The Death Lords, Volumes 1-3: His Wild Desire, Her Secret Pleasure, Their Private Need Read Online Free Page A

scratching up against mine and I know .
    “You’re inside me,” I say with wonder.
    He raises on one arm and brushes my hair out of my face. “I am, and Chels,” his face darkens, “no one gets in here but me. Not ever. Hear me?”
    “I hear you, Grant. So long as your dick doesn’t go near another girl, I won’t let anyone touch me but you.”
    “There’s no one but you, Chels. No one but you.”
    Present day
    That husky promise replays every time I bring myself. He kept his promise. After that night that he took my virginity, Grant never looked at another girl. He applied himself to pleasuring me every spare and secret moment. He’d wanted to come clean to Judge and I told him not until I graduated. I was thinking of another promise to extract from him when he got into a fight outside Rowdy’s with another motorcycle club—the Eighty-Eight Henchmen were motoring through town and wet their white supremacist whistle in our bar.
    Fortune is home to a number of Native Americans and they didn’t take too kindly to the swastikas and other symbols of hate adorning the 88’s colors and skin. Grant stood up for his friend, Mato, and ended up killing one of the supremacists. If it wasn’t for the fact that the chief of police had it in for the Death Lords, Grant would’ve gotten off on self-defense. Instead he ended up serving three years of a ten-year manslaughter sentence.
    I waited for him to come home and dreaded it too because when he got out, I’d want him even more and if those feelings were returned, then our secret wouldn’t last.
    I couldn’t live with myself if Judge turned his back on us. Coming clean seems to be the least positive outcome but I don’t want to leave Judge and Grant either. I have no good answers.
    I rise, wash my hands off and climb back into bed feeling frustrated, unsatisfied and worried.
    Grant is over at the club where there is a shit ton of available pussy. I’d turned him away and after three years of going without, would I still be the only one for Grant? I knocked myself on the head. If I wanted to stay here with my family it meant that Grant needed to move on. Maybe if he found a new girl, I can finally break free. But deep down I know that is a lie.
    I only had one lover and I only want one lover.
    I am in such deep shit.

Chapter Two
    Grant
    The clubhouse looks no different. It’s an old granary. Chelsea once pointed out that the middle section is shaped like a tall thin milk carton. After that Dad and I couldn’t unsee it. There are two sloped roofs on either side and a belt conveyor attached from the third floor into a nearby silo. The silo is empty and serves as the porthole for Bang Bang’s prepper tendencies. He’s the club’s Warlord, in charge of tactical strategy. His focus is on stockpiling weaponry, food, water tablets and who knows what else for the impending apocalypse. No one mocks this because he may be right and we’ll all have to live in an underground concrete box eating jerky and drinking reconstituted piss, but at least we’ll have food and water.
    Kind of like prison.
    Maybe I can convince Bang Bang to build us an underground basketball hoop because without the yard exercise daily, I would’ve shanked myself inside. Three years is a long fucking time.
    At least I didn’t serve five like Saxon Gray, the president of Hellfire Riders, over in Oregon. He’d turned a Henchman into a vegetable with one swift kick to the head. Rumor has it Gray had been protecting Little Red, the daughter of a rival MC president, from rape but nothing came of that defense.
    Everyone saw my attacker come at me with a motorcycle chain. When he ended up dead because I was quicker, stronger and less drunk, the Henchmen wanted someone to pay. Fortunately for them, Chief of Police Eric Schmidt is in their back pocket, turning a blind eye to the meth and guns that are trafficked along the Chippewa River. He pushed through my manslaughter conviction by riding the county