Axl (Sons of Chaos MC #1) (4 page)

The outside night air was cool and refreshing, a stark change from the afternoon heat. Looking around, I realized that the clubhouse was totally isolated. The property was surrounded by an iron cattle fence. Just outside the fence was a roughly paved road that looked like it ran two or three miles into a small town. I decided to follow it. Since nobody had stopped me, I was getting the hell out of here and going home myself. They could keep my phone, and I’d deal with my car later. Axl and the rest of the bikers would have to figure out their own problems. I wasn’t part of it. I didn’t even have the footage from the junkyard, if that was what they were so worried about. I was through with this crap.

I crossed the property’s perimeter and starting walking toward the town, its lights shining like stars in the distance.

Of course, I should’ve known it wouldn’t be that easy. I’d barely gotten a quarter mile down the road when I heard the deep rumble of a motorcycle engine behind me. I thought about running, or screaming and hoping that a passerby would hear, but I thought better of it. As the rumble grew closer, the bike’s headlight flooded the road ahead of me in light. I stopped my march and whirled around. It was Axl, on his bike—of course. He slowed his bike to a stop, flipped out the kickstand with his foot, and dismounted. He hadn’t bothered to put his helmet on, and his raven black hair was tousled back by the wind. His irises sparkled like stars, and his eyes crinkled at the corners as he chuckled at me.

“What the hell?” I demanded. “Go back to the clubhouse. I had nothing to do with this, so let me go!”

“Darlin’,” he said, chuckling, “You’re pretty cute when you’re mad.”

Anger swelled up inside me. “This isn’t a fucking joke. This is kidnapping!” And he was calling me cute? What the hell? Was I being punked?

His grin faded and his expression turned serious. He cleared his throat. “Look,” he said, “I know you ain’t a Reaper. And I’ll do what I can to get you outta this jam. But understand me, you got blood on your hands now. You gotta play by our rules. You gotta answer our questions if you wanna get out of here. I wish it were my choice, but it ain’t.”

I suddenly felt scared again. Blood on my hands... Hearing it out loud made it feel real. Very real.

“You’d take me home if it were up to you?” I asked.

He hesitated briefly. “Eventually.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

He stepped closer to me, his body pressing up against mine. “After I take what I want,” he said.

My heart started beating hard in my chest. Was he really making a move on me? Was I being stupid for letting him? “What’s that?” I whispered.

His hands found my hips, then wandered to my back. He slipped one hand down to my ass, grabbing it hard, while his lips found mine. He kissed me lustfully.

Me? Little old Holly is what he wanted? My better judgment told me to turn my head and push him away.

But I didn’t. I couldn’t. He felt so good, tasted so good, and all I could do was surrender myself to him. I threw caution to the wind, didn't care if I was being slutty. I wanted to try something dirty.

If he wanted to use me, I’d use him right back.

I stood on the side of the dark road, my bike’s engine still rumbling. I wanted to forget this chick, to put her out of my mind and get her the hell out of our clubhouse. She didn’t belong here.

But when I opened my mouth to say the words, my lips were concrete. When I tried to force myself to throw her on the back of my bike to haul her back to the clubhouse, my muscles were lead, my joints locked gears.

The club wanted this chick gone, but I couldn’t stop thinking about her.

So when I looked into her beautiful brown eyes, reflecting the soft moonlight, I couldn’t resist any longer.

I wrapped my hands around her waist, the curves of her body igniting my senses like napalm. My hands slid down to her ass, her skin separated from mine only by the thin fabric of her jeans. I hungered for her body, lusted after her delicate scent which hadn’t left my mind since I first crashed into her in the truck cabin.

I squeezed hard and pulled her into me, pressing my lips against her lips. She gasped as our skin touched, welcoming my tongue against hers. Her smell instantly flooded my senses. Shit, I didn’t know much about biology, but I’d been through enough club sluts to know that this attraction went deeper. It was instinctual, fundamental, ancient. And that scared the shit out of me, so I tried not to think about it as our tongues tangled and my hands wandered over her body freely.

When our lips parted at last, she pulled back and looked up at me with hungry eyes. “What the hell is this? What do you want from me?” she whispered.

Fuck. What didn’t I want from her? I wanted to bend her over my bike, to take her right here, to mark her as mine and discover all her deepest secrets. After that, I didn’t know. I didn’t want to think about emotional shit right now. And no way in hell was I going to let onto any of this. But fuck yeah, there was something I wanted right now.

“Suck me, beautiful,” I said, my voice husky with need. I brought a hand up to her cheek, savoring the softness of her skin against my rough, calloused, guilty hands. My fingers slipped behind her neck, intertwining with her thick, shiny hair. I gently—but firmly—pressed her down to her knees. She obeyed, and my hard cock stiffened even further at her show of obedience. This good girl knew how to take an order—at least when it involved the prospect of my cock. Yeah, I’d noticed how her eyes had been glued to it back at the club.

She sank down to her knees, running her hands down my six pack. Then she brought her hands lower, over my belt, letting her long nails scrape against my thick Kevlar riding jeans. She teased my cock through the fabric, driving me crazy with lust. Her hands continued down past my cock, exploring my rock-hard thighs, strengthened by years of holding my body tight against my bike.

She looked up at me, needful urgency in her eyes. “Help me take it out.”

I chuckled to myself. Chicks were always intimidated by the belt buckle.

I unfastened my belt and then my jeans. She rubbed her hands against my thighs, impatient, just like I was. I unzipped my jeans and took her hand in mine. I placed it over the hard bulge beneath my boxers, and my erection stiffened against the palm of her hand.

“Axl,” she gasped. She hooked her fingers over the elastic waistband of my boxers and gently pulled the waistband down. I felt the roughness of the fabric travel down the length of my hard shaft, revealing my erect manhood to her.

She wrapped her palm around the base of it, its girth too great for her fingertips to meet her thumb. She placed her other palm lightly on the shaft—barely enough to make contact—and ran it up and down the full length.

“God,” I said, “This is all I’ve been able to fucking think about since I first saw you.”

“Me too,” she whispered. “God, I can’t believe I’m doing this.” The tone of her voice was one of guilty, lustful admission.

I looked intently into her eyes as her hands explored the new sensation of my cock. “Put it in your mouth. Now.” I commanded her.

She did as she was told. She rubbed the sensitive underside against her soft lips. Then, she flicked her tongue over the tip, wetting it with her saliva.

“Oh, fuck,” I said. My heat beat faster inside my chest, while my bike’s engine rumbled steadily in the background.

Her tongue glided up and down my cock. I could feel it travel over the hard, thick, engorged veins. Then, she took the tip completely in her mouth. I felt her lips struggle and stretch to accommodate my girth, and I might have felt sorry for her taking on my monstrous dick. That is, if she didn’t look like she was enjoying it so damn much.

She began to work up a rhythm with her mouth and hands, one hand on my balls and the other working up and down the length of my shaft, lubricated by the saliva of her precious mouth. She’d definitely done this before. I felt pressure building up in my balls, and I knew I wasn’t going to last long. I reached down, running a hand through her hair, the sensuality of the moment heightening my arousal.

Holly looked up at me, taking her mouth off of me just long enough to ask, “Are you going to do it?”

“Oh, fuck yeah,” I said, and pressed her head closer, pushing my cock deep into her throat.

She increased her pace and intensity, and pushed me over the edge.

“Oh, fuck,” I grunted.

My panties were dripping wet as I knelt on the side of the dirt road, the cool night breeze surrounding us, Axl Archer’s huge cock filling up my mouth.

This made no sense whatsoever. He was bad for me. Bad, even though there was something more to him than the other bikers. Bad, even though my visceral attraction to him was stronger than anything I’d ever experienced before. Bad, even though for some reason I sensed a goodness inside him.

I should’ve kept running when I heard his bike behind me. I should’ve screamed until someone heard me and he was forced to let me go.

But I hadn’t done that, because I couldn’t resist him. Every sinew of his muscles, every hair that formed the handsome beard on his face, every aspect of his leathery, masculine scent—they all conspired against me and controlled me like a puppet. He was such a man, and he made me feel like a woman in a way that no other guy ever had.

Did he really find me beautiful? I knew I shouldn’t care. But damn, it excited me to think that I had the same effect on him that he did on me.

So here I was, servicing this dirty biker’s cock on the side of the road, in the middle of the night, and I loved every second of it.

When he started to come in my mouth, I ached with a need for him to fill me. I wanted to take him inside me, to feel everything he had to offer. He wasn’t salty, wasn’t bitter. Just sweet and sticky, and it satisfied me deeply as I swallowed him hungrily, not knowing when—or if—this would ever happen again. Even if this was destined to be a one-night stand—which it had better be—I wanted to savor every second of it.

He ran his hands through my hair again, and for a brief moment, they lingered. Then he quickly removed his hands, almost as if he’d caught himself doing something he shouldn’t. He grabbed his cock, softer than before but still incredibly long and thick, and tucked it back inside his boxers as I stood up.

But now, there seemed to be a distance between us. The look on his face, which had been one of intense pleasure, changed to one of disapproval. The moment of intimacy—if you could even call it that—had passed.

Back to being a fucking asshole as soon as he got what he wanted. I should’ve known.

He looked at me hard. “Do you have any idea how much bullshit you’ve caused?” he asked. “If the club gets the idea that you’re not under control, they just might take matters into their own hands.”

My face flushed and felt hot. I could still taste him. “I’m not under your control,” I said.

“Look,” Axl said, “’Til Ryker gives the word, you’re implicated in this.”

“When’s that going to happen?”

“Tonight. Like I told you. Probably be on your way already, if you hadn’t had this genius idea.”

I paused. “So you’re saying this shouldn’t have happened?”

He coughed. “I’m sayin’ you shouldn’t have run. Look. We gotta get back to the clubhouse and you’ll be floating outta here like Mary Poppins in no time.”

“Fine,” I said. I wasn’t about to show this asshole exactly how conflicted that actually made me feel. Hell, I wasn’t even about to admit it to myself.

He unclipped the spare helmet from the back of his bike and handed it to me. I pulled it over my head, and then felt his fingers against my jaw as he moved to adjust the strap. “I know how,” I said, twisting my head away from his hands. I reached up and succeeded in pulling the strap tight.

A surprised smile came over his face. “Huh,” he said, “Guess you’re a natural.”

We rode back to the clubhouse on his bike, my hands wrapped around his torso. I could feel his hard abs through the t-shirt under his open leather jacket. But hell if I was going to cop a feel and give him anything else to feel cocky about.

When we got back to the club, we walked through the same door that I’d run out of. I followed Axl into the main room. It had reached a critical mass of bikers, and my little stunt had kept them all waiting. I went in expecting more crude jokes and wolf whistles—or worse—but instead we were greeted with cold, hard stares. I swallowed hard.

“Boss!” shouted a voice from the crowd. “VP’s back. He’s got the gash with him.”

I bristled at the biker’s language. It was fucking disgusting, but I didn’t dare talk back.

On the side wall opposite the bar, one of two French double doors swung open, revealing what must’ve been the club office. Ryker emerged from the doors. A wave of agitated apprehension swirled around the room as he made his way through the crowd of bikers and lithely hopped up onto the bar counter. He stood tall, towering over the crowd. I couldn’t help but feel my eyes be drawn to him. There was something about him, a charisma that made me understand why he’d become the leader of this club.

“Boys,” he roared in his Scottish accent, “I know you’re jonesing to hear the full story of the Reaper incident.” A murmur ran through the crowd.