Harm's Way: Riot MC Biloxi

by Karen Renee

  Then a different thought hit him. She had connections to Riot MC brothers back in Jacksonville, but she never talked about them. Somehow he knew she didn’t look down her nose at the brothers, but maybe she judged them in some back corner of her mind.

  He shook his head. There was no way. Her actions spoke louder than words, and she treated him and Brute like anybody else. He’d accused her of becoming a snob like her mother, but he knew that was wrong.

  Assuming she hadn’t exaggerated about her debt, she probably hadn’t done anything fun in a long damn time. He didn’t wine and dine anyone, but he could show her a good time by putting her on the back of his bike.

  Shit.

  He couldn’t do that, either. Brute had told him how she snapped about not being on anyone else’s bike. And that begged the question why she was so adamant about it.

  Though, riding to his place that first day with her beside him had been better than he expected. She was the first woman to ride next to him, but it settled him in some strange way. A ride to New Orleans could work, but he’d rather they do it on his bike.

  When he had a pair of pajama pants over his boxer briefs, he went to the kitchen. A prospect should have stocked his fridge with Muscle Milk and other groceries. He turned to the fridge to hear Stephanie splutter.

  She cleared her throat. “Ha! You tell me I need new pajamas, but you need to invest in some pajamas your damn self.”

  His chest puffed reflexively. “Really? Sounds like you’re a little bothered by something you see, which only proves my earlier point, Steph. You scratch my back, I’ll scratch yours. Standing offer.”

  Her teeth bit her lower lip even as she exhaled loudly through her nose.

  He chuckled. “Anyway, what are you doing tomorrow? I thought you might like to ride to NOLA with me.”

  Her eyebrows furrowed and he fought grinning. “Are you... asking me out?”

  He shook his head. “No. Just figured it’s been a while since you had any fun, and there aren’t too many cities more fun than New Orleans. But don’t tell anyone I said that. Might get evicted.”

  She laughed. “Your secret’s safe with me. It sounds like fun, but I’ve got a full plate tomorrow.”

  “Really?”

  He pulled a bottle of Muscle Milk from the fridge and twisted it open.

  “Yeah. I’m gonna look at three different apartment—”

  He swallowed a huge swig of milk. “You don’t need to find another place any time soon, Steph. And I’m not just saying that because I’m attracted to you. I mean it. Hold off until you got a decent cushion at least.”

  She deliberated it for a moment. “Anyway, after that, I need to have the oil changed on my bike, then a trip to the grocery store and batch cooking for all of next week.”

  He braced an arm on the counter. “I’ll change your oil.”

  “I’m talking about my bike,” she muttered.

  He laughed. “Yeah. Picked up on that the first time you mentioned it, but I’m glad to know you’ve got a dirty mind, babe.”

  “Bastard,” she muttered under breath.

  He laughed again. “How am I the bastard? You said the double entendre not me.”

  “Don’t remind me!”

  Still grinning, he asked, “So, New Orleans tomorrow? What time do you work?”

  She bit her lip again for a long moment. “I don’t work tomorrow. I’ve got an early shift on Sunday.”

  “What the fuck? Why aren’t you workin’ on a Saturday? That’s got to be the best day for—”

  “Yeah, and everyone wants those hours, Michael. So, every so often I get a Saturday off. It’s the way the cookie crumbles.”

  He shook his head. “Sorry. So, sleep on it. NOLA isn’t goin’ anywhere, but I’m not gettin’ up early enough for beignets.”

  “Those are fightin’ words, sir.”

  A strange feeling rolled through his torso hearing her call him ‘sir.’

  “Whatever, Steph. The muffaletta’s where it’s at.”

  Her head tilted for a moment. “You’re not wrong. Though, I’d argue the Hurricane is where it’s at, but those are a little too potent for me. Good night, Michael.”

  “Good night.”

  Chapter 8

  Want to Get to Know This Chick

  Stephanie

  IN THE MORNING, HAR’S suggestion to go to New Orleans tempted me, but deep down I didn’t feel like it. Partly it was because it felt like an insincere suggestion. Like he was only doing it so I might cave and have no-strings sex with him. The other part was that I’d rather spend my time at the beach. I loved water and it didn’t matter to me if it was a lake, river, gulf, or the ocean. Going to New Orleans might mean plenty of good food and culture, but it was an hour and a half of riding to get there. I would much rather spend that time at the Gulf.

  My alarm clock showed it was seven-thirty and since Har said he wouldn’t be in New Orleans for beignets, I figured he wouldn’t be awake.

  I figured wrong.

  He stood leaning into a forearm at a breakfast bar on the edge of the kitchen with a pen in his hand. I saw he had a list.

  “Good morning, Miss Priss,” he murmured, without looking at me.

  Even though I could survive on six hours of sleep, it didn’t mean I did it well without coffee. I mumbled a ‘good morning’ back to him, but my mind dwelled on why he would call me ‘Miss Priss.’

  “Not sleep well?”

  I poured a cup of coffee and looked at him from the corner of my eye. “Slept okay.”

  “Then what’s the problem?”

  After I put some cream in my coffee, I looked at him. “There isn’t a problem. But I would love to know why you call me ‘Miss Priss?’”

  He leveled a look at me, and I knew whatever he had to say wouldn’t be good.

  “Felt like it.”

  My head was ready to explode, which would’ve been tragic in such a beautiful kitchen. I gave myself a few moments to deep breathe. With my coffee cup to my lips, the steam curling up reminded me it would be too hot to drink.

  I put the cup down with a sigh. “But I’m not prissy. I don’t think I’m better than anybody else, and prissy women don’t ride motorcycles.”

  His lips quirked upward. “You know that. And to some extent, I know that. But, I still feel like calling you something you’re not. Hell, maybe it’s because you are the total opposite of being a priss. My brothers and I do that when naming prospects who earn their cuts, so get over it, Steph.”

  The urge to ask which brothers had road names with contrary meanings must have shown on my face because he smiled knowingly.

  To keep my trap shut, I took a sip of my coffee and I realized he didn’t use the coffee I picked up. This was that chicory stuff popular in New Orleans. It was tasty, but unexpected.

  “Tiny, Mensa, and Gamble,” he murmured.

  My eyes cut to his. “What?”

  “Tiny, Mensa, and Gamble all have names because they’re the opposite of those things. Well, maybe not Mensa, he really is a genius but not in a book-smarts way. Tiny’s as big as Massive and stronger than Brute but those names were taken. Gamble, well, it’ll be a while before I let you meet Gamble, but his parents are now in Gambler’s Anonymous.”

  “Okay, well. I appreciate you making the coffee.”

  “Gotta be awake for a ninety-minute ride, Steph.”

  I smiled. “About that, I—”

  “You’re backing out.”

  My lips pressed into a resigned smile. “It’s not that, I just would rather stick around town. A ninety minute ride is ultimately ninety minutes I could spend on the shore.”

  His eyes narrowed a touch. “You’re a beach bum?”

  I shook my head. “I love the water, any way I can get it.”

  From the look crossing his face, he had a smart retort, but he kept it to himself.

  He shrugged. “Suit yourself. Want me to start in on your bike?”

  “I can take it somewhere and
have it done.”

  “Or I could teach you how to do it.”

  I pressed my lips together. If I refused, he’d have a good reason to call me by an unwanted nickname. Yet, changing my own oil was not appealing. While knowing how to do it could save me money in the long run, oil changes didn’t cost that much, compared to the amount of time I’d have to devote to it.

  After another sip of my coffee I said, “Fine. When do we start?”

  The hint of disappointment in his expression was chased away by his grin. “After you get dressed for sure, but more like after I run to the store for oil. Your bike take a synthetic oil?”

  I shook my head. “Semi-synthetic.”

  “You’ll need a filter too. You know the size?”

  “I’ll have to check the owner’s manual.”

  “Do that. I’m gonna leave, you can text me the specifics.”

  I nodded. “Let me get you some—”

  “Nope.”

  “Har. It’s my bike, you don’t need to pay for its maintenance.”

  “You need to call me Michael, and I don’t care if I need to do any damn thing. I want to. You feel a need to pay me back, buy some beer. Good beer.”

  My brows furrowed. “You brought home Coors, which is decent, but not what some would call ‘good.’ How about you clarify?”

  He chuckled. “I mean a six-pack of something more craft-like. Abita will do, but something local would be nice.”

  “Got it.”

  CHANGING THE OIL ON a motorcycle was straightforward, but it required getting down on the ground, since Har didn’t have a bike lift-stand here. He’d already replaced my oil filter, but he wanted me to put in the drain plug before we added new oil. I laid on my side on the garage floor and used a box-end wrench to twist the bolt into place.

  “Not too tight, Stephanie. You’ll strip the bolt,” Har said. He sounded like he was right at my ear. From the corner of my eye I saw him crouched very close to me.

  “I know. That should do it.”

  “Let me check,” he said, sliding to his side behind me.

  His arm came over mine and took the wrench from my hand. I wanted to slip out from in front of him, but couldn’t because his arm was positioned over my shoulder.

  He gave the nut a small twist. “You’re right. That’s good.”

  The wrench fell with a clatter, but his heat didn’t retreat and his arm lowered so it rested on top of mine.

  “You could let me up now,” I said in a low voice.

  “But I don’t want to.”

  That sent a curl through my belly and it was a good thing he couldn’t see my facial expression.

  His hand slid up my arm. “If I touched you right now, would you be wet?”

  “No,” I said, and until he asked that question, it was the truth. His heat at my back didn’t turn me on, but his bold question did.

  “You’re lying. That answer was too quick.”

  My nipples tightened.

  “We need to put the oil in, Har.”

  “It can wait.”

  “Why are you doing this?”

  “Why won’t you give into this?”

  His hand rounded my shoulder, gliding along my side down to my belly. I put my hand over his to stop him.

  “It isn’t right.”

  His hips nudged my ass and I felt his erection. “Isn’t it, though?”

  “We should get up.”

  His chuckle mingled with a groan. “I’m already up, but you know that, don’t you?”

  My core began to throb. The thought of having sex with him had been on my mind all night, but I would not do that.

  “It isn’t happening, Har. Sex without strings is a myth.”

  “How so?” he whispered in my ear, which distracted me and his hand slid inside my shorts and panties. His long fingers went right to my entrance and my hips jerked.

  Shit!

  “Yeah, baby. You’re wet for me.”

  Who wouldn’t be? That was an ego stroke he didn’t need.

  I pulled at his forearm but couldn’t get him to budge. In return, his thumb stroked my clit.

  “Show me, how to make you come, Miss Priss.”

  His other hand slid under me and wrapped around to grab my breast. “I’m gonna make you come with just my hands. You feel so good. Warm and slick. Just like the oil we changed, Stephie. Now, tell me what you want.”

  I wanted everything from him, but hell if I would admit it. My mind glommed onto the one thing that might make him stop. “Har, any of your neighbors can see!”

  He chuckled. “Let ’em watch. They’ll be fuckin’ jealous and they should be. Hot piece like you writhing in front of me. And if it’s a woman watching, she’ll be jealous because she’ll see the pleasure all over your face.”

  His hand left my breast and the garage door started closing. I wondered how he did that then realized I’d dropped my keys on the ground earlier and he must have pressed the clicker on my key chain.

  He had two fingers inside me and I couldn’t help but ride them. His thumb pressed on my clit and I bucked which was when he added a third finger.

  “What do you want, baby?” he asked, as his hand returned to my breast.

  You!

  But I didn’t dare say it.

  He nipped my earlobe. “Should I stop?”

  “No,” I moaned.

  “I think I should stop.”

  “What? Don’t you dare!”

  His head craned over me. “Kiss me, and I’ll keep going, Stephanie.”

  I reached an arm back around his neck and pulled his face to me. My lips hit his and I opened my mouth but he wound up kissing me.

  Thank God his arms were strong. He held me in place no matter how much I tried to buck harder or twist toward him. If he’d have let me, I’d have straddled him in an instant and I’d have given in to sex with him. On a garage floor of all places!

  And yet, that turned me on even more. The smell of oil, gasoline, and sex. I had a screw loose.

  I laughed, since tightening a screw was what got me into this situation to start with!

  He drew back a fraction. “What’s funny, Combes?”

  “I think I have a screw loose, that’s what’s funny.”

  His head shook, but he brought his mouth back to mine. God, he tasted fantastic. Hints of coffee and mint added to the taste of man.

  Yum.

  He kept up his torturous ministrations at my core, his fingers pinched my nipple from outside my bra, and I felt the sensations building. My body stiffened and he pulled his head away.

  “Come, Stephanie. I want to watch.”

  My orgasm rushed over me and I couldn’t believe how loud my moans were. Everything seemed louder in the garage and yet again I wanted to turn around to straddle Har in earnest. His fingers gently pushed in and out of me two more times before he pulled his hand away. Though his hand at my breast held firm, so any thoughts of getting away from him fell by the wayside.

  He kissed me again, this one lasting longer than I expected, since I already came. His nose slid along mine as his eyes glinted with naughtiness.

  “Didn’t get to suck out on you, but this will have to do for now,” he said before he put his fingers in his mouth.

  I looked away from him and squirmed, but both his arms came around me.

  “Not so fast, Stephie. See. You got off and I’m not asking you to return the favor. No strings, babe.”

  I closed my eyes and hung my head. “You’re wrong, Michael.”

  “How am I wrong?”

  “There are strings. I want you to kiss me again. If there were no strings—”

  He pulled me toward him and kissed me again. I twisted toward him and this time he let me. My hands slid into his hair and I pushed into him. He rolled but had the presence of mind to angle us so we didn’t hit my bike. I liked kissing him while on top. Really liked it. So much, my legs spread and I found myself straddling him, which forced me to stop kissing him.

&nb
sp; “Goddammit!” I sat up.

  His hands held my hips. “That should be my line, based on how far away you are right now.”

  I glared at him and scrambled off him. My feet took me to the garage door then I turned around, and, thankfully, he was standing up.

  I pointed a finger at him. “This is what I’m talking about! I can’t do sex without strings and attachments and shit, Michael. Hell, by all accounts what we just did wasn’t sex, but extremely heavy petting and I want more of it.”

  His expression was placating, but the emphasis on his words irritated me. “Happy to oblige that, Stephanie.”

  My eyes widened. “You don’t get it. I’m a woman. Feelings and sex always intertwine. Even if you don’t take another club groupie to your bed, I’ll expect other shit from you, and I can’t do that. I won’t do that.”

  It was lame, but I gestured at his crotch. “I’m sorry you won’t be getting any relief from me with that, but what I said last night stands. When I go after what I want, I always pay the price.”

  Har

  ONCE HE PUT THE NEW oil in her bike, Har went straight to his room.

  No matter what Stephanie thought, Har could assure her he was paying a price for going after what he wanted.

  But, he got her.

  She wanted exclusivity. Hell, she hadn’t said it, but she probably wanted date nights and shit he was not down for. The exclusivity he could do for a while. Then he remembered what he said to Brute.

  A woman who fits.

  Those words had tumbled out of his mouth without thought. Yet it was precisely what he wanted.

  And Stephanie wasn’t likely a woman who fit. She’d never be on the back of his bike. Not that it was a strict requirement, but he wanted that. His woman’s soft tits against his back, legs cupping him from behind, arms wrapped tight around him. Stephanie’s attitude about not being on anybody’s bike took him aback and he didn’t intend to break that down.

  Independence was a hell of an attribute. Especially in a woman. His sister taught him that the hard way.

  He couldn’t think about Corinna though. When it didn’t make him sad, it only pissed him off.