Chrome: With a Heart Forged in Steele (Carolina Bad #4)

by Rie Warren

  “Wait!” She skipped forward on her knees. “Wait. I think you should still use a condom.”

  I kissed a hot trail up the length of her spine, coming to rest with my hard shaft buttressed against her engorged pussy and my lips at her ear. “Why? You’re on the pill, right?”

  “Can we not talk about it?” Eyes so deep I could drown in them peered up at me. “I . . . I’d feel safer, Boomer.”

  “You still want me?”

  “God. Yes. Please!” Her hand fell between her legs where my cock thumped-thumped-thumped. “Yessss.”

  Grunting, I reached for the stash of rubbers and made short work of getting one on.

  I pushed her head down. Pulled her hips back. Lifted her cunt up.

  “Boomer. What are you doing—oh!”

  I straddled on top of her and drove my cock down between her snug, wet, hot lips.

  “Getting you ready for the fuck of your life.” Pumping three fingers in and out of her, I spread her pussy for my cock.

  Then I pistoned in with drill-hard intent.

  Her breath stopped.

  Her body tensed.

  I halted, nearly fucking blowing my load, halfway inside her.

  With her hair in my hands, I pulled her to my kiss.

  Our lips smeared, melted, our tongues touched, and Rayce rolled her pussy all the way onto me.

  “That’s it, girl.” I rocked, stretching her from perineum to clit hood.

  Touching her everywhere with my cock and balls.

  Rayce rose up, rode against me.

  She clenched around me, squeezing and immediately seizing on my length.

  “So deep! No one’s ever—”

  My face caved. With my hand holding her hip, the rough caress of my fingertips against her shuddering belly, I slammed a raw deep thrust inside her.

  “You’re gripping me so tight,” I bit out.

  “That’s ’cause you’ve got a fuckin’ log between your legs.” She gave a shaky moan-laugh.

  “I guarantee you won’t be laughing when I get done with you, Rayce.”

  I withdrew and lunged back in. The angle wicked for hitting her g-spot and so fuckin’ deep I felt like I plunged all the way into her core.

  Sweat dripped down my chest.

  Her pussy squelched.

  I did look like an animal in the mirror, big and dark and rutting on top of her.

  “Not . . . laughing . . . ” Rayce’s eyes met mine in the reflection. She gasped, her tits swinging. “You’re like the first burst of speed when I hit the—oh fuck—throttle!”

  “That’s right. Let that sweet pussy suck me in. Wet, Rayce. You are so wet.” I kissed her neck, her shoulders, her back, marking her with my teeth.

  “You can go faster.”

  “Always like it faster, huh, Rayce?” Shifting my grip, I hauled her begging, open cunt even higher. “Fuck. You better brace yourself.”

  Her hands flew to the headboard just before I pile-drove my cock straight down into her upraised pussy.

  That was it.

  She came with a scream that started silently then ripped through the room.

  Rayce’s tight sucking channel fed off my cock like a tiny mouth, and I unloaded my balls so deep inside her for so long my come had no place to go except to slither down my shaft after the well of the condom filled beyond capacity. The warm wet heat hugging my cock and the unrelenting suction of Rayce’s cunt kept me bucking, fucking, driving for more.

  I flexed my cock one last time, biting the tip of her ear with a soundless grunt.

  I fell to the bed with a relaxed laugh even though I probably had a few more rounds in me at least.

  Hot sex.

  Midmorning.

  Midweek.

  All friggin’ messed up.

  We were both late for work.

  I did not give one single fuck.

  “So I guess we totally destroyed that just roomies thing?” Rayce’s hands roamed down my chest.

  “Got that right.”

  She wriggled into my arms, and I enclosed her in my embrace.

  “Your shit in my room. Tonight. Done deal.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  The Good

  RAYCE AND I SHOWED up at Retribution compound one evening early in February—her beside me on her kick-fucking-ass KTM, me on my Black Shadow.

  Her dickhead of a dad remained out of the picture. Just as well. The beat-down I’d rained on him was nothing compared to what I’d do if I caught him raising a hand to my woman again.

  A Murder One rap? Still not ideal.

  You bet Rayce moved into my bedroom. With the cool as fuck side tables. And all the sex I could take.

  Not really.

  I was always up for more with her.

  Everything was right in my world.

  Tonight was a special event, and all the folks turned up as was tradition when big shit went down family-style.

  No words were spoken as we arranged ourselves in the forecourt in front of the MC clubhouse.

  Brodie and I placed ourselves side by side on our motorcycles, and Retribution officers fanned out beside us on their rides. Tucker, Tail, and Handsome. Treasurer, Tail Gunner, and Secretary. The rest of the club and our ladies filled in the semicircle, Redemption women also present.

  We waited in silent formation until a faded blue minivan rolled up just as the sky melted from bright blinding blue to warm pink.

  Helmets on. Shades in place. Throttles roared as our pipes growled like wild beasts, and we welcomed our newest, youngest, honorary member.

  Brodie had arranged it all.

  The side door of the mommy van slid open, and the kid, Wyatt, hopped out.

  Brodie had not been wrong. He was cute on two legs, this boy who’d been through hell and back, knocking cancer on its ass.

  Holding out his fist with the shiny, blocky silver rings, Brodie beckoned Wyatt forward, not that the boy needed any encouragement.

  He stepped right up and tapped that, with his very own Retribution bandana tied around his wrist.

  Brodie unstraddled his Harley and crouched down to take the boy in his arms.

  Just for a couple seconds because Wyatt leaped back, shouting, “This is the coolest!”

  Aside from hooking up with Ashe at last spring’s Myrtle Beach Bike Week, Brodie had made friends with Wyatt during the charity ride for MUSC’s Children’s Hospital.

  Then he’d still been in treatment.

  Now he was in full remission.

  Party time in the making right there.

  Given the nod from Brodie, we took off our helmets, cut off our bikes, and the music amped up outside.

  Wyatt’s grin couldn’t get any bigger as he stared at all the road dudes and biker babes.

  He rubbed his hand across a short, white-blond crew cut. “Look Brodie! My hair started growing back.”

  “Looks good on you, dude. You put that buff guy over there to shame.” Brodie’s goatee twitched in Kinkaid’s direction.

  That got a laugh. It was true. Kinkaid and Wyatt had nearly matching hair color and styles.

  Wyatt’s chest puffed up even more at that. He strutted back to the van where his mom and dad stood watching—smiling—and yanked them forward.

  He was a real little showman, tugging them around the packed parking lot, shaking hands, bumping fists, introducing himself and his folks like he owned the joint.

  I saw more than a few dudes turn their heads aside for a second, probably overwhelmed by emotions.

  Stooping down when he got to me, I said, “Hey. I’m Brodie’s big brother Boomer.” I hooked Rayce forward. “This is my girlfriend Rayce.”

  “Boomer. So, you’re the prez, right? That’s what Brodie told me.”

  I nodded and he moved on to Rayce. “I like your hair.”

  She hooted. “Ah, I see. A ladykiller already? Gonna have to keep my eyes on you.”

  “Your name’s Rayce? Does that mean you race?”

  I kept one ear on the
ir convo as I pumped his parent’s hands. “Thanks for bringing him out.”

  “Oh, he hasn’t stopped talking about this since Brodie promised last spring.” His mom beamed.

  “I think it’s part of what kept him going through his last rounds of chemo.” His dad’s voice lowered as he half-smiled. “Not good days.”

  Talk about a stone in my throat. I swallowed roughly.

  When they moved on, Rayce took my hand in hers and brushed our fingers against my chest as she kissed my cheek.

  “You’re such a big softie.”

  I squinted down at her. “Not where it counts.”

  She laughed, kissing me again before we settled down to watch Wyatt work his magic on everyone else. Hell, even Bo—the silent kill-you-dead, ex-special forces type—cracked a rare smile. It made me wonder about the man he used to be. Set me to thinking maybe he could become that guy again. His demons were not in his past but part of his daily existence. Seemed like we all had a little of that in our lives.

  MC dudes, ex-cons made good, romance writers, kids, Viper the Rottie who was half-attached by her lolling tongue to Nick Love . . . everyone was here.

  Including two pregnant ladies. Cara paraded back and forth with Wyatt, getting him up to speed while Cat and Ashe compared pregnancy bumps.

  When it came time for Brodie to saddle up and make good on his promise to Wyatt, Cara stomped her foot. “How come Wyatt gets to ride but not me? I’m way older.”

  I snorted. Looked like dealing with the preteen-girl-thing was in Brodie’s very near future.

  He nonchalantly continued to buckle Wyatt’s tot-sized helmet. "Nuh unh. You can take that up with your mom."

  Feeling sorry for my almost-niece, I ambled up with an extra helmet in hand. “C’mon, Cara. I’ll take you for a spin.”

  “Loser.” Brodie mouthed at me.

  “Number one unc-ull.” Cara sing-songed back.

  I merely smirked.

  “Hope you cleared that with Ashe,” Brodie called out as I led Cara to my bike.

  “She’ll be fine.” I nodded in answer.

  By the side of my motorcycle, Cara shouted, “Yours is even bigger than Brodie’s!”

  Brodie muttered something obscene.

  I made absolutely no comment.

  Thankfully Cara didn’t catch a thing.

  Guiding her on behind me, I hit the throttle with a roar of the savage Black Shadow.

  She squealed.

  Ashe’s head swung around. Her lips popped open.

  I saluted her. “Just going around the parking lot. No worries.”

  Hopefully she wasn’t carrying her Glock on her tonight.

  Away we zoomed onto the road while Brodie put-putted around the compound.

  Pulling off not too far down the street, I kicked it up a gear through an empty parking lot and down a narrow alley. Cara laughed so hard she kept jerking against me.

  A grin was plastered to my face, too.

  When we returned five minutes later, I silenced the thundering pipes, hopped off, and helped Cara to her feet.

  She wrested the helmet free, shoved it against my chest, and spun in a circle, whooping it up.

  Ashe the mama bear appeared right beside me, her silvery eyes narrowed to slits. “I thought you said around the parking lot?”

  “It was around the parking lot. Down the road a ways.”

  Rayce rolled up, muttering, “Perfect man. Perfect body. Takes kids on joyrides. So annoying.”

  Aaaand Brodie got in on the act. “Told you not to mess with my woman.”

  “Hey. She’s your wife, not mine.” Distract that, fucker.

  Ashe spun on Brodie, flipping back her blonde hair. “Technically not his wife.” She glared at him, holding out her ring finger with the large diamond flashing, and no wedding band in sight.

  “Don't know about you but I'm about weddinged out.” Brodie stuck his foot in it just like I knew he would. “I mean Cat and Nick last summer. Hunter and JB—”

  “TWICE!” Everyone within hearing vicinity yelled.

  As dusk fell, we dug into some Carolina barbeque, tailgate style. And you’re damn right Wyatt took a spin on just about every other motorcycle there.

  The little dude had the biggest smile. The most amazing spirit. I could definitely see how he’d shot straight into Brodie’s heart. I think every big tough guy here felt the same damn way. I couldn’t imagine what his folks had been through, coming out of a horrible situation, staying strong together. No wonder their kid was such a superstar.

  Before Wyatt hit the road with his parents, Brodie presented him with a mini-Retribution MC T-shirt minus the skull and scales of justice—you know—kid-friendly.

  Before Cara could even open her mouth, Brodie tweaked her ponytail and unfurled another one just for her.

  Both shirts were custom-detailed with their names, and the kids put them on as fast as they could.

  “One day we’ll have to get you a leather cut.” Brodie dipped his chin at Wyatt who looked boss, swaggering around in his new T on top of his fleece hoodie.

  “And I can wear it to school!”

  We watched him scramble into the van and buckle himself in. A chorus of whistles, yells, and boot-stomps on pavement followed him.

  His parents took their leave. Thankful. Gracious. Teary-eyed.

  Brodie wiped his cuff across his eyes and cleared his throat. “So I think that went well. Time for some shots?” He stared after the vanishing minivan.

  Ashe hugged him to her. “We’ll have one of our own soon enough.”

  Brodie tugged Cara into their embrace. “Already do.”

  “Jesus Effin’ Christ. Enough with the Hallmark shit already. Only reason I want my eyes to be red-rimmed is because of the booze.” Tail knuckle-rubbed the back of Brodie’s head.

  “Watch the language, a-hole.” Brodie shot back.

  “I was watching the language, a-hole, that’s why I said effin’ not fucking.”

  Brodie clapped his hands over Cara’s ears. “Jesus Fucking Christ.”

  “That’s what I said,” Tail gritted out. “Without the fucking part.”

  Tucker laughed so loudly at their exchange his beer belly went earthquake magnitude.

  “Shots. Thisaway.” Prodding Cole in front of him, Tuck hooked his fingers for us to follow him inside the club.

  But not before Amber the babysitter pulled up to collect Cara.

  She hopped out of the car. “Oh wow!” Her eyes grew enormous as she took in all the gleaming metal and black leather. “I’ve never been to a motorcycle club before.”

  Allll the guys rolled their eyes.

  Brodie ushered Amber back to the car, Cara in tow. “Heard that before. And don’t tell your mom. Never gonna happen again.”

  The hell-raisin’ began as soon as all the kids vacated the area.

  We tromped into the clubhouse, and Cole lined up dozens of shots on the bar.

  I handed one to Rayce and took one for myself.

  “Mazel tov!” Handsome called out.

  Tail’s shot halted midair. “Don’t you mean Molotov Cocktail?”

  “No. It’s Yiddish.”

  “You’re Jewish?” Tail’s long black hair pushed back, he peered at Handsome.

  “Just fuckin’ drink already.”

  Everyone chuckled. And raised their shots again.

  Not Tail. “How come he gets to curse without putting money in the swear jar?”

  “We don’t have a swear jar.” Kinkaid set his shot glass down, undrunk.

  “Figure of speech, douche-face.”

  “I think that’s a swear,” Cole riffed.

  “The kids have left the building, Tail.” Brodie swept to the bar to grab his waiting tequila. “Therefore swearing? Allowed.”

  “In that case, let’s get this fucking party started.” Tail slammed his huge fist down on the bar so hard I was surprised his massive gold rings didn’t cleave it in two.

  Honeys appeared by magic to hang
off his arms.

  I tracked down Rayce later. Dartboards. Of course.

  Standing behind her, I trapped her waist in my hands. “Come dance with me.”

  “I’m not sure I can trust myself with your moves, old man.” She rested the back of her head against my shoulder, baring her neck to the kisses I slid up and down.

  “Pretty sure I won’t be complainin’.”

  “Hmm,” she hummed, reaching back to cup my ass. “S’pose I can do.”

  I led her by the hand into the crowd of hot bodies that parted for us.

  As prez I was a BFD, but the way everyone watched us . . . this was something more. None of them had seen me with a lady like this before.

  One who was absolutely forever mine.

  “You look beautiful tonight, princess.” I pulled her against me, my hands roaming up and down the soft cloth of her racer-red shirt.

  She never dressed showy or trashy. She didn’t have to. Rayce had it all going on with no effort at all.

  Her eyelashes fluttered to her cheeks, hiding the sexy hazel as she massaged up and down my arms. “Not so bad yourself.”

  The beat of the song drew us closer together. “Feel Like Making Love” by Bad Company.

  The heat turned up, her undulating hips buttressing my thickening cock.

  She grabbed my ass and slapped it twice, looking up with one of her dimpled grins. “And you have, hands down”—she squeezed—“the best goddamn ass on the planet.”

  “You think?” My hands snaking down to her jeans, I gave her a hard swat of my own.

  She bit her lip and snuck her head against my chest.

  The tune poured like loud liquid sex from the sound system, and we gyrated together.

  “By the way, did you call me your girlfriend earlier?”

  My hand gathering a fistful of her hair, I wrenched her head up. “Yup.”

  And I owned it with a searing fast flash of a kiss that left my girlfriend utterly fucking breathless.

  “Okay,” she gasped out.

  “Damn right.”

  Heavy breaths.

  Racing pulses.

  A thickly muscled thigh pulsing between her legs.

  And her lips under mine.

  Wet.

  Hard.

  Horny.

  The dancing became little more than out and out fucking on the dance floor.

  Rutting.

  Moaning.