“Nope, I’m not lost.” I took a drag of my smoke. “I know exactly where I am.”
“Why’s your bike in this parking lot? This is private property,” she shot back. I realized the game she was playing then. I decided to play along.
“Your brother leave your car in another bar parking lot?”
She laughed, genuinely amused. The sound took me by surprise; it was unguarded, bubbly and unrestrained. After the tension of our first encounter, hearing her laugh like that felt strangely intimate, like I was glimpsing part of her that she didn’t give out to just anyone. It made my dick jump.
It made me want to hear it again.
“No,” she replied as her laughter faded. “I work here. See?” She pointed to the cactus logo on the T-shirt she was wearing, a gesture that just gave me an excuse to look at her fucking perfect tits. Which I did. For a while.
“Hey, caveman. I’m up here.”
I dragged my eyes back up to her face. “You’re the one that just asked me to look at your breasts. I was just being agreeable,” I pointed out.
Her mouth opened slightly in surprise, and then her skin began to flush pink. “I did not!” she protested, her voice rising slightly. Her breathing started to speed up a little. She stood there, eyes flashing in irritation. There was just something about her that made me want to rile her up some more.
A stray lock of hair had fallen into her face, and she blew it away in frustration. “So, why are you here, anyway? Are you just making it a special point to track me down just to irritate me?”
I chuckled. “I didn’t have to track you down. Your car is pretty noticeable.” I nodded at the dent in the side panel.
“So you’re expecting me to believe that you just happened to notice my car here and decided to stop by for a chat?”
“Maybe,” I said. “That so hard to believe?”
She rolled her eyes in exasperation. “Last time I saw you, you were telling me to get the hell off your property.”
I stood up and walked over to her until I was close enough to see the flush of her skin. “I wasn’t telling you to get off my property,” I said, stepping closer until I was almost pressing against her. “I was telling you you should be careful in a part of town you don’t know.”
She looked up at me, her face defiant. “Is that so?” she breathed.
“Yes. That’s so.” I affirmed. Nervously, she caught her lower lip in her teeth, and my dick surged against my zipper. I was so hard I could barely stand it. Her breasts were rising and falling rapidly, and for a second, her eyes flickered closed. I could tell I was getting to her as much as she was getting to me. “One minute you think you’re safe, and then the next… you’re in over your head.” I leaned in close, my mouth inches from hers, and her lips parted instinctively. I chuckled, and she drew back, embarrassed. “Admit it, babe,” I said. “You’re in over your head.”
She inhaled sharply, ready to protest that I was full of shit, but I couldn’t take it anymore. My mouth came crashing down on hers, my hand fisting in her hair as I leaned her against the car. She moaned into my mouth, her lips opening as my insistent tongue took possession of hers. Her hands went to my arms and she pulled me against her, kissing me back.
Finally kissing her, finally touching her after thinking about nothing else for days practically drove me crazy with need. Leaning against the car, I pressed my full length against her and reached down, cupping her ass with my hands. I lifted her up slightly so that she was pressed against me, her softness meeting the hardness of my need. A sharp moan of desire ripped through her at the contact and her hips thrust forward to meet me, her body taking over. Her lips broke apart from mine as she threw her head backward, gasping, “Oh…God…”
“You see what kind of danger you could get into?” I murmured against her ear, and felt her shiver in response. “You gotta be careful talking to strangers.”
“Name,” she gasped.
“What?” I groaned.
“I don’t know your name,” she said breathlessly.
“Greyson Stone,” I growled.
She pulled her head back and looked at me. Biting her lip, she cocked her head and gave me a slight, teasing smile. “There,” she panted. “Now we’re not strangers.”
I laughed, and our mouths found each other again in a rough, desperate kiss. I slid one of my hands up to the small of her back, holding her hard against me. She lifted her arms to my neck and pulled my mouth toward her, and I felt her breasts rising and falling as her breath came in a heavy, rapid rhythm. I thought about pulling her onto the hood of the car and just taking her right there, but for some reason I wanted to take my time with this one. So instead, I slid my other hand in between us and flicked open the button on her shorts.
Slowly, slowly, I unzipped them, then slid my hand further down the front, above the fabric of her panties. She gasped and started to pull back, but I held her fast. It was a supreme effort of will to go slow, but I skimmed the surface of her panties as lightly as I could as I lightened the touch of my kiss, as well, to make her come to me. After a moment, her moans turned to a whimper of frustration as she started to thrust her hips toward my hand. I chuckled and thought, I’ve got her.
As I continued to fondle and tease her, I found myself wondering what color her panties were. I’ll find out, I promised myself. For now, I continued to lightly caress her hardening nub through the fabric as I listened to her whimpers grow louder.
When I sensed her frustration begin to build to the breaking point, I slipped a finger inside to find the warm wetness of her. She gasped, and her hold on my neck tightened. She was tensed as taut as a drum, wanting release so badly, but I could feel from the rigidness of her body that she was trying to keep her last shreds of composure. But composure wasn’t what I wanted from her.
“Tell me what you want,” I growled into her ear. She let out a soft whine but said nothing. “Tell me,” I repeated. “Tell me what you want me to do to you.”
Ducking her head, she whispered something so quietly I had to tell her to say it again. “Make me come,” she repeated breathlessly. I smiled in satisfaction. Good. I’ve never forced a woman to do anything in my life, and I sure as hell wasn’t gonna start now. She was going to tell me exactly how much she wanted what I do to her.
I pulled my hand away momentarily, just to tease her, and she whimpered and clung to me. “Please…” she whispered. “Oh, please…”
My cock strained against the zipper of my jeans as she begged me to make her come. Jesus fuck, I was gonna blow in my fucking pants if I wasn’t careful. “Someday,” I growled into her ear as my fingers found her again, one sliding inside her as I resumed stroking her clit. “Someday, I’m gonna bury my face in between those legs and lick your pussy until you come all over my face. I’m gonna make you scream so loud your throat will be raw for days. And then I’m gonna fuck you like you’ve never been fucked before. You know it’s gonna happen. You want that, don’t you?”
“Oh, God,” she moaned, and threw her head back. She was so close, and I was tempted to keep her there indefinitely, but she was so fucking sexy like that that I just wanted to see her come. I swirled my wet finger around her desperate nub one more time and then lightly pinched and stroked her between my thumb and middle finger, and just like that she flew over the edge. My lips crashed down on hers as she rode the wave of her orgasm, screaming into my mouth as she writhed and shuddered.
It was the best goddamn feeling in the world. Maybe even better than coming.
As I waited for her to quiet, I held her against the car until her breathing began to slow. When she finally opened her eyes and looked at me, they were dark and wide with passion. She cut a look toward the bar and the empty parking lot. “I can’t believe we just did that,” she whispered.
I laughed and smoothed back a lock of her hair. There was just something about this girl. This combination of innocent and saucy. “Believe it. I was a witness,” I grinned.
She blushed then, and look
ed down. She was embarrassed. She was fucking embarrassed, and it was the most gorgeous thing I’ve ever seen. “A very willing witness,” I corrected. “That was hot.”
A giggle burst out of her, half-hysterical. “I’ve just… never, well… done anything like that,” she admitted.
“Seems like it was high time you did,” I remarked, raising an eyebrow.
“I meant… I mean, I’ve done… ugh,” she frowned. I was rewarded with another blush. “I mean… with basically a stranger, and in public.”
“There’s no one around,” I said dismissively, looking around. “And besides, you yourself said I’m not a stranger now.” I winked at her.
She smiled shyly. It was cute, considering I’d just had my hand down her pants and made her come. “You said your name was Greyson?” she asked.
“Grey. Greyson Stone.”
“And… you’re a member of the Stone Kings.” Her smile was fading now.
“Yeah.” No reason to tell her any more than necessary.
“So… you know my brother Cal.”
“Yeah. I do.”
She seemed to be on the verge of saying something else, but apparently thought better of it. “So, what does Cal have to do to join the club?”
“Pretty much anything the club asks him to do. Wash our bikes. Go buy us beer.” I skip some of the rougher stuff. “Basically, prove loyalty and respect to the club. Show responsibility.”
She laughed. “Cal’s not long on responsibility.”
I frowned. “We’ll see. Prospects don’t make it very far unless they do what they say they’re gonna do.”
She seemed to visibly relax as I said this. Huh. I guessed it wasn’t too surprising that a sister wouldn’t be exactly thrilled about her brother joining a one-percenter club, but this was the first time I’d really thought about it directly.
“Seton,” I mused. “That’s an unusual name.”
“Most people call me See. It’s my mom’s maiden name,” she explained. She seemed happy to change the subject. “Not that I know why my mom named me after her family. I only met my mom’s parents once. She certainly didn’t seem to have much of an attachment to them.”
I nodded, taking in what she said. “Your mom still around?”
She scoffed. “‘Around’ is up for debate. She’s still alive, yes. She lives in Scottsdale. With her boyfriend.” She paused, then continued. “My dad’s dead.”
I took a deep breath. What should I say to that? That I knew? That I was there when it happened? That my uncle had been the one to do it? There was too much there, it seemed. Too much weight to it.
So I took the fucking coward’s way out.
“I’m sorry,” I murmured. “Do you have any siblings other than Cal?”
“Another brother,” she replied. “Reed. The oldest. I think he’s out in Denver somewhere.”
I took note of the way she said it. “Sounds like your family isn’t all that close.”
“Nope,” she replied, her tone angry, brusque. Something shifted between us, and suddenly the temperature seemed to drop ten degrees. Abruptly, she moved a step away from the car — away from me — and looked awkwardly at the ground. “Um. I think I should be going now.”
I couldn’t think of anything else to say, so I let her take the lead.
“Yeah. Okay,” I nodded. She reached for the handle of her car door like she suddenly realized she was late for an appointment.
“Um. Bye,” she said, refusing to look at me.
I watched her drive away.
“Bye,” I said.
7
Seton
I barely slept that night.
When I got home from my encounter with Greyson Stone, Carly was there. She seemed to realize that there was something up with me, because she kept looking at me out of the corner of her eyes and trying not to let me notice. I knew I was acting nervous and weird, and I could tell I still had the flush of sex in my face, just from the way I felt. When Carly had asked me how my day had gone, I just managed to make her believe that I was acting strange because I was freaked out about Wes cornering me alone in the hallway. Which, to be honest, I was still freaked out about. But that’s not what was on my mind as I got ready for bed.
I was thinking about Greyson Stone, and how he had almost driven me out of my mind with just his hand.
I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling for what felt like hours. I couldn’t stop thinking about him, and what he’d done to me. Belatedly, I realized I’d been so discombobulated by the way he had teased and tormented me that I hadn’t even noticed he hadn’t finished himself. He had made it all about me, making me his with just a whisper and a touch. Had he not wanted me? I worried, blushing at how wanton I’d been, letting basically a stranger do whatever he pleased with my body. But the memory of his lips, soft but hard, and the gruff brush of his beard against my skin sent a rush of heat coursing through my body, and I thought back to what he had whispered in my ear right before he had made me come:
“Someday, I’m gonna bury my face in between those legs and lick your pussy until you come all over my face. I’m gonna make you scream so loud your throat will be raw for days. And then I’m gonna fuck you like you’ve never been fucked before. You know it’s gonna happen. You want that, don’t you?”
Oh, God, yes. I wanted that.
And just like that, even though Grey had made me come harder than I ever had before, the thought of what he had promised me at that moment made me ache with an unbearable need to be released. I lay in bed, my body on fire, throbbing for his touch, until finally I reached under the covers and brought myself to orgasm, whispering his name as I came. Finally, I was able to fall into a fitful sleep, where I had dreams of him between my legs.
The next morning, I was feeling unsettled but better. In the light of day, what had happened between Gray and me in the parking lot felt more like a dream than reality. Even so, I found that I couldn’t quite get him out of my mind. Carly had left early for a training class at the salon where she worked, so I was on my own for the day. The prospect of two days without any routine, which had sounded so attractive to me yesterday, now felt like torture. So, I decided to do what I always do when I’m feeling jittery or on edge.
I cook.
I spent the morning distracting myself from thinking about Grey by dreaming up different dishes I’d like to try, and making a shopping list. After a quick run to the store, I came back and cleared the kitchen counters in preparation for a long day of cooking. I picked some rhubarb from the tiny patch of land I’d managed to commandeer in the side yard, and with the strawberries I’d bought at the supermarket, I set out to make a strawberry-rhubarb pie. Once I had the pie in the oven, I started preparations to make a new recipe for homemade ravioli with arugula and pancetta. I’d found the recipe online a few weeks earlier and hadn’t yet had the time to try it. The recipe involved making the pasta from scratch, which was just the kind of meditative work I was looking for.
I’d been in the kitchen for a couple of hours when I got a text from Cal.
Hey wats up
Immediately suspicious that he was going to ask me for a favor, I texted back:
Not much. You?
Just wondering how u were doing. u want to go get dinner or something?
Surprised but pleased, I thought for a second and then wrote him a reply.
I’m cooking ravioli and strawberry-rhubarb pie. Want to come over here for dinner?
A few seconds later I got this:
That sounds great! When?
I replied:
Come over whenever you want.
The response was immediate:
Cool ill be there in an hour
I set down my phone, trying to wipe the floury fingerprints from the screen, and turned back to my work, humming. I thought back to how I had learned to cook in the first place. When Reed had left home, my mom had pretty much abandoned all pretense of taking care of Cal and me. After a few months of existing on mic
rowave burritos and frozen pizza, I had taken on the task of making us food so we wouldn’t starve to death. I had started with simple things that took ingredients that we were likely to have in our poorly stocked kitchen: quesadillas, grilled cheese sandwiches, spaghetti. Eventually, as I got older and earning some money babysitting, I would sometimes use my allowance to buy more exotic ingredients. I liked the peaceful meditativeness of cooking. I liked that it felt like I was in control when I was in the kitchen. And if something didn’t turn out, I was the one who had made the mistake — which meant that I could learn how to correct it.
I hadn’t been cooking much lately, so this impromptu time in the kitchen felt especially precious to me now. I resolved not to let so long go before I spent an afternoon cooking again.
A little over an hour later, the low sound of a motorcycle engine approached. I suppressed my irritation at the thought of Cal making such an irresponsible purchase, and washed my hands so I could go get the door. I got to the door and opened it just as he was about to ring the bell.
Cal was standing there in a clean white T-shirt and his leathers, and held a six pack of beer in his left hand. I tried not to show my shock. This was the first time I could ever remember him not showing up to my place empty handed. Normally, Cal took. He didn’t give.
“Hey, sis!” He said with a grin. He opened the screen door and gave me a quick hug as he passed through. “I hope this goes with ravioli,” he said, holding up the six pack.
“Beer goes with anything,” I assured him. “Go on through to the kitchen.”
I followed him through the living room and watched as he went to the refrigerator to put the beer in. He took a beer out and offered it to me. Another first: the Cal I knew should have just taken one for himself and thrown the rest in the fridge.
“Thanks,” I said dumbly as I took the bottle from him. He nodded and took a second one out of the pack before putting the rest in the fridge.
Cal sat at the kitchen table as I worked on dinner, sipping his beer and telling me funny stories about what he’d been doing since I’d last seen him. I decided to take a cue from his new-found thoughtfulness and put him to work on making a salad. “Here,” I said, handing him a head of Romaine lettuce. “Wash this, and then tear off the leaves and throw them in the salad spinner.”
STONE KINGS MOTORCYCLE CLUB: The Complete Collection Page 6