Rock point collection, p.58
Rock Point Collection, page 58
Jesus.
Who knew the woman could look like goddamn sex? Not that she’s flaunting it, not in the way of some of the groupies, but just that hint of cleavage peeking out from the innocent sweater makes her look sexier than any other woman prancing around in lacy lingerie. Even her eyes, those big blue deceptively guileless orbs, hold a promise I know most men won’t be able to resist. Fuck. The normally tightly wrapped and bristly agent looks like a sonofabitchin’ wet dream.
Not what I expected at all when I pulled up her driveway to the small cabin, half-tucked in the trees, nestled high above the road below. From what I can tell, she has one neighbor, but behind her is nothing but space, and in front, a killer view. Nice. A surprise, actually. Just like the address she handed me earlier today, only minutes down the road.
“Put this on,” I growl when we get to my bike, and I hand her the helmet I had to pick up this afternoon. I don’t take women on the back of my bike, not ever, so there’s never been need for a spare. I was tempted to pick her up in the truck instead, but I know damn well, nothing would make a statement like driving up to the clubhouse with her on the back of my bike. It would eliminate any question around why she was there and instantly identify her as someone important to me. “Been on a bike before?” I ask, brushing away her hands when she fumbles with the strap under her chin.
“Dirt bike. Once,” she says with a self-deprecating grin, pointing at a scar in her hairline. “A singular experience I didn’t care to repeat.”
I can sense her nerves and throw her a grin back. “No worries. I won’t crash us. Just hang on tight to me, and let your body lean in with mine.”
Something I can’t quite identify flashes in her eyes, gone as fast as it came. I swing my leg over and am about to instruct her how to get on, when I feel her swing up behind me, her body way too fucking snug against my back. When I glance back, I see her hands have a firm grip on her knees. “You gotta hold on, Luna.” She moves them tentatively on my waist, trying to avoid as much contact as is possible, already wedged against me. “Yea, that ain’t gonna work,” I tell her, before I grab both her hands and pull them around my middle, biting down a curse when I feel her spectacularly wrangled tits press in my back. “Better get used to touching me, and having my hands all over you, if you want to pull this off. We’re not shy at the clubhouse, it’ll raise eyebrows if you act like I have the plague.”
“So noted,” she mumbles against my back.
The short ride up the mountain road is a good test she seems to pass with ease. Pulling up to the gate, manned by Rowtag and Wapi, one of our other cubs, we draw some raised eyebrows, but when Rowtag recognizes who’s on the back of my bike, he scowls. I’m going to have to keep an eye on that one.
I have to help her again with her helmet and hang it off my handlebars while she fluffs out her hair. She’s wearing it loose today, the thick blonde waves framing her face like a halo. She looks even fucking younger like this.
“How old are you?” I can fucking hear her hackles go up, so I add under my breath, “A pretty fucking important detail for your man to know, Sprite.”
“Forty-one. Birthday in October. You?”
“Forty-eight and May.” From the corner of my eye, I notice some eyes on us, so even as I’m answering her, I weave my fingers into her hair and cup the back of her head, my other landing on her ass. “Showtime,” I whisper, just before covering her lips with mine.
Fuck. Her mouth is sweet, and despite the tension still coming off her, she plays her role really fucking well. Hands snaking around my neck, up on her toes, and her tits pressing against me. To someone watching she probably looks like she knows what she’s doing, but her kiss betrays her. Her response is hesitant, apprehensive, when my tongue slips between her lips for a quick taste. A small groan escapes her, and I quickly pull away before I fucking bend her over my bike.
“Well, I’ll be fuckin’ damned.”
I drag my eyes away from the high blush on her face to find Yuma watching us through squinted eyes a few feet away. Ignoring him, I hook my arm around her neck, and walk us right past him inside.
“Be prepared for the third degree from Momma,” I warn her quietly before aiming her in the direction of the kitchen, ignoring the catcalls and whistles. Momma and Nosh will be the hardest sells. They know me best, they’ve met Luna in her professional capacity, and I feel like shit for lying to them, but it’s important they buy into it. The rest of the club will automatically follow.
“I knew it,” Momma says when she sees us coming in.
“That so?” I challenge. I don’t have a clue what she thinks she knew, but I’m not about to argue. It works to our advantage.
“I could feel the sparks flying with you two in the same room,” she claims smugly.
Nosh, who’s sitting at the kitchen table—his favorite hangout—scrutinizes our faces closely to the point of uncomfortable, before he finally shrugs his shoulders.
It could work, he signs.
“Better get the grill fired up, boy. Them ribs gonna take a while to cook. Not too hot, or you’ll burn them before they tender.”
“And how often have I burned the ribs?” I raise an eyebrow at Momma, who knows damn well I don’t burn meat. She dismissively waves her spatula and turns her back, but when I’m about to head for the grill out back, a quiet Luna still tucked under my arm, Momma stops us.
“Leave her here, I could use a hand.” I swear the woman has eyes in the back of her head.
I don’t really want to subject Luna to the Spanish Inquisition I know she’s about to have put on her, but I don’t really have a choice. Turning to her, I take her face in my hands and tilt it up. “You okay givin’ Momma a hand?”
“Of course.”
“I’ll be out back. Come lookin’ for me when you’re done.”
I wait for her acknowledging nod before I press a hard kiss on her lips and let her go. One last glance into the kitchen, I catch Momma’s eyes in the reflection of the kitchen window—she hasn’t missed a thing—before walking out to the back, where I know I’ll be receiving a grilling of my own.
Luna
“What would you like me to do, Mrs. Wells?”
The woman turns to face me with a scowl on her face.
“You can start by calling me Momma, just like everybody else,” she snaps. “You mister and missus your way around this club, no one’s gonna forget who you are.”
“All right, Momma, what can I do?”
“Can ya cook?” I grin at the challenge in her voice. I don’t get a chance to cook often but I’m pretty good, if I say so myself.
“Like a champ.”
“That a fact?”
“Try me.” I throw the challenge back with a grin and a wink for Nosh, who is eyeing us with interest.
The calculating glint in Momma’s eyes should probably have been a warning, but I already threw my hat in the ring.
“Brussels sprouts. I make them for a handful of the guys, but the rest hate them, including Ouray. I want to see if you can change his mind.”
“No problem.”
I am so fucking bluffing and she knows it. I love my sprouts, but I’m not sure they’d be enough to get someone to like them.
For the next twenty minutes I’m cleaning vegetables, chopping fresh garlic, and mincing shallots. A few times I almost cut off a finger, my mind still preoccupied with the feel of Ouray’s tongue stroking the inside of my mouth, his hand squeezing my ass. I’m mostly confused by my own response: I didn’t want him to stop.
The club kitchen is large, but still Momma manages to crowd me when I toss the raw, halved sprouts in the wok with the rest of the ingredients.
“Ain’t you gonna cook ‘em first?”
“Nope. Stir fry so they keep a bit of bite. Do you have some hot sauce?” She hands me a jumbo-sized bottle from the fridge. I drizzle a little into the wok, stir it around, and pull the wok off the heat.
“I’ll finish them up when the ribs are ready. Can’t leave them sitting too long or they’ll get mushy.”
“Whatever you say,” Momma says, rolling her eyes. “Why don’t you go see if Ouray is ready for the meat?”
I have to say, it’s a lot less comfortable walking out in a crowd of people I don’t know, who all look at me with a healthy dose of suspicion, than it was earlier with Ouray’s arm around my shoulder.
“Fresh pussy. Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes?”
A man the size of a Mack truck, a nose that looks to have been on the wrong side of a fist one too many times, with massive amounts of hair everywhere steps in my path, his big shovel-sized hand rounding me to latch onto my ass. My move is instinctive as I twist around and aim my heel for his kneecap, wishing I’d chanced wearing high heels just for the added damage I could’ve done. Despite the flimsy tennis shoes on my feet, I manage to cause enough pain for the behemoth to stumble back a step. I’m in a half-crouch, my focus on him as I anticipate retaliation, when suddenly the guy is felled like a massive tree, going down on his knees in front of me.
Ouray. His nostrils flaring and his jaw twitching, he looms over the guy, bending down to get in his face.
“That’s your one and only pardon, you son of a bitch. That ass you tried pawing belongs to me. You hear me?”
“I didn’t know, Chief,” is the guy’s grudging response.
“Actually,” I pipe up. “Last time I checked that ass belongs to me.”
I realize quickly I probably would’ve been better off shutting my trap, when that nostril-flaring, jaw-twitching glare now is directed at me. Oops. An uncomfortable silence follows, during which way too many eyes flit back and forth between Ouray and me, waiting for things to escalate.
Unexpectedly, Ouray rolls his eyes heavenward. “Fine,” he concedes, reaching out and pulling me to him, putting his own big paw on my rear. “The ass may belong to you, but I fuckin’ claim exclusive rights.” I don’t get a chance to respond before I’m bent backward over his arm, my mouth bruised in a ravaging kiss that makes the earlier ones seem like chaste pecks in comparison. I swear the man is probing for my tonsils, his tongue is so far down my throat, and all I can do is go along for the ride. With my arms wrapped tight around his neck, I let myself be carried away, no longer aware of my surroundings. Overwhelmed with his taste in my mouth, his scent in my nose, and the feel of his strong arms holding me up, I lose all control of my body.
I don’t become aware of the hooting and hollering until Ouray slowly lets me up, both of us breathing harder than is decent in public. When he pulls me flush against his front, I momentarily freeze at the hard press of his erection in my stomach, but I hold my ground.
“Jesus, Sprite,” he whispers in my ear. “You’re a quick study.”
I’m still trying to figure out what that means exactly, when we sit down at a bunch of end to end picnic tables for dinner. While Ouray is arranging the ribs and burgers in large aluminum trays, I hurry inside to finish off the Brussels sprouts. A splash of soy sauce, a little ginger, and a quick stir through over high heat and they’re done.
“What’s this?” Ouray asks, when Momma shoves the serving dish under his nose.
“Done my sprouts a different way. Come hell or high water, I’ll make you eat them yet.”
“You’ve tried for the past thirty odd years, woman, what makes you think I—”
“Oh shut it and give it a go,” she snaps impatiently. She instructed me not to mention anything so his response would be ‘honest’ so I’m keeping my mouth shut.
Ouray carefully scoops up three or four halves and deposits them on his plate, a fair distance from the rest of his food. I almost laugh out loud at the look of disgust on his face.
“Don’t laugh,” he growls, spearing one on his fork and reluctantly bringing it up to his mouth.
“Please, Momma. Save us all from this torture, will you?” a man who was introduced to me earlier as Kaga, his second-in-command, pleads with the old woman, but from the stubborn look on her face, it’s clear she’s unmoved. “I don’t get why we can’t just stick to corn on the cob.”
“Don’t be going too far with that.” Ouray points at the dish Momma’s holding. “Goddamn, why didn’t you ever make ‘em like this before?”
Momma’s eyes narrow on me as she holds out the bowl to him. “Gonna need that recipe,” she mumbles, leaning in, but Ouray hears and raises an eyebrow at me.
“No shit?” He spears another sprout and pops it in his mouth, watching me. I just shrug.
At dinner I make note of names, clubs, roles, and any other tidbit of information that I can pick up. I’d almost forgotten the reason I’m here in the first place.
Most of the guys are Arrow’s Edge, but there are a few from visiting clubs. There are quite some women too, but I can’t get a grip on who’s with who. The only ones I know are Momma and Lea, Kaga’s wife, who I met earlier. Nobody bothered introducing me to the others and I plan to ask Ouray about that later.
The party gets rowdier the later it gets, alcohol flowing and occasional tempers flaring. More than once I watch as Ouray steps between two guys and quietly seems to diffuse the tension. I notice he’s only had a beer or two before dinner, but has been chugging back bottles of water since. I’m on my second beer myself, making it last. Not drinking would stand out, but as long as I have a half full bottle in my hand, I’m left alone.
I watch as one woman accompanies yet another biker into the clubhouse. I think it’s her third. Not hard to imagine what goes on in there. “Who’s she?” I ask Ouray softly, pretending to snuggle up to him. It’s a little disturbing how easy it is pretending to be his date.
“Britney. Club groupie.”
“She get paid or something?” I ask. “This is the third guy.”
“Fuck. That’s gonna be trouble,” he mumbles, looking after them before he turns to me. “And no, she’s not a hooker.”
“She does it for fun?” I know I sound naïve, but it flies out before I can clamp down on it. The concept is alien to me, so I’m trying to understand.
“Britney? She mostly does it to stir up trouble. It’s not new. Guess I’ll have to have another talk with her before someone fucking starts shooting.” He indicates one of the guys, who is staring at the clubhouse with barely suppressed anger. “That’s Paco. Good man, bad judgement when it comes to that bitch.”
I flinch at his use of that word, but when she walks into the bathroom ten minutes later, it doesn’t take me long to agree with him wholeheartedly.
“You got money?”
I’m washing my hands at the surprisingly clean sink when I hear the slightly nasal voice behind me. I look up to see her leaning against the wall, a smug little grin on her pouty lips.
“Money?”
“Yeah. Like are you rich or something?”
“Hardly.” I grab a handful of paper towels and dry my hands.
“Hmm. Into kinky shit?”
I swing around, tossing the wad of paper in the trash can. “What can I do for you?”
She looks me up and down with distaste on her face.
“There’s gotta be something that puts you on the back of his bike. The man likes his pussy hot and his tits ample. You ain’t got none, and you look like a cold-ass choirboy instead of a hot-blooded woman.”
Ah. A case of jealousy. I recognize it, even if I’ve never actually been the subject before. It’s an interesting experience. Best way to deal with it is not to respond. She’s clearly baiting me, and I won’t bite. I try walking past her, but she moves faster, blocking the door. She doesn’t know how big of a mistake she’s making.
“You don’t want to do that,” I warn her in a calm, gentle voice.
“Do what? I asked you a question and you’re bein’ a bitch, all rude, ignoring me.”
“I’m gonna give you to the count of three, and I suggest you get out of my way, or I’ll move you myself.”
I can tell she’s weighing the odds, until she finally steps aside.
“Go ahead. You’re lucky I’m not in the mood to tussle with little girls tonight.”
I already have the door open, hanging onto my temper by a thread, when she voices those last words. I’m about to give her a taste of my little girl fists when an arm snakes around me, pulling me against an already familiar body.
“You’re not just a bitch, you’re stupid too,” Ouray says over my head. “Luna could take you apart limb by limb with one hand tied behind her back. I warned you, Britney, one more drama with your name on it, and it’ll be the last time those gates open for ya.”
“I can’t remember much,” the woman says with a calculating smirk. “On account of your cock being down my throat at the time.”
SIX
Ouray
Fucking Britney.
Even now, three days later, Luna is stiff as a board when she climbs behind me on the bike.
I don’t get women. First off, I really don’t see what she thought she had to gain by targeting Luna with some wild story. Sure, I had my dick in her mouth. I was in the middle of telling her off when she dropped to her knees, ripped my jeans open, and stuffed my limp cock between her lips. I’m damn lucky she didn’t use her teeth to hang on when I shoved her off. Like that was going to help her get on the back of a bike. That’s what she’s after, we all know it. Poor Paco has a hard-on for the woman, but isn’t ready to claim her as his old lady—thank fuck for that. As a result she’s been spreading for whoever wants a piece, in hopes jealousy will get him to give in.
As for Luna, I don’t get her at all. First she hates my guts, then she lights up like the fucking Fourth of July with my tongue in her mouth, before finally freezing me out altogether. This is all supposed to be fucking make-believe, and still I end up feeling like my dick is in a vise. This is why I don’t do goddamn relationships.
Instead of driving off to meet my guys at the clubhouse before we ride out, I climb off the damn bike and swing around on Luna.
“Wanna tell me what bug crawled up your ass? This little setup of yours is not gonna fly if you’re sitting behind me like a goddamn plank, giving off frigid ice maiden vibes to anyone watching.” I notice a little too late that in my frustration I’ve said something that has her face go blank, and I mean totally impassive. No trace of any kind of emotion, not even anger. She’s shut down on me, and that pisses me off even more. “I see I’m gonna have to kiss some blood flow back into your ass,” I snap, grabbing the sides of her helmet and closing the distance between us.
