UNDERTAKER Page 14
He finally released her nipple but only to growl, “Stay right there, Allie. Don’t move.”
She nodded, her eyes still closed, and felt him shift, his big, hard, warm body moving down over her skin. His shoulders pressed between her thighs, and his arms curled around her legs, yanking her to the end of the bed. She gasped as she slid across the coverlet.
His thumbs brushed over her swollen lips, opening her, and the anticipation was drawing her nerves like the strings on a bow about to be drawn across an instrument.
“So beautiful for me. So open for me. So wet for me.”
“Derek… please, honey.”
“You’re bein’ such a good girl for me, baby. Letting me do what I want. I want to taste you, devour you, make you shake and tremble, and come on my tongue.”
And then she felt the first velvet stroke of that tongue on her clit.
She instinctively rolled her head back into the mattress, and her hands came down to clutch at his hair. He grabbed her wrists in his strong hands and pinned them to the bed at her hips.
“I want to play with you some more, Allie.” But his hands didn’t release her; they stayed clamped around her delicate wrists, holding her firm, letting her thrash all she wanted. She wasn’t going anywhere, he saw to that.
That magic tongue of his drew every stroke out, driving her crazy with lust and want and need, until her breath was coming out in short little puffs, her chest heaving, her breasts bouncing.
He moaned and lapped like a starving man at his last meal, and she could tell this wasn’t just for her. He liked her pussy, loved it, couldn’t get enough of it.
She began to beg him over and over like a chant, her voice a breathy whisper, all she was capable of at that moment. “Please, please, please…”
“My good girl. Don’t move.” He released her wrists, settled his mouth firmly over her clit, and started a rhythmic sucking. Then she felt him slip two fingers inside her, thrusting hard, in and out.
And she went wild, bucking against his mouth and fingers, riding him to the precipice and over.
She cried out as a climax like she had never before experienced exploded over her, sending electric pulsing sensations throughout her entire body.
He lurched up, his heavy body coming down on her, his mouth onto hers. She could taste her orgasm on his tongue. His kiss was urgent, demanding, erotic, and she gave herself up to it, to him, to a feeling she hadn’t had in years—a feeling of being wanted, desired, lusted after. It was a good feeling… a damn good feeling.
“Enough,” he said, his voice heavy with sexual frustration and taut with need. “I can’t play anymore this first time. I need to be inside you.”
She could do no more than nod as he pushed up off her.
She stayed where he’d left her; the orgasm had left her sated, her body mush. She could only stare up at him wide-eyed and panting as he stood at the end of the bed and stripped off his clothes.
His shirt was the first to go. It was quite a show, watching him finally bare his sculpted, tattooed body. His eyes moved over her as hers moved over him. She watched his strong hands work his belt buckle, then pull the belt free, dropping it to the floor with a thud. He practically threw his boots across the room, and then his pants hit the floor, and she took in his glorious length rising up.
He gripped himself firmly and stroked from base to tip and back again; she’d never seen anything so erotically sexy, except perhaps the primal hunger that flashed in his eyes as he did it, his focus on her pussy.
He moved between her legs, positioning himself to take her.
“Tell me, baby girl,” he said as he braced his weight on one hand and used the other to slide the head of his shaft in a teasing circle over her clit. “Tell me you want me.
Her body was still shaking from the last orgasm, but it didn’t fail to respond to his touch once more, ramping right back up again.
“I want you, Derek.” She gasped as he filled her with one long, hard plunge.
Bliss crashed over her in surging, ever increasing waves as his hips began a rhythmic rolling thrust. He wasn’t shy about positioning her the way he wanted her. He grabbed her around the thighs and yanked her up, tilting her hips into each driving thrust. There was no escape from every stroke he delivered over her already sensitive tingling nerve endings. He roared out a groan as he pistoned in and out of her at earth-shattering speed and another climax swamped over her.
Two more thrusts, and he held himself tight against her as his entire body shook and primal growls rumbled from his chest. His eyes closed, and he came.
He collapsed on her, his face landing on the silken skin of her belly.
They both were breathing hard. He kissed her stomach, then flipped to his back next to her. “Goddamn, woman.”
“Right back at you.”
They both looked at each other and burst out laughing.
***
Undertaker wrapped his arm around AJ and drew her to his side, tucking her close. If felt good having her pressed to his warm body; it felt right.
“Should I leave?” she whispered.
“Leave?” He frowned.
“I don’t want to overstay my welcome. If you want me to go home…”
“You’re in my clubhouse and in my bed. And that’s where I want you.”
She grinned. “I’m a talker, just so you’re warned.”
He chuckled. “Talk away.”
Her eyes landed on a picture on his dresser. “Is that your old love? The mother of your daughter?”
“Angie. Yeah.”
“Tell me about her.”
“What do you want to know?”
“Whatever you want to share.”
He was quiet a moment.
“If I crossed a boundary—”
He cut her off, putting her worry to rest. “She was good for me. She was funny and witty, and we were good together. She made it easy. I could say anything to her. She got me. There are very few women who actually listen like that.” His hand stroked over her upper arm. “I thought we’d be together forever. The stuff you think you know, huh? I had no way of knowing back then that although I’d climb the ranks all the way to President and gain the respect, the brotherhood, the women… that I would still be seeking contentment all these years later.”
“Who’s that other picture of?” She nodded toward a small black and white of a woman from decades ago.
“My mother. She was a delicate, dark-haired beauty with olive skin, frail and feminine. What you can’t see in that photograph is her strength and her will to control me. I left home early; at seventeen I hit the road, fell in with the MC, and the boys became my brothers.”
She traced a tattoo that ran down his arm then glided her hand over his chest and down his side. There were several faded scars marring his body. She hadn’t asked about them before, probably too distracted by other things. But now she took note of each and every one, stroking her fingertips softly over them.
She stopped on one particularly bad one. “How did you get this scar?”
“Knife fight.”
Her fingertips moved to another. “And this one?”
“You don’t want to know.”
“Yes, I do.”
Prison,” was all he said, but he looked down, meeting her wide, curious eyes. “You keep goin’, you’ll find others, but that was a long time ago, babe.”
“Did they hurt?”
“Hell, yeah.”
She dipped and kissed it. “What was it like?”
“Prison?”
“Yes.”
He shook his head. “I don’t want to talk about it. Not my favorite topic.”
“You need to talk about it,” AJ whispered.
He raised a brow. “You gonna play shrink with me, Doc?”
“No, but we should talk about it.”
“Why?” His voice rumbled.
“Because you’ve never resolved it.”
“Look, Doc, I don’t need to dr
edge all that up. Not with you.”
“Don’t call me that.”
“What? Doc?”
“Yes. I hate when you call me that. But I know why you did it.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re trying to get under my skin, to sidetrack me and divert the conversation.”
“Seems to be working.” He couldn’t help the grin.
“You say you don’t want to talk about your time in prison, but you think about it a lot.”
“Why do you say that?”
“You haven’t let it go since you walked out of that place fifteen years ago.”
“How do you figure?”
“It’s obvious in the stockade you’ve built around the clubhouse. You’ve recreated the place right here.”
“That’s not about that, that’s about—“
“Control,” she cut him off. “It’s about you having control… over everything, something you didn’t have for all those years. I remember that about you from our sessions.”
“Don’t pretend you know what it was like.”
“I don’t. That’s why I want you to tell me what it was like. Please.”
He got quiet for a while. He could be stubborn and not give her what she wanted, but that soft spoken please on the end made it impossible. His voice came out a low rumble as he asked, “Do you know anything about the Louisiana State Penitentiary?”
“Angola? I know it’s a prison farm.”
“Yeah. Inmates call it The Farm. Used to be a plantation. 18,000 acres. Endless fields of crops as far as the eye can see, with inmates for field hands—slave labor for free. That means they work you from sun up to sun down. When I first arrived, I worked the onion fields, pulling crate-loads of the damn things. To this day I still can’t stand the smell of them.” He ran a hand over his beard, attempting to laugh it off.
She lifted her head from his shoulder, studying his face with a serious expression, not about to let him divert the conversation, apparently. His eyes were on the ceiling, but they shifted to her as she requested, “Tell me about it. Please.”
His hand dropped, covering hers as it lay on his stomach, and his other hand lifted to the back of her head, pushing her gently down to his shoulder, knowing it’d be easier to talk if he didn’t have to watch the reactions play across her face. He blew out a long breath. “There are what they call camps in separated sections of the property. I was in Camp D. Dormitories with rows and rows of cots. If you’re a discipline problem, they move you to the cell block in Camp J.”
She twisted her head to peer at him. “Were you a discipline problem?”
The corner of his mouth turned up. “On occasion. But I’m a quick learner. I learned to play their game.”
“So you worked in the fields? What was that like?”
“You walk out in a long line of inmates. It’s usually a long walk. Depending on what field they’ve got you in and what the work that day is, maybe you’re carrying a hoe or rake or scythe or shovel over your shoulder. The guards are on horseback with rifles. Sometimes there’s a flatbed wagon drawn by a mule that gets loaded with crops. It takes a long time to get the privilege of driving the wagon. You had to earn it.”
“You worked in the fields the entire eleven years?”
“No. If you behave and are a good worker, you can move up to a better job. There are a bunch of jobs. But every inmate starts in the fields—back-breaking work in the hot sun. The only good thing about it is at least you’re out in the fresh air and sunshine, you know? Gotta look on the bright side when you’re there. Otherwise you’ll lose your mind.”
“What jobs did you hold?”
“Livestock handler, mechanic, worked at the prison radio for a short time…”
“What was your favorite?”
“I actually liked working with the horses, but they needed someone with automotive experience and the warden put me there after a few years. Guess he considered it a reward, a step up, but I didn’t.”
“Did you object, try to stay where you were?”
“Nope. You gotta play their game, you know? Complaining don’t get you shit. ‘Yes, sir’ is what they want to hear, preferably with a smile and nod.”
“I can’t see you bowing down to anyone like that.”
“I’m a smart man, if nothing else. I used my intelligence. It was my only advantage. I became the warden’s best inmate—anything to move up the ladder to trustee. They had the cream jobs. They had it easy, with special privileges.”
“And did you make it to trustee?”
He nodded. “Took ten years, but I did it. I was a trustee my last year. Warden loved me. He put in a good word at my parole hearing. It’s the only reason they let me out a year early.”
“I’ve heard they have a prison rodeo. Did you take part in that?”
“Just the year I worked with the horses. I liked it. It was a fun time.”
“Have you been back to it?”
He shook his head.
“Why?”
He shrugged.
“Have you ever been back to visit any of the inmates?”
“No.”
“Would you like to?”
“I’ve been out a long time.”
“Were you close with anyone inside?”
“Sure. You make friends. You live and work together. You get tight with some of them.”
“Who were your friends?”
“T-John, Leroy, Jake, and Pappy.”
“Pappy?”
“Yeah. He was an old black man. Been in there since 1959. Went in as a twenty-two-year-old kid. Life sentence. They said he raped a white woman. He always said he was innocent, that they had to punish someone for the crime, and he was picked up for it. Found guilty with no evidence except the testimony of the victim. Pappy said she picked him out of a lineup, but he was the only one in the lineup who was handcuffed. Things were different back then.”
“He meant a lot to you?”
“Yeah. When I was a ‘fresh fish,’ he took me under his wing.”
“A fresh fish?”
“That’s what they call new inmates.”
“Oh.”
“He showed me the ropes of prison life, how to work the system and make it work for you.”
“You never went back and visited him?”
He shook his head. “Pappy died in prison. About a year before I got out.”
“Of old age?”
“He developed lung cancer. There wasn’t much they could do. It spread quick. He died a couple days after Christmas. Me and the boys visited him in the infirmary Christmas Eve. Brought him an extra piece of cake they’d served us that night. He was real pleased with it.
“He was ready to go. There wasn’t anything keeping him fighting to stay on this earth. He’d made his peace with God by then. Three days later we were burying him.”
“Burying him? What do you mean?”
“There’s a cemetery on the property. It’s set off to the north at the base of the hills. Peaceful area, little white fence around the place. The inmates take part in the burial and carry them out. We even make the wooden boxes they use.”
“Wooden boxes? Not a casket? That’s awful.”
“Hey, until the late nineties, they buried deceased inmates in cardboard boxes.”
“You’re kidding.”
“Nope.”
“I had no idea. That’s horrible. Pappy’s family didn’t claim his body?”
“He didn’t have any family left. Told me once he hadn’t had a visitor since his sister died in 1979.”
“That’s so sad.”
“Yeah, it is.” He looked over at her. “Depressed yet? See why I don’t like to talk about it?”
She nodded, tears in her eyes.
He wrapped his arm around her shoulders and pulled her up against him. “Don’t cry, babe. It’s done. It’s over. I survived.”
“What a horrible place. I hate to think of you there.”
“Yeah, it w
as. But it was tolerable with the friends I made inside.”
“What about the rest? What happened to the others? Do you know?”
He nodded. “I kept track. I wrote them, but I could never go back and visit. I just couldn’t bring myself to set foot in the place again, you know? And they understood. Leroy got out a couple of years ago. He moved to Chicago.” He chuckled. “Couldn’t leave the state fast enough.
“T-John and Jake, they’re both doing life sentences. They’ll be there until the day they die, and then they’ll probably be buried there.”
She hugged him. “I’m glad you made it out.”
“In a lot of ways I’m stronger for it.”
“I wish I could have known you before.”
“Before I did time? It changed me, that’s for sure.”
“For better or worse?”
“Both. I understand the minds of men better, and that helps me be a better leader. And I definitely learned the art of keeping a man motivated to keep going, to do the shit nobody wants to do, and to protect what you’ve got.”
“You were angry when you first got out. I remember that from the first time I met you.”
He nodded. “When I first got out, I’d take long rides on the bike. I regularly haunted the docks down by the Mississippi River. I’d sit alone for hours, watching the barges come and go, trying to lose that anger and the tension that fucked with my thoughts and trying to get my head straight.
“For weeks… months… I searched for Angie and my baby. Gradually it dawned on me that she wasn’t coming back. There was a void in my life—a deep depression that affected everything I did, every decision I made, every part of me.
“Eventually I got past it, crawled out of the hole and poured myself into running the club.”
Undertaker realized a peace had come over him as he finished talking. Well, damn. She’d been right. He had needed to talk about it. It was something he hadn’t done. Not since the day he’d walked out. Not once. Not even in his sessions with her in the beginning. He’d never given her more than the bare minimum, telling her what she wanted to hear so he could be done with those sessions.
Now, he’d wished he’d taken them more seriously, taken her more seriously. He inhaled a deep breath, filling his lungs, and with his exhale he let it all go, releasing it all to the universe. And for the first time, he felt truly done with that place. And it felt good. It felt damn good.