Unlawful Seizure (Filthy Florida Alphas Book 1) by Baylee Rose Page B
Authors: Baylee Rose
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shower, my cock buried inside of her; flashes before my eyes and I have to adjust myself to keep the zipper in my pants from destroying my cock.
“I’d say a shower is a must,” I tell her gruffly. Her eyes follow my hands as I adjust myself. She doesn’t say anything, but the welcome is not there as it has been in the past. I guess the ghosts from yesterday are still between us. I’m still keeping her for a few more days. I’m not giving her a choice.
T urns out Max’s friend is actually, friends and these friends are notorious in Florida. The Steel Vipers Motorcycle Club are a bunch of hardened criminals disguised as bikers.
“Max, I don’t want to be here. I’ve heard all about the Vipers. They’re deadly and criminals.”
“What do you think I am, Kitten? I told you, never forget who I am.”
That’s the only reply I got. It shut me up, like it was supposed to. That was thirty minutes ago, and we haven’t talked since. I was ushered into Dawg’s—which is apparently Max’s adopted name, given by Marcum, the leader—honorary room and locked in. I didn’t have to test the lock. There isn’t one. I’m locked in by the guard on the outside. A huge, boulder disguised as a man and given the appropriate name of Mammoth. They called him Moth for short. I called him nothing because he was a good seven foot, and so broad he made ten of me easily. He was marked in ink from head to toe and had these large, gage-like things in his ears that looked painful as hell.
I look around the, pretty much empty, room. The walls are paneling that belongs in the seventies. There’s an old dresser with a mirror that again belongs in the seventies and a matching bed with a blue velvet and a definitely, seventies bedspread thrown over it. Still it’s soft, and there’s a connected bathroom, so I don’t really care. I head straight for the shower, planning on using all of the hot water and not leaving Max one drop.
I make good on my promise, and it feels divine. The water works magic on the aches and pains that living in the wilds the past few days had given me. There is a scratch on my breast; I can only assume, left there by Hernandez, and I want to hurl all over again. I suck it up and instead wash myself raw again. I’m wrapping a towel around myself and walking out into the room but stop when I see there’s a redhead sitting on the bed popping bubble gum.
“Hello?”
“Was wondering when you were going to get out of there. Of course, I guess if I’d been sleeping in the Florida swamplands like you have; I’d stay in the shower for hours too.”
“Umm…yeah,” I say holding the towel a little closer. It feels like I’ve been months without talking to anyone other than Max.
“I’m Cherry, sugar. I belong to Marcum. He asked me to bring you some clean clothes and take you to the kitchen to find you some food.”
“I appreciate it a lot, Cherry, but well…I don’t think anything you have will fit me,” I answer, and I’m not lying. Cherry is everything I always wanted to be and never could be. She’s taller than my 5’6 frame by a good four or five inches. She’s all tits and ass, I mean it should be illegal for a woman to be stacked that well. My sad b-cup and hardly there ass, weep at their failures.
Cherry laughs, and it’s a nice laugh. She looks to be mid-to-late thirties, and she’s got a beautiful face to match the rest of her. She seems like someone I would be friends with, which surprises me. I didn’t expect that here at the Vipers—especially from a woman claiming to be the President’s property. I’m not even sure what that means. Are they married? Is she like, one of many he claims? I don’t ask her because I don’t want to offend her, especially when she’s being so nice to me.
“Marcum mentioned you were kind of tiny. He said he didn’t know how Dawg bent you over without breaking you in two. No worries, I borrowed some of Callie’s clothes
“I’d say a shower is a must,” I tell her gruffly. Her eyes follow my hands as I adjust myself. She doesn’t say anything, but the welcome is not there as it has been in the past. I guess the ghosts from yesterday are still between us. I’m still keeping her for a few more days. I’m not giving her a choice.
T urns out Max’s friend is actually, friends and these friends are notorious in Florida. The Steel Vipers Motorcycle Club are a bunch of hardened criminals disguised as bikers.
“Max, I don’t want to be here. I’ve heard all about the Vipers. They’re deadly and criminals.”
“What do you think I am, Kitten? I told you, never forget who I am.”
That’s the only reply I got. It shut me up, like it was supposed to. That was thirty minutes ago, and we haven’t talked since. I was ushered into Dawg’s—which is apparently Max’s adopted name, given by Marcum, the leader—honorary room and locked in. I didn’t have to test the lock. There isn’t one. I’m locked in by the guard on the outside. A huge, boulder disguised as a man and given the appropriate name of Mammoth. They called him Moth for short. I called him nothing because he was a good seven foot, and so broad he made ten of me easily. He was marked in ink from head to toe and had these large, gage-like things in his ears that looked painful as hell.
I look around the, pretty much empty, room. The walls are paneling that belongs in the seventies. There’s an old dresser with a mirror that again belongs in the seventies and a matching bed with a blue velvet and a definitely, seventies bedspread thrown over it. Still it’s soft, and there’s a connected bathroom, so I don’t really care. I head straight for the shower, planning on using all of the hot water and not leaving Max one drop.
I make good on my promise, and it feels divine. The water works magic on the aches and pains that living in the wilds the past few days had given me. There is a scratch on my breast; I can only assume, left there by Hernandez, and I want to hurl all over again. I suck it up and instead wash myself raw again. I’m wrapping a towel around myself and walking out into the room but stop when I see there’s a redhead sitting on the bed popping bubble gum.
“Hello?”
“Was wondering when you were going to get out of there. Of course, I guess if I’d been sleeping in the Florida swamplands like you have; I’d stay in the shower for hours too.”
“Umm…yeah,” I say holding the towel a little closer. It feels like I’ve been months without talking to anyone other than Max.
“I’m Cherry, sugar. I belong to Marcum. He asked me to bring you some clean clothes and take you to the kitchen to find you some food.”
“I appreciate it a lot, Cherry, but well…I don’t think anything you have will fit me,” I answer, and I’m not lying. Cherry is everything I always wanted to be and never could be. She’s taller than my 5’6 frame by a good four or five inches. She’s all tits and ass, I mean it should be illegal for a woman to be stacked that well. My sad b-cup and hardly there ass, weep at their failures.
Cherry laughs, and it’s a nice laugh. She looks to be mid-to-late thirties, and she’s got a beautiful face to match the rest of her. She seems like someone I would be friends with, which surprises me. I didn’t expect that here at the Vipers—especially from a woman claiming to be the President’s property. I’m not even sure what that means. Are they married? Is she like, one of many he claims? I don’t ask her because I don’t want to offend her, especially when she’s being so nice to me.
“Marcum mentioned you were kind of tiny. He said he didn’t know how Dawg bent you over without breaking you in two. No worries, I borrowed some of Callie’s clothes
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