| 22 | Control ||

“You should go. I’ll call a cab for you.” He averted his eyes to the floor.

She stood, trying to right her thoughts while also getting dressed again. She couldn’t help but feel cheap, like one of the other loose women that floated around the place. Her shaking fingers were bumbling with the buttons, and her mind was racing. Did he really say his mother killed someone? Surely, she heard him wrong.

Despite that burden, she couldn’t let him think that she didn’t want him. She took a deep breath. “Devlin―” She broke off when he walked past her and went to the door. “Devlin, we should talk.”

“There’s nothing to talk about.”

She paused a few buttons from the top and stopped. “No.”

He stopped mid-stride and turned back to look at her. “No?”

“I’m not leaving?”

“NO?”

She shrieked when he was upon her and coward in his shadow. “Stop acting like a bully and liste―”

“I’m not acting!” He pinned her against the wall; her neck clasped loosely in his hand. She grabbed his arm. It outraged her the heat flowing from her core to her nipples and pooling in her groin. “This is who I fucking am. This is the blood I was born from.” He moved his face closer, an inch from hers. “There is no redemption for me.” It was just above a whisper, so wrought with torture and emotion, she couldn’t help but feel it deep in her own chest.

Her body of its own accord arched toward him. “T-that’s not true.” She despised the breathy quality of her voice — the undeniable pull she had towards this man.

“But it is.” He exhaled and leaned into her. “I don’t know what you fucking want from me. You can’t domesticate me. You can’t run around shouting your ultimatums and sending your little messages. Then come in here and say you have feelings.” His voice was low and husky.

Shame washed over her. “You’re right. I shouldn’t have sent that message. I was angry and it was wrong.”

He gritted his teeth, clenched his jaw and the hand around her neck moved to cradle her cheek before he rested his forehead against hers. The churning heat in her stomach at the gesture, so close, so intimate, was enough to make her fall into a million pieces.

“Devlin―”

“I won’t be controlled. So no more bitchy ass text messages or ultimatums. I need freedom. I need to ride.” He pulled away just enough so he could catch her eyes. “I’ll never be fucking Jacob.” Rita’s words flashed through her mind: There are standards, and then there are Lacey’s standards. He was telling her his standards. She blinked at that realization.

He was telling her what he needed. She never thought about what he needed. She never thought about what any of her partners needed, Jacob either. She―she never ever asked him. She never thought of them as having standards, especially ones that she didn’t meet, so she never asked.

She had a humbling moment, and with it, great respect for Devlin for not giving into her demands. Not giving into her demands? For some reason, it made absolutely no sense for her to respect him for that, but it also made her want to devour the man. She wanted to suck the come out his cock and throw her willing body at him. It was a wild but very real, fleeting fantasy.

Her breathing was a struggle, and her hands still held on to him so close, pressed against her. Her gaze fell to his mouth then back up to his dark eyes that stole her soul.

He wanted her. He wanted to fuck her right there in that office. She could see it in his onyx eyes, and she, she wanted that too. She needed that. Needed him. His hand slid back around her neck, and his thumb stroked down the length of it.

“Devlin.” She whispered, sliding a hand up his shirt.

He grumbled, and his hand tightened around her throat for a brief moment, making her gasp for air. She wasn’t sure why she wanted, more than anything at that moment, this feral creature to ravage her. To take his vengeance out on her willing body.

Even smashed against her, he was so far away. She needed to feel his hot skin.

“God Dammit, woman.” He breathed. The hand around her neck fell away, and he leaned his forehead on hers. The weight of his lower body leaning into her kept her pinned to the wall. She flexed her hips, eliciting a growl from him. He grabbed her hips and angled them toward him. “You want me to fill your pussy?” He whispered.

She nodded.

“Say it. Tell me what you want.”

“Devlin―”

He slid a finger along the ridge of her sex hugged tight to the thin cotton fabric of her leggings. “Tell me, Lacey.”

“You.” A desperate shout ejected from her parted lips. “I want you.”

He frowned. “No, you don’t. You want the part of me you can control.” He ground his pelvis into hers. “The part that will rise and fall at your command. The part that will heed to your demands. The part that you can lead around like a lapping dog.” She gasped, when he pulled one of her legs up around his hip and pressed his erection against her heat.

“Now, tell me what you really want.” He pulled her bottom lip between his teeth, then released it and consumed her mouth. He syphoned parts of her soul with each stroke of his tongue, and she was powerless to stop him. She was certain she didn’t want to. She was sure she wanted more.

Somehow, she mustered up the will to pull her face away from his and found his onyx eyes. She frowned and cocked her head to the side, taking in his entire face: his long ebony hair that matched his eyebrows, full lips, down his neck, shoulders and chest, and she looked back up into those deep, abys-like eyes and placed her palm on his chest where his heart pounded soundly underneath. “I want you, Devlin Sinn.” She looked up at him from under her lashes. “The parts I can control.” She rubbed down the front of his pants, and he flexed his hips, pushing his penis into her hand. He bared his teeth. “And.” Her palm found his beating heart again. “The parts I can’t.”

His dark eyes searched hers for an immeasurable amount of time. He touched her chin and rubbed it gently with his thumb.

She leaned into his touch. He was her gentle beast. She placed her hand over his that clasped the nape of her neck. The light juvenile feeling that accompanied a crush was replaced with a fierceness to protect him, even if from himself. To show him that she meant her proclamation.

She wanted him. She understood in that moment that would be a feat, but that didn’t sway her will.

She caught his eyes, and the next moment, she was in his arms, her mouth over his, tongue lapping up his entire being and, without prompting, as if it knew its master, her body came alive when pulled to him. The heat rolling through her body plummeted to the wet valley nestled in her panties.

A solid knock on the door startled them from the rapture.

Stitch’s voice came from the other side of the door. “Prez?”

Devlin growled, rubbing her thighs wrapped securely around him, hand paused at her waist. “I’m fucking busy.”

The other man cleared his throat. “It can’t wait.”

He closed his eyes. His jaw ticked a few times before he reluctantly pulled away and buttoned her shirt the rest of the way. “Give me a minute.”

“Take two,” Stitch mumbled, on the other side of the door, humor evident in his voice.

Devlin reluctantly put her down and started toward the door.

Once there, he trapped her between the wall and his body near the door. His eyes held her for a long time before he brushed her hair away from her face and cupped her cheek. Her insides had no idea what to do, besides flop around like a fish out of water. “Ride with me.”

She frowned holding his eyes for an extended period of time before she nodded.

“I’ll pick you up tomorrow at ten.”

“Where are we going?” She tried to temper the excitement — the thought of being on the rumbling beast again and holding onto Devlin. The idea of sharing in something that he enjoyed doing was immensely exciting to her.

He shrugged. “We’ll know when we get there.” He opened the door, but she held his gaze for a while longer before her eyes fell.

Before she turned and walked out, she looked back up at him and said, “You know, we sometimes forget that Lucifer was an angel first and God’s favorite too.” She turned and walked into the hall, squeezing between Stitch, his mischievous smirk, and the gauntlet of now full and happy bikers. Some muttered thank yous to her; others belched instead. Others even invited her back.

She made her way to the kitchen where she knew there’d be a very large task to complete. She smiled when she saw the anticipated pile of dishes to wash. This is just what she needed to allow her mind to process the events that happened so quickly.  

Riding was important to him. It was something he needed, and he didn’t seem to need much. She’d been saying she wanted to know him better, that he never shared anything real with her, besides his penis.

She’d been thinking that Devlin was the exact same man she met five years ago, and perhaps he was in many ways. She, in her selfish attempt to force someone to fit her ideal, never cared to see. She genuinely wanted to know this man in a way that no one else could boast. She didn’t get it before, but he deserved that.

He deserved that and she was going to give it to him.

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