Fallen Bast*rd

Chapter Five – The Lines We Cross

Ax/Weston, 22 Years Old.

The Fallen kitchen is bustling with noise, cupboard doors slammed. Shopping bags rustled. Bottles clinked against one another while Mum and Aunt Frankie debated whether they’d bought enough food to feed the clubhouse.

They hadn’t.

They never did.

Georgie was unloading snacks straight into her mouth, her version of helping. As Willa moved between them carrying three bags at once, her sundress shifting around her legs as she crossed the kitchen.

I’d been watching for longer than I cared to admit. Not her dress.

Well… not entirely

She fitted here too easily now.

She moved through the clubhouse like she'd always belonged there.

She knew which cupboards stuck, who took sugar in their tea and which brothers would eat anything left unattended.

Everyone knew her, trusted her. And that was the f*****g problem.

And now I know what made her laugh when she was pretending to be angry. How quiet she became when she was genuinely hurt. The way she bit the inside of her cheek when keeping a secret.

Since Inferno, everything between us had changed, and it was becoming harder to ignore.

The sunlight caught Willa’s dress as she passed the kitchen doorway. For one brief second, the fabric turned almost sheer.

I shifted in my chair. Then did it again.

“Perving on my sister?”

Bryan dropped into the seat opposite me, blocking my view of the kitchen with all the grace of a man deliberately being irritating.

Cockblocker.

“What makes you think that?” I lifted my beer and took a slow drink.

Bryan’s gaze dropped pointedly towards my lap. “You’ve adjusted yourself like five times.”

“I’m uncomfortable.”

“Clearly.” His grin widened.

“And you’ve been staring at that kitchen door like it’s the most interesting thing you’ve seen all year.”

“It might be.”

“Willa’s behind it.”

“Coincidence.”

“Sure.”

Bryan leaned back and surveyed the common room. Two club girls, Ruby and BJ, were putting on an animated display near the far end of the bar.

His attention remained on them for slightly longer than necessary.

Bryan was Bear and Frankie’s middle child, which explained a lot. Dex had inherited responsibility.

Willa had inherited chaos.

Bryan had apparently inherited an uncanny ability to prove nobody could pin him down long enough to ask a serious question.

When he wasn’t at university studying fine arts, he divided his time between the Soulless Bastards compound, the Fallen Sinners’ clubhouse and whichever woman was currently willing to tolerate him.

Or so he led everyone to believe.

He’d patched into the Soulless Bastards, but only just involved himself enough to remain useful. He turned up when required, completed whatever task Dex gave him, then vanished back to university before anyone could expect more.

He talked about leaving once his degree ended. Not transferring.

Leaving.

Whenever anyone asked why, he made a joke. It made me wonder what would happen if he ever ran out.

“What are you doing here?” I asked.

His eyebrows lifted. “Nice to see you too.”

Dinner isn’t for another five hours, and it’s not like he needs to stick around to look after Frankie and Willa; they were enough of a threat all on their own.

“I was chauffeur for the shopping expedition.”

“You volunteered?”

“Mum made me.”

“That wasn’t my question.”

Bryan flashed a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Can I not enjoy spending time with my family?”

“You pitch a fit whenever Dex asks you to attend church.”

“That wasn’t family time. That’s organised suffering.”

I studied Bryan over the neck of my bottle. He looked relaxed. To be fair, he always did.

Biker boots, even though he drove his car. Faded jeans, an expensive watch he claimed he’d bought second-hand, though it didn’t have so much as a scratch on it.

He was good-looking and knew it.

Sharp jaw, dark hair and the kind of smile that made women forgive him before he’d even done anything wrong.

“You know,” I said, “you’re not bad-looking.”

He rubbed his jaw thoughtfully. “Not bad?”

“Don’t get excited.”

“Bit late.” He winked.

“So why are you constantly messing around with club girls?”

His smile dropped. Only slightly.

Most people wouldn’t have noticed. But I did.

“They’ve got huge personalities,” he said, “and no expectations of breakfast.”

“That’s the official answer?”

“It’s the only one you’re getting.” He glanced towards Ruby and BJ.

Then his eyes cut towards the kitchen. I gave him a warning look.

He grinned. There it was again.

A joke whenever the conversation got too close.

Bryan finished his beer and pushed away from the table.

“You think too much, Ax.”

“You don’t think enough.”

With a nod, he headed towards Ruby and BJ, throwing one arm around each of them as though the three had arranged it in advance.

Perhaps they had.

Still, as Bryan disappeared towards the corridor with both women laughing beside him, something about the performance felt forced.

Like he'd spent years creating a version of himself nobody would think to question.

Whatever he was hiding... It wasn't small.

“Good luck,” I muttered. Hope he brought his own sleeves; theirs tend to leak.

I finished my beer and escaped to my office before anyone else could notice my obsession with the kitchen door.

My office was the only room in the clubhouse where silence could be enforced.

Usually.

Dropping into my ergonomic chair, I reached beneath the desk, grabbing a chilled bottle of Asahi from the minifridge. Just as I popped the lid and leaned back for a sip, someone knocked.

I closed my eyes. Not now.

“Come in.”

The door opened.

And there she was, my personal tormentor, holding a stack of envelopes.

“Hey.” She lifted the post. “Aunt Lilly said I should bring these to you.”

Her voice carried none of the tension that had defined most of our conversations since Inferno.

Mine probably did.

She stepped inside and closed the door behind her.

Not locked. Closed. There was a difference I should have noticed.

Willa approached my desk with the caution of someone nearing a dangerous animal.

Fair.

Every meeting between us followed one of two patterns. We argued until one of us left.

Or neither of us left quickly enough.

“You alright?” she asked, placing the mail on my desk.

When did she get this close? Damn, she smells good, like fruit.

Vanilla.

And sin.

Stirring memories and emotions I’ve been fighting to repress.

“I’m good.”

“Convincing.” She set the envelopes down.

“You’re hiding in here.”

“I work in here.”

“You drink in here.”

“I can do two things.”

“Debatable.”

Her mouth curved into the familiar smirk that made my common sense abandon its post.

Locking eyes with me, she reaches for my beer. As the rim touches her plump lips, my d**k throbs, remembering the feel of them wrapped around me. s**t. She takes a long sip, and her lids lower slightly as though savouring the taste.

Lowering the bottle, she licks her lips; our eyes met for a moment before my attention drifts to her mouth before I could stop myself.

“You’re staring.”

“No, I’m not.”

Arching a brow she turns to leave, an’ for a moment I consider letting her go. Instead, I caught her wrist.

She landed on my lap with a sharp breath, and the last of my restraint went with it.

The moment blurred into heat, breathless kisses and every line we’d spent months pretending not to cross.

Arching her, Willa's hands reach into my hair, fingers gently tugging me closer. As my hands lift the hem of her dress, skimming her toned thighs, breathy moans escape her lips.

My fingers slide beneath the lace of her panties, tugging them down her hips. She kicks herself free of them, then turns to straddle me.

God, she's beautiful, eyes blown wide with lust, chest heaving. f*****g perfect.

Groaning, Willa grinds her bare core against me, my jean-clad hardon eliciting a groan. Her hand lightly wraps around my throat as her lips meet mine in an achingly seductive kiss, her tongue exploring my mouth with slow, teasing strokes.

Willa's free hand slowly works to free me from the confines of my jeans. Not wanting the kiss to end, I slip my hands over hers, eager to help.

The button unfastened and the zipper down, she gently moves my hand aside, leaving them free to lift her dress as she guides her wet, warm core over mine. I reach breaking point as she slowly lowers herself onto me, her back arches, and our moans mingle in the air.

Pressing her hips closer, we share a hungry kiss; the tiniest move of her hips ignites our hunger. My hands grip her hips as the sound of the door banging open stops us dead.

"Oh God, my eyes!" squeals Georgie from the doorway. That I’m pretty sure everyone in the common room and beyond could hear.

"Jesus, Georgie, shut the bloody door!" Snapped Willa as I hastily lowered the hem of her dress. With every movement she made, I bit my lip, struggling to suppress groan after groan as she clenched around my throbbing hardon.

“Ever heard of knocking?” I asked through clenched teeth.

“Ever heard of locks?” she shot back. “Great invention.”

Willa glared at her.

Georgie’s grin widened.

“And Mum sent me to find you because, and I quote. I sent her to deliver mail, not DIC-tate every letter.”

I stared at her.

“I seriously doubt Mum put that much emphasis on the first syllable.”

“Artistic licence.”

“Get out.”

“Can’t. I’m supposed to retrieve Willa.”

“I’m not a parcel,” Willa muttered.

“No, but apparently you are being handled with care.”

Willa grabbed the nearest envelope and threw it at her.

Georgie ducked. “Violence won’t make my poor eyes unsee all they’ve seen.”

Willa snorts and flips her the bird.

I let my head fall against the chair.

“Georgie,” she said, “unless you wanna see how well-endowed your brother is, turn around.”

Georgie’s expression collapsed. “Absolutely not.”

She spun so fast her hair whipped across her face. “That is information no sister should ever be threatened with.”

“Then learn to knock.”

“I’m never opening a door again.” She mutters.

Willa huffs, her cheeks flushing slightly as she rocks her hips forward and slowly rises off me, smoothing her dress. She shoots me a smirk over her shoulder.

The heat in her gaze still present. If anything, the interruption had made it worse.

I rolled my chair beneath the desk, restoring what little dignity remained.

Willa leaned down and kissed me.

Not a goodbye.

A warning or perhaps a promise. With her, the two often looked the same.

“I’ll see you later,” she murmured.

I knew what I should say: that this couldn’t keep happening. That she needed to stop coming into my office.

That I needed to stop touching her every time she did.

Instead, I nodded.

“Later.”

She joined Georgie at the door. Their whispered conversation began before they’d reached the corridor.

“I cannot believe you.”

“You should’ve locked it.”

“You should’ve knocked.”

“You should’ve been delivering post.”

Their laughter followed them down the hallway, and the door swung slowly shut.

Silence returned.

I reached beneath the edge of my desk and pressed the automatic lock. The mechanism clicked.

Useful. About ten minutes too late.

I sat back and stared at the unopened mail.

The Asahi had gone warm, and now my office smelled like Willa.

Everything felt slightly off-centre.

I’d done it again. Let her close.

Forgot every reason I was supposed to keep my distance.

For a few minutes, I’d let myself believe wanting her was enough.

It wasn’t.

Wanting someone didn’t automatically make you good for them.

I’d told Willa things she should never have known. Trusted her with doubts I wouldn’t admit to my own VP. Then, whenever the intimacy became too real, I’d punished her for seeing me clearly.

Eventually, she would stop coming back. That should have been a relief.

The thought felt more like a threat.

I picked up the warm beer, considered drinking it, then put it down again.

Tomorrow, I would end this destructive cycle. No more stolen moments.

No more letting her look at me as though I could become the man she thought I was.

No more Willa.

It was a convincing plan, aside from one small problem.

I’d made it before.

And every time she walked through my door, I forgot why I was supposed to mean it.