Peg's Stand (Satan's Devils MC #6)

by Manda Mellett

  No civilian should thank me. I didn’t do it for them, and, well, the way that it ended, for my friends that weren’t as lucky as me, insincere words so easily uttered aren’t nearly enough.

  A guilty twinge goes through me, I can’t look her in the eye. I’m the man I am now, not the soldier I was then. If she’s expecting a hero, she’ll be disappointed. I’ve met women like Lorelei before, in both my lives. Giddy young girls wanting to snag a biker, or older women, disregarding anything else but the fact that I’d served.

  In reply I just nod, acknowledging her comment, hoping she’s not going to press it. I’m uncertain, not sure whether I can be what she wants me to be, and on the verge of leaving, when fuck me, she turns and says cheekily over her shoulder, “Unzip me?”

  My brain might be having second thoughts, but my cock thinks she’s made a brilliant suggestion, and my hands start moving of their own volition, as if receiving instruction from the wrong head. Fastening undone, the flimsy material falls to the floor, and now she’s standing in front of me naked, except for a lacy bra and matching panties in a pale green. Her skin is unblemished, her ass decent enough.

  My hands move automatically, now touching her waist, and turning her to face me, I trail my fingers down her breasts over the material. Her nipples peak and her eyes become lidded, and a little gasp escapes her mouth. She’s moving quickly. Fuck, we’ve barely stepped over the threshold. Now I’ve overcome most limitations, but know only too well where I’m most comfortable, and fucking standing up in the hall isn’t it. Especially if I’m auditioning her for a position as my old lady. Our first time shouldn’t be frenzied, instead taken slowly and relished.

  “Where’s your bedroom, sweetheart?”

  “This way.” A breathy response, and my hands fall as she turns around, her arm reaching back to wrap her fingers around mine as she leads me into her private domain. As she walks off she’s swinging those hips, a sight enjoyed by my cock, making it jump in anticipation.

  My dick might be leading me, but my brain’s weighing mixed feelings. If this is the woman I’ll be going to make mine, it feels wrong to jump into bed after just one date. I should leave now. She’d be disappointed and feel rejected. If she’s the right one, she’ll understand.

  Even if she’s not, my cock says persuasively, take what’s on offer. Placing the heel of my hand to my dick, I attempt to get him to see reason, but as she looks back, and I see her teeth worrying at her lip, taunting me, offering my swollen organ release for the night, my thinking head gets overridden. If this is just one night, I’ll take it. It’s a clear invitation, no need to feel I’m stepping where I’m not wanted. Two adults, no harm, no foul.

  After my slight hesitation, I get my feet moving, and for my reward receive a beaming smile as I follow her into a very feminine bedroom.

  “I want to see you.” Wasting no time, she lies prone on the bed, propped up on her elbows. She sounds eager as she waves her hand from my head to my toe. “I want to see all of you.”

  What man can refuse such an instruction, especially when there’s an almost naked woman splayed out on her bed offering up everything?

  I smirk, knowing I’m in peak condition, and if it’s muscles she’s after, that’s what she’s going to get. I also have no concerns about my endowment. Yeah, I’m not being modest when I say I’m built to impress.

  I remove my cut, putting it carefully down on a chair, then slowly unbutton my shirt. If she wants a striptease, I’ll give it to her. My smirk widens as I notice her eyes sharpening, and her tongue coming out to lick her lips as I slip my arms out of my sleeves. I work hard in the gym and know I’ve got a decent six pack, almost an eight, and I don’t carry an ounce of fat.

  As I turn slightly to put down my shirt, I hear a sharp indrawn breath. “Turn around.”

  I do. I’ve only two tattoos; one for my fallen brothers on my arm, and the large Satan’s Devils patch on my back.

  “Wow.”

  I grin, that one word showing me she appreciates them.

  When I turn back I can see a flush all over her fair skin, and it’s not because it’s warm in the room. She likes what she sees.

  Encouraged, I give a suggestive thrust of my hips before tantalisingly lowering the zip. My jeans fall open, but my boxers beneath hide everything except a large bulge. I’m a big man, standing six-foot-five, and every part of my anatomy matches. Her eyes fasten on the clear object of her desire, and once again she moistens her lips. If she wants a taste, I’m not going to protest.

  I might not have fucked for a while, but I’m no stranger at this. Before going further, I sit down and take off my boots, then stand again, with my back facing her—hey, she’s got to wait a minute before she gets a close look at the goods—take off my jeans, then unstrap the prosthesis on my leg. Metal parts and love making don’t mix. Now getting to my one remaining foot, I balance easily, hop around, the high bed hiding the part of me that’s missing, and put my hands at the waistband of my boxers.

  She’s lying back, head on the pillows, hands behind her head, staring entranced as I make her wait.

  “Go on, then.” The encouragement sounds hoarse.

  Grinning widely, I slide down my boxers with a flourish and drop my ass on the bed, sliding myself up with the intention to cover her….

  She shrieks, covering her mouth with both hands. I’m well endowed, but not that much. As I rear up in confusion, she jumps off the bed and runs to the bathroom.

  For a moment, as I hear retching sounds, I can’t connect them to anything I’ve done, my first thought being she’s eaten something that’s disagreed with her. I’m so used to my body, I don’t even think about it nowadays, but, could it be…?

  Looking down at my missing leg, I shake my head. Full disclosure, I’d told her what happened to me, carefully explaining what she would be faced with, or rather what she wouldn’t if we ever got down to do the deed. My stump completely healed over years ago now, apart from bones and muscles that should be there, and which are missing, there’s nothing unpleasant to see. She knew. I’d told her. She said she’d be fine.

  My mind’s whirring. Whatever, the woman whose body I thought I’d be sliding into is instead throwing up in the next room. With no sex in the cards, I strap back on my prosthesis and pull up my jeans, putting back on my socks and boots. I’m reaching for my shirt when she reappears, her face pale, her hair wet at the edges where she’s just washed her face.

  I stand, unsure what to do or what to say, but she shakes her head as I try to approach her, her hands held out as if making an invisible barrier.

  “I’m sorry. I thought I could do it. Thought I’d be able to ignore it.”

  It is my leg. I roll back my head and close my eyes, fighting to push down my anger. “No need to be sorry,” I say in clipped tones. An apology doesn’t cut it with me. As far as I’m concerned, I could have fucked her as well as any other man. If she’d been taken by surprise it would have been different, but I’d made sure that I’d explained. Hell, there’s been times I’d forgotten to give a warning and the girl I was with had been shocked—now that I could better understand.

  Her voice, which I’d thought pleasant earlier, now grates. “But I thought I could do this. You know, fuck you…with your leg like that.”

  Something hits me. It’s more about her tone, a thought niggling at me. Forming my features into my normal expression, the one I wear as sergeant-at-arms for the Satan’s Devils MC, the countenance she hasn’t yet seen, I take a step towards her. She takes one back, I take another. She tries to mimic me but comes up against the wall.

  Placing a hand over her head and leaning my weight on it, I narrow my eyes. “What are you fuckin’ sayin’?”

  Her eyes flit to my hand as if I’m caging her in. Her lip quivers, and goosebumps rise on her skin, still only covered in that lacy underwear that I now have no difficulty ignoring. Without looking down, her hand indicates my leg. “I wanted to do my bit. You know, you vets need someone
to take care of your needs.”

  A damn pity fuck. She’d had me fooled right up to the last moment.

  I stare at her for a second before tearing my eyes away, grabbing my shirt and cut, exit the room and the house before finishing getting dressed. Uncaring what anyone who sees me might think, unable to trust myself to stay in that bitch’s vicinity, let alone keep in any words which might have come out of my mouth. I get into my truck, lay my cut on the passenger seat, and button up my shirt with shaking hands.

  Does she really think I can’t get my needs filled by any number of willing women? I know there are a few women who have fetishes and like to fuck amputees, but at least they’re upfront about it, though I’m not particularly keen on being used in that way. Just like I don’t want a woman to force herself to be with me only because I’ve lost half my leg. Pity fuck indeed. She’s done more damage tonight than any other woman who might have turned me down.

  She’s lucky I don’t hit women. Ever. If she’d been a man we’d likely have been extending Road’s dirt bike track, where all the bodies are buried. She led me on. Not because I was a biker, not because of any prospects I might have had. What she wanted was far more deviant, to fuck a vet with only one leg. To do her bit. Well fuck you, Lorelei. I don’t need it.

  It takes me a minute to calm myself down. I’ve met women aplenty, women attracted by the cut that I wear, women who like an ex-soldier, and even some of those women who get off on going with an amputee. Never one who was trying to force herself to fuck me despite her delicate sensibilities.

  My missing leg doesn’t define me. Neither does the fact I ride with the Satan’s Devils nor that I did time in service for my country.

  I put the truck into gear and pull out into the night, trying to put the fuck-up of an evening out of my mind.

  Where am I going to find a woman who likes me simply for me?

  The clubhouse is full by the time I return. Jayden must be babysitting, as all the women seem to be here. Sophie’s sitting on Wraith’s lap, Drummer has Sam lying half across him. Slick’s got his arm around Ella, and Heart’s fussing over Marcia. Even Viper and Bullet are over at the bar with their old ladies. After the night I’ve had, I’ve no desire to join them and have happy couples rubbed in my face.

  Before anyone notices my arrival, I turn around, heading up to my suite to swap the keys of my truck for those of my bike. A good ride and hopefully the night air will clear my head and put all thoughts of Lorelei behind me once and for all.

  Lorelei. Fuck. What parents name their daughter after a siren that lures sailors to their deaths? Perhaps her name alone should have been enough to warn me off.

  Chapter 2

  Darcy

  “You hit me.” My hand goes to my burning cheek, and my watering eyes open as far as they can. The forceful slap had come completely out of the blue. No one’s ever raised their hand to me before.

  He’s standing in front of me, entirely unrepentant. “You asked for it. How the fuck was I to know where you’d been?”

  “Where do you think I was? I was working.”

  Glancing pointedly at the clock, he shakes his head. “You should have been back hours ago. It’s fucking eight o’clock at night.”

  “I can’t just leave. That’s not the job that I do.” Half of me wonders why I’m even having this conversation, wasting time trying to justify myself. The blow must have been hard enough to stun me. “Look, let’s just admit this isn’t working out.” I ignore his indrawn breath and incredulous look, and my brow creases as I think things through. “We don’t have the type of relationship where you have a right to question me. And now you’ve overstepped the line. It’s late. You can sleep here tonight, but I want you gone in the morning.”

  He stands straight, pulling himself up to his intimidating full height, his face darkening. “What did you say?”

  Ignoring his menacing tone, I try to explain. “I know you wanted more from me, but we’re not compatible, and I’ve never looked at you in that way. This was never going to be anything more than a temporary arrangement.” When I’d given him a place to crash, I didn’t expect it would be for more than a few days. Now it’s been weeks, and in that time, he’s been lounging around my house, eating the food I bought, as well as drinking my beer. Lots of beer. Probably the reason for his unexpected behaviour tonight, and why I’m not throwing him out right away. I’ll give him a chance sober up enough to drive first. Don’t want my colleagues to have to deal with another MVC, or motor vehicle crash, as most people know them.

  I’ve underestimated him. He moves quickly, his muscular arms bulging as his hand fists in my hair. “You bitch. Kick a man when he’s down, why doncha?”

  My generosity had led me to letting him move in after there’d been a fire at his apartment, making it uninhabitable. Normally I’d help put out the fire and leave, but Pete Mercer had been tall, well built, as well as good looking, and with his general thanks to the firefighters came a more personal invitation to take me for a coffee. Once sitting across the table, he’d been so charming as he told me about having nowhere to stay. He didn’t ask for anything, the suggestion of my spare room I came up with all by myself, only later wondering why. He’d jumped at my offer, and hadn’t hesitated moving in.

  He might have had the looks and the type of build I go for, but I quickly realised that alone wasn’t enough to attract me. We had nothing in common, and unfortunately, it became clear early on that he thought I was offering more than what I’d put on the table. After a fumbled kiss which left us both embarrassed, and my explanation that the deal was simply board and lodging to help him out while he was setting up a new place to live, he’d thankfully kept his distance. I’d expected him to find alternative accommodation long before now, but it obviously hadn’t been on his list of priorities. After tonight’s performance, it appears he had an ulterior motive in dragging his heels. He thinks he’s got rights over me.

  Why did I let him stay? As I warily watch this wild-eyed stranger in front of me, I can’t believe I hadn’t seen he was unstable before. I suppose initially I enjoyed having a companion around the house, helping to share the chores, keeping the yard tidy, and doing the jobs that I hated, but that was when he’d been on his best behaviour.

  When he’d buttered me up sufficiently, with excuses he had to wait for his insurance to come through, I hadn’t put up much of an argument when he asked to extend his stay. That’s when he started to change, but so slowly it took a while for me to notice.

  I wasn’t prepared for the signs he was becoming possessive, or when he expected, after a long and tiring shift, that I’ll come home, cook dinner, and tidy up after him.

  The yard’s now a mess, he hasn’t been out there for weeks. Me throwing him out might have been too long in coming, but now he’s blown it. I’ve made up my mind, and nothing he can say will change it.

  Looking at him warily, I realise tonight is the first time I’ve actually been afraid of him, and conscious of the physical disparity between us. He’s a big man.

  The observation makes me keep myself calm. “I’m not kicking you when you’re down,” I try to say reasonably, stupidly ignoring the fact that he’s drunk, and this talk would be better left for the morning. “You knew when you moved in this was only for a short time. And you want something from me that I’m not prepared to give. I clearly don’t see you in the same way you see me. You’re my housemate, not my boyfriend, and can make no demands on my time, or question where I’ve been.” Housemate? I don’t really know how to label him. Renter or boarder doesn’t fit. He’s not paid me a penny in rent. I put a little more strength in my voice as I add, “You’re going to have to move out and find somewhere else to go.” And someone else to sponge off, I add, but don’t say out loud.

  He tightens his grip on my hair. “I’m going nowhere. And,” he looks disparagingly up and down my body, “you can’t make me.”

  He’s got a few inches of height over me, and his muscles, well, he’
s either dedicated to working out or taking steroids of some sort. I’m not weak by any sense of the word, but he’s right, I couldn’t get the better of him physically. Realising he must really have tied one on tonight to get in the state he is now, I try not to let him see how much he’s scaring me and continue to keep my tone even. “Pete. Be reasonable, will you? This man isn’t you, and if this is what I drive you to, it just shows how anything more between us would be wrong…”

  The hand not holding me swings for my face again, this time his fist connects with my nose. I’m lucky it’s not his right hand, I’m sure he could hit harder, but it’s enough to make it bleed.

  Even the sight of my blood doesn’t give him pause, but he does let me go, by first swinging me around by my hair then dropping me. I hit the wall, then the ground. Stunned, I can only watch in fear as he stares down at me. “I’m going to bed. And that will be the last we’ll have of this discussion. I’m going nowhere, sweetheart.” After sneering the last word, he does what he says, and I can see he’s entering my bedroom, not the guestroom as usual. Does he expect me to join him in there? Or is he just so drunk he’s made a mistake.

  I lie still, stunned and hurting, wondering what the hell just happened. He might have revealed himself as inherently lazy and slovenly, and a bit overbearing at times, but never violent before. I have no idea how to handle it. One thing I do know, even though this might be my house, I’ve no chance of bodily turning him out, and to stay here could well be inviting worse. Especially if he gets impatient waiting for me.

  I’ve a few rest days coming up, and quickly I decide to put them to use. Although it’s late, I’ll drive to my parents in Phoenix. Perhaps, after he’s admonished me for letting such a brute into my home, my dad will have some advice on how to rid myself of my unwanted guest. Or then again, maybe not. At least I’ll be out of Pete’s reach and somewhere I can plan my next move.

  Pausing only to get some tissue to mop up the blood running from my nose, and to gingerly touch it to check it’s hopefully not broken, I collect my purse and car keys and leave the house, closing the door quietly. I act fast, not wanting him to come out and demand why I haven’t followed him to bed.