “An hour? Not much time to do this right.” He unfastened my jeans, lifted my legs in the air by grasping the hems down around my ankles, and yanked them off, all in less than five seconds. “But hopefully you’ll give me more time later.”

  My panties were soon tossed across the room along with my jeans, and my entire body jerked and contracted when he shoved two fingers inside me without warning. I was already soaked, so it wasn’t like I wasn’t ready, but it was completely unexpected.

  Two seconds after my body reacted with shock, every submissive hormone my body could produce was flowing through my veins. I wanted this man to take me and use me. I needed him to find pleasure by using my body. Once a toy, always a toy? I didn’t care in that moment. I just needed him to pound the fuck out of me.

  His smirk told me he understood. Two fingers came out. Three went in. I gasped, but didn’t dare look away from his gaze. This wasn’t an alpha who demands you look down in submission, but one who demands you allow him to see you. I’ve been fully trained by both kinds, and while it’s easier to look down and escape — to keep a little of yourself hidden — in the long run, I prefer being forced to show myself. Also, it works both ways, because you also get to see into the Dom’s soul.

  Some sadists only want to hurt you if you enjoy it. Others just want to hurt you. Before Sophia negotiated for my freedom, I’d had to suffer from both types. Afterwards, I stayed because I could turn down the ones who wanted to cut me and burn me. The ones who gave me so much pain, it was just hell. I couldn’t get on top of it. I became the pain until darkness took over. It was too much, and I hated it.

  But I learned to love other kinds of pain, and that’s why I stayed. I enjoyed being a toy to Able and his most trusted inner circle.

  Looking into Dementor’s eyes told me he might give me bad pain every once in a while, but in this moment, he was looking for ways to make me enjoy the things he’d do to me.

  “Surely your parents didn’t name you Dementor?”

  “Isaiah, but my family calls me Zay, or sometimes Zay-ya. My MC brothers sometimes just call me D.” His hand kept moving. It felt a little like he was daring me to try to keep up the conversation I’d started.

  “So, you’re either Dee or Zay?”

  He chuckled and pressed four fingers into me, stretching me until it hurt. I was suddenly teetering on the edge of an orgasm — if he’d only pummel me hard I was certain it wouldn’t take long. My heart somersaulted in my chest, my eyes closed, and a long, low groan rumbled through my entire body. Fuck, but I needed this.

  My feet were near my butt, and my knees slanted out to give him room to work. Apparently, he wanted more. “Spread your feet more, and press your butt up. Not that much. Maybe an inch off the bed.”

  I immediately moved to obey, and he smiled. “Good girl. Spread your labia and pull your clit hood up.”

  When I’d done as ordered, he pulled his four fingers out of me and backed off the bed. “Hold it while I undress. Let your clit get good and dry while you watch. When I finish undressing, I’m going to flick it. It’s going to hurt. The amount of lube you get in your ass will be directly proportional to how still you can stay while I flick it six times.”

  The cool, dry air on my clit was certainly drying it out, but his words made sure nothing else went dry. Fuck. I both needed and dreaded this. The scent of my arousal hung in the room. Overpowering. There was no way to hide what he was doing to me.

  I needed this.

  Not wanted. Needed. Playing with the cute boy-toys had been fun, but nothing could compare to what submitting to a sadist did to me.

  I still wore my bra and shirt, but I didn’t ask if or when he’d take them off. He clearly had a plan.

  Most men take their shirt off first, but he sat and worked his boots off. It took several really long minutes. Biker boots apparently aren’t easy-on-easy-off. He poked his socks into the boots, stood, removed his holster with the gun still in it and settled it on the side table, and finally dropped his jeans and underwear all at once. He wore a black t-shirt, and it became the backdrop for the fattest cock I’ve ever seen — and I’ve fucked a bunch of owls, who traditionally tend to have short, fat dicks, as do all male bird-shifters who have a cloaca in animal form. An eagle shifter had once split my asshole open and made me bleed, but he’d only been about six inches long.

  Dementor, however, was fat and long. My drying clit throbbed enough, I felt my pulse in the fingers surrounding it.

  And then he took his shirt off, and I wished I could take a picture. His body was perfection. I mean, he’s huge, but he isn’t built like a body-builder. There are muscles, but he isn’t overly ripped. He’s a bear — n
o one would ever mistake him for a cat.

  My eyes moved from his chest and arms back down to his dick. He was going to be way too long to fit in my pussy, and possibly a little long for my backdoor, but I’d adjust. Probably.

  “Remember — you aren’t going to get much lube if you can’t be still.”

  I met his gaze. “What makes you think I want a lot of lube?”

  “Your reaction to my dick. Not exactly scared, but more than a little apprehensive.”

  I grinned. “It’s an impressive dick.”

  He stepped to the bed and focused on my cunt. “Spread the lips a little wider, and stretch your clit hood up more.”

  When I did, he patted the inside of my thigh. “Good girl. This is going to hurt. No rules today about whether you can close your eyes, or how much noise you can make, or whether you can speak. Do whatever you need in order to survive it without moving. Your hips, legs, hands, and fingers stay still. You do not let go of your lips or clit hood. Understood? Stay still for all six and I’ll lube your ass, stretch you and get you ready for me, and I’ll generously lube my cock. Stay still half the time and you get no stretching and moderate lube. Fail every time, I’ll put a few drops of lube on my cock, but your ass won’t get any. Somewhere in between will fall on the sliding scale.”

  I nodded, and he lined his fingers up with his thumb and middle finger making a circle, so when he released his finger, it would slam into the side of my bared clit.

  Able once cut my clit hood off the day after the winter solstice, and then didn’t let me change until the spring equinox. He cut it off numerous times over the years I was with him, but he usually let me change and heal within a few days — a week at most. Losing it for three months, though — my world had revolved around my missing clit hood in ways I can’t explain. Able liked to use his belt on my clit, so it wasn’t like I’ve never had to deal with this kind of impact play, but requiring me to hold myself open for it was new.

  Dementor’s hand rested in the crook where my left leg meets my crotch, so the sharp, excruciating impact struck the left side of my clit. My right knee came up and in a little, but I otherwise managed to stay still. It would only get worse from here, though. Pain on your clit builds and grows with each strike.