Wordlessly, he pulled down my skirt, his hand caressing my cheek softly.
“You learn your lesson?” he asked, his eyes not leaving mine.
I shook my head. “I think I might need some extra tutoring in the near future. I’m a slow learner,” I whispered.
Then he shocked me. His eyes stayed dark with desire, but his mouth, his beautiful mouth turned up at the corners. It wasn’t a smile; it wasn’t even a grin. But it was a smidge of emotion peeking out from the hard façade. I’d totally take that.
“You’re still taking the check,” I added, upset that I had to wipe the half smile off his face. But I had to stand my ground.
His face returned to the granite expression that I learned was his default.
“I’m not taking the fuckin’ check,” he clipped.
“Yes, you are,” I responded, hoping to sound as strong as him. I feared my upper body strength was lacking, as was my bad ass tone. And goatee.
“It’s sorted. Deal with it,” was his response, and he turned to move towards the car.
He did not just dismiss me and turn his back on me.
“Um, excuse me? The conversation does not end when one broody flipping biker decides it with his usual two syllables,” I declared haughtily, rounding the hood to face him. “The conversation ends when both participants decide. I,” I pointed to myself, “am a participant. Therefore, I declare this not freaking over.”
Zane looked up. His glare had returned and he didn’t respond.
“Um, a sexy glare does not a response make,” I shot at him. “Just because God granted you with devilish good looks, a crazy amount of muscles and a serious talent in the bedroom does not mean you get to go around glaring and paying for people’s car repairs,” I half yelled, even though it almost certainly actually did. My stinging ass and sated vagina could testify to that.
“Keep yelling like that, I’ll fuck you again. Till you can’t speak,” he ground out.
I swallowed, totally hating that this turned me on. On that thought, I realized something was missing. Why I didn’t notice this earlier was beyond me. My eyes darted around the floor. “Where are my panties?” I asked on a lower decibel. My mind whirled with the thoughts of someone like Lucky finding them while he was going about his day. I searched more frantically.
Zane’s gaze turned hooded. “They’re mine now.”
I swallowed again. Okay, so I should be a little creeped out over the fact that Zane was keeping my panties. Instead, my bare downstairs tingled at the thought. I was totally glad I wore a lacy yellow Victoria Secret thong today.
“You’re gonna walk around all day in that short little skirt, your pussy tender from my cock and your ass stinging from my hand and remember.” His voice was raw.
My stomach tingled.
“The panties,” he continued, “can count toward your payment for the car.” His attention went back to the car.
“You’re telling me you want me to accept that you think a pair of my panties serves as a payment for my car repairs?” I asked in disbelief.
“Don’t want you to accept it. It’s already done,” he half grunted.
I stared at him awhile, my mouth agape. “I have actually lost the ability to have a sane conversation with you about my car when you’re talking panty payments and ... rude things,” I trailed off, embarrassed.
“Good. You can leave then,” he said, his voice back to flat.
I felt myself deflate. Here was something I was familiar with. Being dismissed after sex. Not that I could complain. I let it happen. But I couldn’t help the twinge that had me feeling on the verge of tears.
My silence seemed to be an answer, because he straightened and walked over to the button hanging from the ceiling, pressing it, all while his eyes burned into me. I flinched at the grating sound of his garage opening. I stared at him a moment longer before turning on my heel and walking on shaky legs toward my car, feeling vulnerable in my lack of underwear, and slightly more like the whore he promised I wasn’t.
Bull gripped his wrench so hard he was surprised he didn’t snap it. He heard the heels of her shoes as she left the bay and it took every fiber of his being not to lift his head and watch her leave. He wanted to. More than anything. Watch her tight little ass sway in that delicious fuckin’ skirt. Know that her red ass grated against the fabric. Her bare ass. His cock pulsed at the memory of her taking it, taking his hand like she was born for it. She fuckin’ loved it. His Wildcat. Only when he heard her car door slam did he watch the red Beetle hurtle out of the parking lot at high speed.
Lucky was mounting his bike at this moment; he sat on it and watched the car screech out. Then his gaze turned to Bull. They locked eyes for a second, Lucky’s gaze hard. Bull scowled at him and brought his attention back to the car.
Or tried to.
Then there it was, without warning. An attack. The memory of her. Of something they didn’t have. The sex was good with her. Brilliant, in fact. But she was tiny. So fucking tiny and so fucking sweet, he was terrified he’d break her half the time. So he held back. He’d never shown her what lay deep down. The desires that he had been happy to suppress, for a lifetime with her. He didn’t have to do that with Mia. Hold back. He lost complete control when he fucked her, with a brutality he didn’t think any woman could handle. But she did. She loved every fuckin’ minute of it.
He shook his head, feeling more pissed than ever. He needed to stop thinking that shit. ‘Specially needed to stop thinking of her. If he didn’t he’d be going down a road even darker than the one he was already on. The road they said was paved with good intentions. He definitely needed to scrape Mia off. Bitch was messing with his brain even though he said it was only sex. It was more. He fucking knew it. She was getting under his skin. He needed to stop it. And soon.
Bull finished working for the day, and instead of going to the clubhouse and drowning his sorrows in a bottle of whiskey like he should have, he went home. He started working on his bike, to keep his hands busy, his mind busy. The garage door stayed open out of some sort of self-flagellation. There it was. Her place. Right there. The urge to go over there, to see her again, to fuck her again, to fuckin’ apologize was so strong he actually caught himself getting up a couple of times. Christ, he didn’t only want to fuck her. He wanted to talk to her. He never wanted to talk to anyone. Not even his brothers could hold an extended conversation with him. Even with Gwen he mostly just listened. But with Mia he wanted to talk. The woman was funny. Hilarious even. She never fuckin’ shut up. Even when she was spittin’ mad she babbled. Fuckin’ panty payments.
On that thought, the sounds of laughter carried across the street. Male laughter. Bull narrowed his eyes at the now open garage door directly across from him. Lexie was grinning at a couple of guys who were carrying rucksacks, one with a guitar case. One actually hugged her as she walked out with them to a car at the curb. Bull restrained the urge to go over and rip the little fucker’s head off. He watched as the shitheads piled into a car and drove off. Lucky for them.
Lexie’s eyes traveled with the car and then settled on him.
“Zane!” she called on a grin and started to run over.
Fuck.
She ran right into his garage, right up to his bike with a grin. No fear, no hesitation, just an easy smile. He wasn’t used to that. People approaching him with a smile devoid of fear, devoid of judgment.
“Hey, Zane,” she greeted, slightly breathless.
“Lex,” he nodded, unable to only give her a nonverbal nod as was his custom.
“I hope the noise didn’t disturb you—we tried to put some soundproofing up, you know, as to not brass off the neighbors, but I’m not sure how effective it is,” she babbled, chewing her lip. “Mom can still hear us from in the kitchen. I know because she texted me a draft of my Grammy acceptance speech.” She gave me a worried look. “As a joke,” she quickly added. “We’re only a high school band—we aren’t even that good yet, but Mom’s delusions have
us set for stardom.”
Bull had trouble taking this all in. “A band?” he ground out.
Lexie nodded enthusiastically, her curls bouncing. She played with the handlebar of his bike. Normally this would get him riled and ready to punch anyone touching his bike. But not her.
“Yeah, you see those guys leaving before?”
Bull nodded tightly.
“That’s my band!” She frowned slightly. “We still have to think of a name. It’s kind of a sticking point between the guys,” she shrugged, “creative minds and all that.”
That’s who those fuckers were? Bandmates? Jesus. He’d have to have a little talk with the nitwits, make sure they got no fuckin’ ideas about inter-band relations.
Lexie had abandoned the perusal of his bike and was now wandering around his garage.
“You should come and listen to us once we get a little better,” she added over her shoulder. “Or maybe once we get our first gig.” She paused. “Hey!” she called in an excited voice. “I didn’t know you played!”
Bull followed her eyes to the guitar resting in the corner of the room, lying half-abandoned in its dusty case.
“Long time ago,” he said quickly, battling with the memories attached to it. The demons.
Lexie gave him a shy smile. “You should come and play with me.” She hesitated. “Maybe you could even teach me some things.” Her hand trailed along the faded case, dust sliding off. “Mom couldn’t afford to get me regular lessons, especially after she bought me my guitar, so I’ve mostly taught myself. YouTube’s great, but it would be so cool to learn off a real life human being,” she finished quietly.
Bull’s stomach clenched. No fuckin’ way. He could barely look at that thing, let alone touch it again. That was the only reason it sat in a forgotten corner of his garage and not a trash pit. He couldn’t physically put his hands on the thing. No fuckin’ way was he getting it out to play fuckin’ teacher to a teenager.
“Yeah, kid, all right. Maybe,” he heard himself saying. He had no clue why he said it. Maybe it was the thought of Mia struggling to give her daughter something she obviously loved. Something she obviously lived for. And then that daughter being smart enough and dedicated enough to teach herself. Maybe he had finally dropped off the fuckin’ deep end. But the light in the grin that lit up Lexie’s face because of him…that’s what settled in his gut, chasing away the poison that usually resided there.
“Really? That is aces, Zane! I’m free, you know, whenever. Well, apart from when I’m obviously at school. But any time after that. Seriously. Whenever suits you,” she chattered, her words almost blending together.
Bull couldn’t do more than nod. He had already dug himself a huge fuckin’ hole.
Lexie seemed to sense his need for silence. She wandered back over to where he was working on his bike. And to his complete surprise, she plonked herself down. Right on the grease-stained concrete floor. Right beside him.
“You mind if I sit here and watch for a while?” she asked, her voice back to shy. “Sometimes I just need a bit of quiet after all the music makes up all the noise in my head,” she explained.
Bull somehow found himself unable to do anything but nod again, turning his attention back to his bike. She sat there quietly watching him for close to half an hour. He didn’t find her gaze or the silence uncomfortable. He lived in silence. He was used to it. Welcomed it. But he wasn’t used to the company. He found himself being comforted by it.
As she got up to leave, he found himself uncharacteristically not wanting to be devoid of company. So that’s why he said, “Heard you,” he clipped. “The band. You’re good.”
Her beam and wave goodbye was worth it.
I sat in my car, in the parking lot of the Sons compound…clubhouse…hangout…whatever. Shit. I didn’t even know what to call this place. My biker vocab was limited to the couple of episodes of biker TV shows I watched. And even then I barely paid attention, merely drooled at the main character. On top of everything else, I hadn’t known how to dress for this. I glimpsed down. Black skinny jeans seemed a safe choice. They were Lexie’s, since I didn’t own black skinny jeans. Well, I technically did, since I paid for them; they merely resided in my daughter’s closet. I wore a black long-sleeved blouse made of tight jersey fabric. It looked modest at the front but the drape at the back went way deep, showing a lot of back. I had a chunky silver belt slung over top and my hair was piled into a messy ponytail, showcasing awesome dangling earrings. My makeup was heavy, for me at least, and a vibrant red decorated my lips. It was as biker chic as I was going to get. But thinking of Gwen and Amy, I didn’t worry too much about abiding to some sort of dress code that required leather or chaps. I should more likely be worried about whatever mental condition I had that made me think it was a good idea to accept Gwen’s invitation to a “club party”. Especially to Zane’s club. I hadn’t seen or talked to him since he had spanked and screwed me in the very spot my eyes were focused on right now. He had somehow made me lose all sense of self preservation and let him screw me in a semi-public place. And I loved it. My belly flipped just thinking about it. Which was why I shouldn’t be here. Which was why I had avoided him for the past week. I certainly hadn’t snuck over in the night for some crazy sex, as much as I had wanted to.
I swallowed, then contemplated turning my car back on and driving away. A tapping at the window foiled my plan. I jumped to see Lucky’s attractive face grinning at me. Before I knew it he had opened the door and yanked me out.
“Party isn’t in the car, sweetheart. Let’s get you to the real party,” he declared, slinging his arm around my shoulders.
“Hello to you too, Lucky,” I half laughed, feeling at ease in his presence. He may be a hulking biker covered in tattoos, but I had a feeling he was a puppy dog under all of those muscles. His calm demeanor and perpetual smile had me feeling safe.
“I don’t consider it a proper hello until we both have a beer in our hands,” he exclaimed, directing us through a crowd we had just approached.
I struggled not to open my eyes in childlike wonder. I had never seen anything like this. In saying that, it wasn’t hard to amaze me, considering I hadn’t gone out much in my thirty-three years. I had been too busy raising a child. I liked hanging out on the couch with her, rather than trolling bars and drinking overpriced drinks. I was mighty fine with ten dollar bottles of wine and the occasional night in with a girlfriend.
This party was not as wild as I had expected. The outside area was packed. It was all yellowed grass with picnic tables scattered around and one long table in the middle. Fire barrels were also scattered, unlit due to the fact it was still early. A couple of men with beers in their hands manned a grill. To my right was a big building with a wraparound porch. It stood separate from the garage bays in the distance. I guessed it was the clubhouse. There were men in leather everywhere, ranging from young, muscled and yummy to old, barreled, and decidedly yucky. And everything in between. The women were much the same. Some were what I guessed were “club girls”, scantily clad and hanging off multiple men. Others looked to be showing a bit less skin and had some enviable outfits. I exhaled when some were similar to mine. Nothing worse than going to a party and totally fucking up the dress code. Not that I’d been to many parties.
“Here you go, darlin,’” Lucky handed me an unopened beer; then his face blanched. “Shit, you drink beer, don’t you? Not like Chardon-fucking-nay or some shit?” he asked, sounding panicked at my potential wine drinking preference.
I laughed and patted his well-muscled arm before opening my beer. “Yes, I drink beer,” I reassured him. “Chardon-fucking-nay is reserved for when I’m feeling real classy, or when I’m drinking with the Queen,” I teased.
He grinned.
“Mia! You made it! Hell fucking yeah!” an excited voice exclaimed and I turned to almost collide with a sickeningly glamorous Amy. She embraced me. “Thank the fucking Lord you’re here.” She glanced down at my hand. “And drink
ing!” Her eyes went up to the sky as if to thank the Almighty for my alcohol imbibing ways. She linked an arm with mine, turning us away from Lucky. She winked at him and I gave him a little finger wave. He raised his beer with a grin. I swear he mouthed good luck.
“Gwen’s got another goddamned bun in her oven, thanks to her hot husband’s crazy sperm,” she announced with a wrinkled nose. “Rosie’s not here because,” she paused, “because of some reason to do with yet another guy.” She rolled her eyes and gave me a pointed look as she sat us down at an empty table. “Lucy’s having problems with her very own macho hot guy, one she has no chance against.” She gave me another look. “That’s a story to tell after another one of these.” She raised a cocktail glass—yes, I repeat, cocktail glass in the midst of a biker party—with amber liquid in it. “And Ash and Lily are studying,” she scowled. “So my drinking buddy list is sad and depleted, then you come into town! No pregnant belly or macho man trouble to speak of.” Her eyes narrowed. “Or do you have any macho man trouble? I know you haven’t been in this burg long, but trust me, these men are fast.” Her gaze flickered over to Cade, who had his arms around Gwen. Her eyes brightened and she gave me a wave. She looked like she moved to come over, but Cade’s arms stayed around her. She glared up at him.
I couldn’t help but smile. That was until I caught who she was standing beside. Zane stood stiffly, his eyes boring a hole into me. I was tempted to see if my clothes were smoking; it was that hot of a look. Heat mixed with a heck of a lot of anger.
“Holy shit,” Amy breathed. “You totally do have macho man trouble.” Her eyes darted from Zane to me.
I quickly tore my eyes away from his. “I wouldn’t call it trouble...exactly,” I spoke slowly, unsure if I wanted to expose my sexual escapades with her. Not that I didn’t trust her. I instinctively felt this woman was going to become my friend. You know how you just have that feeling with someone? It was what I got with her and all of the women I had encountered thus far. Women that just happened to be connected to the motorcycle club the man I was fucking was in. I didn’t want to tangle my web anymore until I knew what the heck was going on. Or until I found the willpower to stop creeping over to his house in the dead of night.