Motorcycle Man (48 page)

“You’re one of us,” he answered and at his words, warmth flooded through me.

“Really?” I breathed like that was my dearest wish in the world and, at that precise moment, it was.

“The pepper spray was sissy,” Boz stated, joining our group. “But no arguin’ with the results.”

“
Feel good?” Dog asked and I turned to him to see him grinning at Tack. “Never forget that. Open hand slappin’ him like he was a girl and askin’ him if it felt good. Fuck me, that was the fuckin’
shit.
”

“I wish I’d have seen it,” Sheila, standing close to Dog and smiling at me put in. “Dog won’t quit yappin’ about it.”

Dog scowled down at his woman, “I don’t yap.”

She gave him a look then looked at me and mouthed, “He yaps.”

I stifled a giggle.

“Wouldn’t think you had it in you,” I heard and my eyes went to Mitzi who had joined our group with Hop, his arm around her shoulders and I felt my body still at seeing them. “Glad to know you do,” she went on and hard-as-nails, tough broad Mitzi gave me a genuine smile.

Mitzi smiling at me. Hop was smiling at me too.

Seemed me kicking some squirrel-ball ass was a cause for celebration and Mitzi and Hop were on a good patch.

Their business, not mine.

“Thanks” I whispered.

“Red needs a beer, so do I,” Tack announced loudly, claiming my hand thus me again and dragging me into the common area of the Compound.

“Got it,” Tug called from behind the bar.

I saw on the bar that someone, most likely one or several of the women, had unearthed bowls and in them they’d dumped chips, dip, potato salad and macaroni salad. There were paper plates, red Solo cups, plastic silverware and even napkins.

Clearly a special occasion seeing as there were bowls.

I grabbed a chip.

Tug offered me a beer.

I ate my chip, grabbed my beer and took a sip.

Tack tugged on my hand, I fell into him and tipped my head back to look at him.

He was smiling.

I smiled back.

Then, still smiling, he kissed me.

When he lifted his head he didn’t go far so I heard it when he whispered, “My reward.”

My eyes narrowed and I snapped, “You’re not allowed to do that shit.”

His head jerked slightly and he asked, “Say again?”

“Be sweet and make me all melty and want to jump you when I’m celebrating my heretofore unknown badassness with a bunch of bikers and their bitches. Not to mention, I’m hungry.”

Tack grinned as his arm snaked around me and he yanked me close.

“You wanna jump me?” he asked.

“I always want to jump you,” I answered.

“Good to know,” he muttered.

“But now your badass brethren needs to feed me,” I declared.

“I’ll see they get down to that.”

“Since you’re the head honcho, you do that.”

Tack’s grin became a smile.

I smiled right back.

Then I took a huge gulp of beer, put it down on the bar and grabbed a handful of potato chips.

* * * * *

“Come here,” Tack growled.

We were in bed in Tack’s room at the Compound. I was between Tack’s legs, his cock in my mouth and I’d just slid down.

I slid up, sucking deep as I did. Tack’s fingers drove into my hair and fisted. I released him, my eyes going to his, my fingers wrapping around his cock and my tongue swirled the tip.

“Here,” Tack mostly repeated, his rough rumble low.

I let him go and kept eye contact as I crawled up his body.

I barely got face-to-face with him before his arms closed around me and he rolled me to my back. Once there, he gave me all of his weight as his hands slid over my ass and down the backs of my legs. He swung one of my calves around his ass. The other one he swung around his back.

Then one of his forearms went into the bed and the other one went between us. I felt him guide himself to me then slowly, God, so slowly, he slid inside.

He did all of this with his eyes never leaving mine.

But once I had his cock, my eyes closed and my neck arched.

“Jesus, baby, every time I give you my cock it’s like you haven’t had it in years.”

My arms circled him, my neck righted and my eyes found his.

“I like it.”

“No shit?”

“You gonna use it?” I prompted.

He grinned and pulled out an inch, slowly. Then he slid back in to the root, again slowly.

“Honey,” I breathed and felt his hand on my belly.

It went up, up, up until it was wrapped around my throat.

“Started here,” he whispered.

“What?” I asked.

“In this bed,” he went on.

“What?” I repeated.

“You and me.”

My arms and legs tightened around him.

His hand slid up to my jaw and his thumb slid over my lips.

“Love you, Red.”

Yes.

“Love you too, Kane.”

His thumb went away but his head dropped and his lips touched mine.

Against them, I asked, “Now, are you going to fuck me or what?”

I watched his eyes smile. Then his head slanted and his hand moved around to drive into my hair as his mouth took mine, his tongue thrusting inside and his hips jerked back then slammed in.

Finally.

One of my hands moved up into his hair and we kissed deep while we fucked hard and I came the usual twice to Tack’s once.

When we were done, Tack kept us connected while his hand moved soothingly along the skin of my side and his mouth moved along the skin of my neck, his goatee tickling my skin. I kept my body curled around him, the fingers of one hand drifting through his too-long hair, the others drifting over his back and ass.

I turned my head so my lips were at his ear and I whispered, “Thank you.”

“For what, baby?” he asked against my neck.

“For taking care of this.” His head came up and his eyes caught mine. When they did, I admitted quietly, “I’m not sure I’ve done my part in helping.”

“You’re still here,” he pointed out.

“Yes but every time we hit a rough patch, I give up and declare we’re over.” I lifted my head and touched my mouth to his before dropping it back to the pillow and promising, “I’ll do my best to break that habit.”

“Don’t matter if you do.”

My head tipped on the pillow. “Pardon?”

“Babe, you can declare all you want. That don’t mean I’ll let you walk out on me.”

My lungs quit working.

“Never let you go,” Tack went on.

My limbs around him tightened and my hand in his hair clenched.

“Not ever,” he finished.

Not ever.

He’d never let me go.

“I love you, honey,” I whispered.

“I know, baby,” he whispered back.

I looked into his sapphire eyes, smelled his musk, felt the weight of his warm, hard, heavy body and the ghost of his pounding between my legs, his cock still inside me and suddenly, I squirmed.

“Fuck, that greedy pussy,” Tack muttered.

“Um… I’m kinda ready to keep playing,” I shared something I knew he already knew.

“Babe, I’m still hard and inside you after comin’.”

“And?”

He stared at me.

Then he murmured, “Christ. She wears me out.”

“Liar,” I snapped. “I do not.”

And I didn’t. He might be forty-one but he had stamina and staying power.

I tried a different tactic, lifted my head and put my mouth to his neck as my hands moved on his back.

I trailed my tongue behind his ear then whispered my suggestion there, “Maybe I’ll get some toys so I can take care of business while you’re recuperating.”

His head jerked back and mine fell to the pillow.

“Fuck that,” he stated.

I suppressed a grin.

Tack pulled out and my lips parted at the loss of him.

“Get cleaned up,” he ordered.

“For what?” I asked. “I like you inside me.”

“Babe, you know I don’t go down on you after I’ve come inside you. Get cleaned up.”

Excellent.

I grinned at him.

He scowled at my grin.

Then he muttered, “Wears me out.”

He was so full of it.

I took a leg from around him, planted my foot in the bed, rolled him to his back and I did all this while kissing him hard, wet and long.

When I was done, I lifted my head and whispered, “I’ll go get cleaned up.”

“Hurry, babe,” he ordered.

The kiss worked. Then again, I knew it worked because I ended it when his fingers dug in my ass which I’d learned was a sign Tack liked what he was getting.

Then again, my man always liked what I gave him.

So I gave him another grin.

Then I hurried.

Battle Scars

“Red.”

The door to the garage just opened and I hadn’t even got my head up to look that direction before I heard Tack’s gravelly voice say my name.

“Yeah, handsome?” I asked his head which was the only thing shoved through the door.

“Come into the garage,” he ordered and disappeared.

I got up, smoothed my tight skirt down my thighs and walked on my spike-heeled pumps around my desk to the door to the garage.

I did this happily, deciding not to get uppity about his order. And I did this mostly because we’d had a
great
night the night before and I was still riding that high.

It was Wednesday, two and a half weeks after the drama with Tabby and, fortunately, not much had happened. Or it had, just that all of it was good.

The hog roast had been a blast.

The trip down memory lane, tequila-infused sex-a-thon in Tack’s room at the Compound during/after was even better.

And last Saturday, Tack had driven his big Ford Expedition down the mountain to my house, Rush and Tabby trailing in Rush’s car. Once there, we’d loaded up a bunch of my stuff so I could move in with them.

Earlier in the week, while eating a dinner Tack wisely cooked (buttering them up, not, in the end, that they needed to be buttered) but before my introduction to the TV show
Justified
(and the dude who played the lead reminded me a lot of Shy, or at least his body did, and, incidentally the show was also good), Tack had shared the news I was moving in. Rush and Tabby, to my relief but not surprise, declared this “the shit”. Thus the five minute family meeting was over and the TV watching commenced.

Tack had ordered the recruits to move my furniture and anything else I didn’t take up the mountain to a storage unit. I was going to sift through it. Tack and I would decide what to switch out, what to add and what to get rid of. In the meantime, we were renting out my house and Tack declared we’d put it on the market, “When you’re ready, darlin’.”

I thought it was cool he didn’t rush me into this. Not that I needed an out. Just that things were happening fast. It felt less fast and more in my control knowing my house was still there. I was never going to move back, I loved my house but I loved Tack more and his house in the mountains was awesome. But at least the hold on my past was still in my grip and it was up to me when I was ready to let go.

I talked regularly to Lanie and she reported she and Elliott were doing “just fine”. She didn’t give a lot of detail on
what
they were doing but I guessed this was a Tack edict and this lack of information would keep me safe. I guessed this, I didn’t like this but I also didn’t question it. I had niggles of worry about it but my friend sounded happy. On my part, I shared with Lanie that I’d successfully helped her Mom with canceling all their wedding plans which was some serious work but it was also all done.

“And, maybe, soon, we’ll be home,” Lanie had said the last time I talked to her.

I figured this was an unintentional share of intel on the state of Operation Rivers of Blood but I didn’t ask, not her or Tack. I just hoped she was right.

Aunt Bette, on the other hand, hoped I knew what I was doing. This she shared in her last e-mail which was in response to the one where I told her I was moving in with Tack.

Since I suspected Aunt Bette shared, this also got me a phone call from my mother who told me, “We’re coming out soon, your Dad and I, to meet your new young man.”

For a variety of reasons, it was pretty hilarious she referred to Tack as my “young man” but I didn’t tell her this. I just told her flat out what she’d find when she and Dad got to Denver.