She went over to the bed and picked up a leather jacket, touching the upper rocker with her finger. "Torpedo Ink?"
"We thought up the name when we were teenagers. It was cool back then. Torpedo is a hit man and Ink instead of incorporated."
The patch was the tree, skulls and crows Reaper had inked on his back. There was no bottom rocker to say where they were from. It made her sad that they didn't have a home base. He wanted that so much, not just for him, but for his brothers and sisters. She couldn't help running her finger down the length of that sturdy tree trunk. It looked strong, holding up the seventeen branches. To other people, it was a tree; to his club, it was all about Viktor and the lives they lost--and saved.
Blythe couldn't help but look at the skulls wrapped tightly in the roots of the trees. Most had several but there were a few jackets where the skulls were more than plentiful. Too plentiful. She didn't have to ask whose jackets they were. She knew and felt sad for the little boys they had been. Viktor had deliberately stopped short of telling her anyone else's story, but she knew and it made her sick.
"These mean something to all of you," she said. "Let's get them hung up out of respect." She picked up Reaper's and Savage's jackets and made her way to the large walk-in closet that took up one side of the very large room. "There's plenty of room. I'm not a minimalist, but I don't have a lot of clothes I hang up." She took a hanger from the closet and turned to face Viktor.
He hadn't moved. "Honey? What is it?" The look on his face alarmed her. It was difficult to read. He stared at her as if he wanted to cry, yet his expression was difficult to read.
He swallowed hard. "You know that I love you, right?" His voice was gruff, as if his throat were rusty, and the declaration came out strangled.
She didn't know how to answer that. She knew. How could she not? She felt it every time they were together. She'd even felt it in the street when he'd looked up and seen her on the sidewalk of Sea Haven. The emotion was strong and always surrounded her until she was cloaked in him. In his love and protection. She didn't know how to answer so she didn't respond; rather she turned and hung the jacket carefully and then did the same with Savage's.
"Thank you, Blythe. You don't know what it means that you understand about our colors. They represent . . ."
"All of you," she finished for him. "Come on, help me. It isn't as if you each don't have more than two. Who sewed all these patches on?"
"Alena, Lana and Code. You haven't met Lana or Code yet, but you will. Never tell Code I told you he helped sew the patches."
She didn't take her eyes from his face when he spoke. She caught the hint of that mischievous boy again and the disparity in his emotions. "You all sewed them," she guessed. "Even big bad Reaper."
He grinned again, a slow, beautiful smile that sent her heart clenching hard and heat pulsing between her legs. She picked up more jackets and took them to the closet. "Hurry up. You promised me a ride." Okay, that wasn't a good thing to say to him. Not in her bedroom. "On your bike," she added hastily.
His laughter made the pulsing turn to pounding.
14
BLYTHE stood beside the large motorcycle trying not to hyperventilate. In all the years she'd been alive, this was something she'd never done. It was dark, but very clear with stars glittering across the sky like diamonds. The moon was mostly a sliver, but a bright silver, shining down on the ocean, sending light spilling across the water.
She could see from the vantage point where he'd left his bike. The place of concealment was some distance from her actual house, in a narrow opening between two of her favorite bushes. He'd rolled it out, and she was a little shocked that the machine was much larger than she envisioned.
"Put this on." He handed her a helmet.
"Very convenient that you have two." That made her sound like a harpy, and she wasn't very happy with herself for sniping at him just because she was afraid.
He didn't say anything, but came over to her, put the helmet carefully on her head and secured it. He took his gloved hand and tucked it under her chin while he looked steadily at her. "Do you think I would ever let anything happen to you?"
She knew better. He wouldn't. His protective gene had to be off the charts. Sighing, she shook her head. She'd asked for this. It had been her idea; now she just couldn't be a baby about it.
"I've been riding a long time. I started in Russia, baby, when I was twenty-one and they released me from the school."
She gasped. "You were there that long?"
He nodded, his face still soft with love, but his eyes had gone molten with a suppressed rage that sometimes--like now--seem to suck all the air out of the atmosphere. "The point is, I'll always take care of you, but you don't have to do this if you don't want to."
Her chin went up. If he could spend all those years in a hellhole, she could get on the back of his motorcycle. "I want to. I really do." She found that was the truth. She wanted to see what drew his brothers and sisters and him to the road.
She thought she understood the need for their club. It was a brotherhood. A family. They'd formed that years earlier in their prison, surrounded by criminals. They'd counted on one another and had one another's back. Essentially, that was what a club was, a family with their own rules and codes. It was the motorcycles . . .
Viktor settled himself on the bike and reached out his hand to her. "Use my shoulder for balance and just step on that and swing on."
Heart beating hard, she did as he told her, settling her body behind his. Close. Very, very close. The engine roared to life and her heart nearly stopped. Straddling the bike with the vibration of the engine between her legs and her body pressed so close to Viktor was not a good idea. He reached back, caught her hands and pulled her arms around him, so that her hands were clasped low on his body. Definitely not a good idea. Now she wasn't worried about accidents. She was all too aware of Viktor.
She loved everything about him. His body, so strong and confident. The unexpected laughter. He was so expressionless most of the time that when he laughed, she always felt like it was such a gift. She could spend a lifetime just watching the way he moved. He seemed to flow, and he never made a sound. Like a cat. A great big lazy, dangerous jungle cat, but still that fluid motion always set her blood on fire.
She closed her eyes and put her head against his back, tense and scared, but trying not to show it. She concentrated on how he smelled and the way he felt against her. Her breasts were pressed tight to his back and moved with the motion of the bike, her nipples rubbing along the lace of her bra. She bit her lip. This might be torture.
When nothing bad happened to her, she forced her eyes open so she could look around her. They were already on Highway 1, going south. Moving fast. Her body felt stiff, muscles cramped, and she made an effort to relax. The moment she did, she felt the rhythm of his body and the motorcycle. Hers followed naturally.
She dared to lift her head and look around. She could see everything around her so easily--as if she was right in the middle of it, part of nature. The ocean gleamed like glass, light where the moon turned the water to silver and dark where that beaming light didn't hit directly. Her body moved with the bike and with Viktor as if they were one unit together. The bike felt powerful just as Viktor did. She relaxed completely, giving herself to the experience, just as she did whenever he touched her.
His hand moved over hers, rubbing in a caress, and she wasn't even afraid that he wasn't holding on with both hands. Then he took his hand away and they were flying down the road so smoothly, straightening out the endless curves as if they weren't even there. She didn't ask where they were going because it didn't matter. She didn't want the ride to ever end.
They continued traveling south along Highway 1, going through Elk and then Manchester. It was a long way by car, and she'd traveled it often, but it was a completely different experience on the motorcycle. She did feel free and excited. Definitely turned on. The longer they moved as one, the more she felt part of the bik
e and Viktor.
She'd always loved Manchester and nearly tapped him on the shoulder to get him to stop. A secret part of her wanted to hike across the dunes, hopefully find the beach deserted and make love to her man. She didn't say anything, mostly because she was having such a good time and didn't want the ride to end.
Riding with Viktor made her feel part of the night. The ocean was on one side and the wild terrain on the other. They went through small towns with few houses and even fewer shops. Point Arena was the biggest, and he barely slowed as they went through it and kept going south.
She knew it took over an hour to get to where they were by car, but it hardly seemed as if time passed at all before they were past Gualala to Sea Ranch and he was slowing the motorcycle to turn onto Annapolis Road. She'd only been out that way once and then just to explore, but the river was close.
Blythe couldn't help herself. The temptation was too much. She dropped her hands lower, sliding them over his hard belly. He'd always had a washboard stomach. She remembered lying in bed with him and just tracing all those delicious muscles. He had never understood her fascination, but he'd never minded. Her hands edged up under his jacket and she caressed his belly through her gloves and his shirt, wishing he wasn't wearing one.
Suddenly all she could think about was Viktor, and the fire building between her legs. Her hands deliberately dropped lower, to cup his cock. She remembered every single detail of his cock. The length and girth of it. How he felt, hot and hard and velvet soft yet like steel. He didn't stop her stroking fingers, but he did speed up just a little, and she knew the powerful engine, the caress of her hand and the press of her breasts into his back were getting to him.
She found herself smiling just for the pure joy of being alive. She hadn't felt that way in a long, long time. Not since Viktor was with her and they spent every minute together just worshipping each other's bodies. "Hurry," she whispered against his back, her hand sliding over his cock, fingers molding to him, dancing and teasing. She really needed him to hurry.
Blythe recognized the river and Iron Bridge when he slowed the bike. Few people were ever there as a rule, and she doubted if anyone would be this time of night. He stopped and they just sat together staring at the river, his hand over hers, pressing her palm tight over the length of his hard cock.
She could barely breathe with wanting him. "Viktor." His name came out with heat and need.
"I know, baby." He tugged at her hand and indicated she get off the bike.
She wasn't certain she could stand. It wasn't just the long time on the back of the motorcycle; it was the need coursing through her veins. Need that had become intense hunger for him. For the taste and feel of him. She'd never forgotten the vivid details of nights and days spent making love for hours on end.
She took off the helmet and shook out her hair, trying to control her breathing. He untied a duffel bag, caught her by the hand and without a word headed down to the river. In the distance she heard the roar of bikes and that brought her up short.
"Did some of the others follow us here?"
"We'll be alone."
Of course they had been followed. He was Viktor--Czar. "They guard you with their lives, don't they?" He kept walking, urgency in his long strides. That told her he was as affected by the ride and her close proximity as she had been with him.
"I'm their president."
"You're more than their president to them." He always would be. She understood why now.
He dropped the bag, went down on one knee and unzipped it, yanking it open. He dragged a thick blanket out, unrolled it and threw it on the ground. "Put your hand on my shoulder, honey."
She did, her heart pounding and her sex clenching. She needed him. Right. Now. He didn't seem to understand the urgency of the matter, because he was fiddling with her boots. She moaned, looking at his bent head.
"It's been five years for me, Blythe. Haven't touched a woman. My hands are fumbling a little bit."
"It's been five years since I touched a man," she admitted. She held out her hand in front of him. It was shaking. "I don't know if I can do better." She lifted her foot and he yanked off the boot and went to the other one. Somehow he got that off without her falling down. She was shaking so hard she had to hang on to his shoulders with both hands as he removed first one sock and then the other.
He knelt up and caught at the zipper of her jeans. "Take off your jacket, Blythe. Hurry, baby. I might explode before we get started and that would be a major blow to my pride."
She let go of him long enough to rip off the jacket and fling it aside. It landed on her boots. He had her zipper down and caught at the waistband of her jeans, catching her lacy underwear at the same time. He slid the material over her hips, down her thighs to her calves. She had to hold on again to his shoulder while she lifted first one leg and then the other to get out of the offending material.
Her breath came in ragged pants. The burn between her legs had grown until it was a wildfire out of control. She could barely stand when he pushed her thighs apart, wedged himself between them, caught her bottom in his hands and licked up the inside of her thigh.
She gasped. "Viktor." It wasn't a protest. It was a demand.
"Take off your top."
She didn't hesitate. Not for a moment. She didn't even care where his friends were, how close or how far. If they could see or not. She flung her T-shirt after her jacket and without being asked, undid the lacy bra so that her breasts spilled free. She needed the cool breeze on her body.
She really needed his mouth on her, but he was doing something slow and lazy with his tongue instead of getting down to business. She caught him by his hair and tugged at his head to bring him closer. "Viktor."
"I'm remembering how much I love the taste of you. The feel of your skin. Your scent." His voice was very soft. "Making new memories, baby."
"Make them later," she demanded.
He laughed and blew warm air on her, holding her still while he nuzzled. She tightened her fists in his hair in warning. She loved his laughter. Even when he was driving her mad, she loved it. Then his mouth was on her and she lost every sane thought she had. She cried out. Loud. With Viktor there was never a place for inhibitions. He just didn't allow them. Just like that, all her walls came tumbling down, and she was once again just Blythe. All woman. His woman. And that was all that mattered to either of them.
He was relentless, his tongue stabbing deep, teasing, circling, flicking. He knew what he was doing and he did it expertly, but with so much feeling. The rush consumed her faster than she ever thought possible, she was so primed. Then he was driving her right back up, a ruthless demand in his fingers and mouth. Taking her there again before she had caught her breath.
"Viktor." Just his name. Thinking to stop him. There was no stopping him.
He devoured her, taking his time now, slowing his attack so that the terrible sensitivity could ease enough that she could breathe. His mouth was so good. How had she lived without it? Without him? She didn't know. She didn't care now that he was with her. On his knees, holding her up, his mouth eating her as if she was the best treat in the world.
"I can't. It's coming again." It was. A fierce coiling. So tight. A gathering that threatened to take her sanity this time.
"Let go. Give me this, baby."
He whispered against her clit, his tongue stroking, and then he suckled, and she was lost. She screamed as wave after wave of sheer fire blazed through her. The flames raced through her body, up through her belly to her breasts, and down her thighs to her legs and toes. For a moment, spots danced before her eyes. She blinked rapidly, trying to clear her vision while Viktor tore off his jacket and shirt, flinging them on top of her clothes and boots.
Two men rushed down the other side of the road, guns drawn, gravel flying. Both came to an abrupt halt, staring at her through the darkness. Reaper and Savage. Both shook their heads, grinned, gave her a small salute and then turned away. She watched them as they walked
back up the road. Neither looked back.
She should have panicked. She should have cared. She was stark naked with a man kneeling between her legs. She was out in the open under a blanket of stars and it was the most decadent thing she could imagine. It only added to the excitement.
"Hurry, Viktor." The fire was building all over again. She didn't know how. He was no longer touching her, pulling off his boots and socks and then reaching for the zipper of his jeans. Still, the relentless pounding of blood in her clit continued. It had been so long. Too long. "I need you inside me right now."
He shoved his jeans down and his cock sprang free. She inhaled sharply at the sight of him, mesmerized. Before she could stop herself she reached out and wrapped her fingers around him, going to her knees in front of him. He'd always told her his body belonged to her alone. She'd believed him the way he responded to her.
Her fist sliding over that velvety steel, she looked at his chest. She'd always loved his chest. So broad and strong, the muscles defined. Right over his heart was her tattoo. It was there, the lock wrapped with chains, razor wire and thorns from a single long-stemmed red rose, the only color on his ink. Her name was written there inside the tangle of wire, chain and thorns.
He sank to the ground on his butt, forcing her to bend forward if she wanted to keep hold of his cock, which she did. So hot. So hard. All hers. Her mouth watered. She needed to taste him. The thought added more heat pounding through her clit. Those small inner muscles clenched as her body wept for him. Was desperate for him.
She bent farther, brushing kisses along his chest, lapping at his left nipple, his belly button, tracing muscles lower leading to his groin.
"You're not making this easy," he said, trying to shed his jeans.
She barely heard him. Her breasts brushed over his thighs, her nipples hard peaks pushing into his skin as she licked up his shaft and her tongue danced along the crown. His cock jerked and pulsed. Pearly liquid dotted the broad head. She licked the drops off and closed her eyes, savoring his taste. She loved his taste. She always had.
His entire body shuddered as she engulfed him, drawing him deep, flicking with her tongue, using it like an exquisite weapon, suckling with strong pulls until he caught her hair in his fist and dragged her head up.