Claiming Celia (18+) SAMPLE

2: Talking Bodies

"And what about Cage?"

Slayer's voice is critical, borderline accusing. Doing his part for the club, Silver walks over to stand next to him and exchanges a silent warning look.

The prez eyes the prospect for a long moment and then gives a nod of acknowledgment. He doesn't need to answer, but we all know that the prospects were close and doing so might settle our last standing one.

"A jogger found them pretty banged up in the woods. Patch was lucky enough to get help in time. Cage bled out on sight."

Murmurs fill the room until the prez cuts in. "We need someone to talk the girl that found them into coming in." A silent demand is shared with Silver. "We also need to be on the lookout. Getting the drop on prospects is one thing, but a patched member? Whoever's responsible is smart and a few steps ahead of us."

Crush picks up after. "If you've got any favors to cash in on from other clubs, now would be a good time to do so. See what they've heard, but keep it quiet. The last thing we need are some fucking hotshots coming in and thinking they can clean us out. Stay in groups. Keep your eyes up, and ears open on the road until we figure out who's fucking with us."

I share my piece then. "Since Tomb is missing still, we'll need someone to be interim tail until he gets back." The unspoken if in my words doesn't go unnoticed. Tension ripples throughout the room and me.

The Reapers haven't ever lost a patched member. The thought of losing one like Tomb, who's been around for so long, is hard to think.

Blade clears his throat and exchanges a look with the prez, a silent request. He's asking to be interim—and for a second chance. A while back some shit happened and Blade lost his cool demeanor for once. He was demoted from his rank instantly, losing his job next to Switch as the second enforcer.

Konrad looks to me then. As V.P, I'm here for a second opinion on decisions like this. No matter how competent a leader may be, everyone needs someone to have their back at some point.

I know that Blade lost his shit that day, but he had good reason and this past year he hasn't made the same mistake again. With that in mind, I give an approving nod and after a moment of thought, the prez gives Blade the same gesture.

The doors to the meeting room open with a resonating click. Morrigan walks in, a stack of cups and a pitcher of steaming coffee in her hands. Konrad pauses the meeting chatter with a single wave of his hand in the air. His eyes fill with a familiar intensity as he watches his wife approach.

Morr is the only old lady to speak of in the clubhouse. The other guys are just breaking mid-twenties and still distracted with the women that hang around for fun, or the others found during the clubs weekly trysts to the neighboring bars.

When I joined the Reapers, I was nineteen. Prez was twenty-three and had just inherited his rank from his father. I was composed for my age and that's why I'd been patched in so swiftly, earning my spot at Konrad's side as the club's Vice President within weeks. In the first three years of riding, I was like the other patches—eager to take in the lifestyle, to fuck, ride, and do whatever the hell the prez asked of me. But I gave up the one night stands and women who only lingered around for the opportunity to say they fucked a rough handed biker. Those nights got old, leaving me with an emptiness before long.

Two more years have passed and I haven't fucked around since—just enjoyed the pavement beneath my rides wheels and doing my part for the club.

Yet after all this time, seeing the new woman walk into the room again has that urge to fuck returning at full force and then some. It's a deeper need in the pit of my stomach that begs me to tie her down in every way possible.

Morrigan leans over the table next to me—obstructing my view. "Her name is Celia. You should talk to her instead of staring so hard."

I grunt in response. I will talk to her, just as soon as I get her alone where no one can interrupt my claim. My cock hardens and my pulse thrums at the very thought.

Yeah. I'll claim her. It won't be long.

She's mine.

Only now she's on the wrong side of the table, leaning over the wrong damn patch. I stifle a growl of anger as Celia gracefully sets plates of food in front of Switch and Blade, then find myself choking back a groan as she bends over—her shirt bagging far from her chest to reveal beautiful tits wrapped in lace cloth—and slides a plate in front of me.

The food smells good, but I can't stop myself from thinking about how much I'd rather feast on the pale flesh she just flashed me with instead.

My cock swells against my zipper, straining to get out and do my bidding—fucking that beauty until every patch in the room understands she's all mine. Until neither of us can walk again.

As I begin contemplating getting up to carry her out of the room caveman style, her hollow eyes meet mine.