by Rie Warren
The guys dug Ashe’s smackdown, trading more bets. Hell, I did, too. I was almost all the way in love. And guess what? Surprise boner number three today.
Leta seethed in total humiliation but remained speechless. Speechless was a good look on her. She should try it out more often.
And with that I walked off with my arm slung around Ashe’s shoulder and all eyes on us.
“Hey, where the hell you goin’? She said she’d buy us drinks!” Handsome shouted.
“Dinner date, losers.” And just because I knew they were making obscene gestures at me behind my back, I flipped one bird then two at them without a single glance in their direction.
****
Dinner would come later.
Right now Ashe was up for sex, and I was absolutely cool with her marking her territory on me. Bite marks, fingernail scratches, maybe even more ink with her name on it.
Half an hour later, in my hotel room, she lay on top of me. My cock coated in her saliva and precome from the blowjob of the century thickened even more between her belly and my abs.
“What are you tryin’ to do to me, babe?”
“Fuck you.” She leaned down, her slow sultry kiss punctuated by her hand curving around my dick.
Yes to all that.
Lifting her hips as she straddled me, she pointed my cock along her wet slit. Damn, she was always on fire for me.
Ashe made sure my cockhead hit her clit as she worked over my rod, up and down. She was awesome at multitasking—kissing the hell out of me then nibbling the sensitive skin of my throat as she ripped a rubber open. One handed, she rolled it down, giving an extra eyeball-peeling pinch-twirl to my Prince Albert.
I fell back with a growl, losing the suction of her mouth. She made up for it by aligning my cock with her cunt.
“Oh, shit,” I groaned.
Bracing a palm on my chest, Ashe lowered herself onto me until I tunneled deep. The fist of her tight depths squeezed me as she threw her head back with a throaty moan of my name.
She moved on me, sexy, slow, languid. Every so often, she leaned down to kiss my lips, my jaw, my chin and neck and chest.
I held her hips, watching through half-closed eyes. “Goddamn but you look good.”
Her smile—slow and sensual—mirrored the motions of her body over mine. She ground her pelvis, hitting her clit on my pubes. I rocked up into her. I sat half up, holding her hair off her face and pulling one of her ripe nipples between my lips.
Christ, she knew how to fuck. Blonde hair, pink streaks, fine tits, the orange flowered tat dancing with every undulation.
We were hot and sticky, wet and slippery all over.
Ashe’s body wrenched tighter. Her thrusts grew shorter. Her gasps louder. Then she stretched over me, jamming down on my cock. She rode me fast and hard. My neck cranked back as I cupped her ass, basking in her orgasm, plunging into her pulsing cunt.
Her body shivered, shuddered, and she kept orgasming over me. The tight wet sleeve of her pussy took me on a wild ride until I was almost there with her. But not yet.
I rolled Ashe off me, onto all fours.
She trembled. Her body arched to take me. “Again?”
I got a good prime view of her glistening pussy, the full ass and long thighs framing the place I needed to be most. “Yeah.”
I thrust deep, one full-to-the-balls slam. I shouted as she creamed around me, the smooth channel of her body clamping down. I lunged deeper in this position, and I was not done yet. Her hair and her hip were my handholds. She bowed against me, the curve of her back the sexiest thing I’d ever seen. My piercings hit her g-spot this way, that way: faster, harder, nearly vibrating inside her cunt.
When she rose up, I ran my hands down her body. Her nipples, her clit, her slit split open by my cock.
She grabbed my thighs, then my ass, pulling me up into her with jarring thrusts.
“Yeah? Like that?” I grunted, voice hoarse, words coarse.
Ashe nodded, turning her face to mine. We kissed, tongues outside of our mouths, nothing more than panting, groaning, sheer need.
She fell forward, and I leaned all the way over her. I nipped her neck, her shoulders, her ears as her head swayed from side to side. With my legs outside of hers, my feet planted on the bed, I drilled straight into her.
“Ahhh, yes!” she yelled.
Heat boiled inside my balls. It scorched my body. My cock swelled, throbbed. Ashe gripped me from the inside as I unloaded with her name escaping my lips. I pumped into her, lacing my fingers through hers, and she pressed up against me, coming again.
After I did a mental high five—which came way-the-fuck-after I remembered how to breathe—I withdrew from Ashe. She was spent, sprawled out on the bed. Sweet. We were still sticky, but fuck if I cared. I took off the condom, tied it, tossed it into the trashcan. Then I folded myself around her.
The smell of our sex was a goddamn aphrodisiac alone.
Ashe didn’t snooze long. Maybe it was her police instincts.
“Brodie?”
“Mmm?”
She flipped onto her side, her hand slipping down my chest. “What did you say to that little boy’s parents?”
Ah, fuck.
I rolled onto my back, covering my face with my arm. “Nuthin’.”
“Bullshit.” She tweaked my nipple until I swatted her hand away.
I kept my eyes cast down. “Gave them the Chrome and Steele business card. Wrote my cell number on the back. Told them to get in touch if he got in a bad way and to bring him to me when he needed a break. I’d set him up with a ride. Take his mind off the crap he has to deal with everyday.”
“Shit.”
“Yeah.” I scooped Ashe to me with both arms around her back. “Yeah. He got to me.”
****
So date night on our last night happened a few hours later than planned. Who cared?
“Big Daddy’s.” I ushered Ashe into the rustic looking restaurant that smelled of mouthwatering South Carolina smokehouse barbeque.
Ashe inspected the waitresses’ tight black T-shirts. “Home of the biggest racks in town, huh?”
“I think you got that covered on your own.” Did she ever.
She rolled her eyes. “I walked right into that one, didn’t I?”
I linked my fingers through hers. “Better be careful. I’m beginning to think you like me.”
“Buy me a rack of ribs and I’m all yours, Brodie.”
Bullshit.
She wasn’t one damn bit mine, just on loan for the week. A week about to end.
Ashe ordered her baby back ribs, shrimp on a skewer, and a fully loaded baked potato. She cleaned her plate and helped herself to a couple bites of my prime rib, too.
After she sat back with one hand folded over her tummy, I scanned the empty plates between us.
“Damn, girl. You’re gonna eat through my bank account.”
“Broderick Steele! That is not the way to speak to a lady.” Her cheeks heated and her eyes blazed.
Who the fuck was she kidding? She’d ridden me backward, forward, and practically upside down all week long. A lady she was not, at least not with me.
“Especially if you want to see me again once we get home,” she added.
“I thought you said one week only.” I wanted more.
“Oh yeah. That’s right. So I did.” A wicked gleam shined in her silver eyes.
Damn her.
****
The slow press of Ashe’s back against my chest as she held my hands against her nipples.
The feel of her fingers skimming down my cock and back again to the tip. She twirled the tips of her fingers around the engorged head before aiming me inside.
I tucked my face to her neck and held on for the ride of my life.
Spooned together, we moved slowly. My dick ached with every rub inside her cunt.
“So sweet.” I scooped her hair aside, kissing the skin of her shoulder up to her neck until she met my lips.
&nbs
p; “Keep going?”
“I can do you all night, babe.”
Truth.
We draped around each other, the slow fuck building to hot fire.
When we came together it was with my hands curled around hers, so close I wanted to be part of her skin. She panted, cried out, clutched down. I pulled her to me, losing myself in her body.
****
The next morning we stopped at the Suck, Bang, Blow, aiming south. Home. Same old. And no chance of a do-over, said Ashe.
I’d lost so many people from my life I wasn’t sure I was ready to let her go. A week of a fucking lot of fucking. Going on runs. Messing around, hanging out. Ashe was easy on the eye, easy company, a career cop with her head on straight even as she screwed with my head.
The Retribution crew motored up to us, throttling their engines.
“So this is where we say goodbye.” I cut off my bike, took off my helmet, and slunk toward Ashe.
She unbuckled her helmet and laid it aside. “One week only, remember?”
“Uh huh.” I squinted down at her, rubbing my jaw. I was so not fooled by any of her shit.
“Brodie!” she gasped when I pulled her into my arms. “Bike week’s over.”
“Yup. No more nookie after this, I got it.” I oh-so-innocently agreed.
Complete and utter bullshit.
Ashe yammered on about rules and bla bla bla. I played with her hair and nipped the soft skin of her neck.
At the end of her speech, I spread my thighs, hauled her between them, and said, “C’mere. Gimme your lips.”
Chapter Four
Busted
I GAVE ASHE ONE hell of a kiss that went on and on. She didn’t resist. Not one bit. The searing kiss was just a little something to remember me by if she planned on following through with her “only at Bike Week” BS.
After she left me in the roadhouse parking lot with a stupid ass grin on my face, the guys started right in.
“Nice one. Keeping the po-leece in your back pocket.”
“Don’t think it was Brodie’s back pocket she was in.”
“Yeah, but the real question is did she use the cuffs?”
“Or the nightstick?”
Heckle heckle.
“Come to think of it, he was walkin’ a little funny the other day.” Tail tossed his black hair back with a laugh.
I leveled Tail, Handsome, Probie whatshisface, and even Tuck with a glare that silenced them. “You do not talk shit about Ashe. You don’t even think about Ashe. You keep your traps shut about her, the MPPD, and her and me. And you do not mention this to Boomer when we get home. Got it?”
Talk about a total change in attitude concerning the woman. Hated her sight unseen a week ago. Went absolutely rabid when anyone talked smack about her five days later.
Like the schmucks they were, the four dudes stared at me with straight faces while they mimed zipping their lips shut.
I gave a double middle finger salute and a grin. “C’mon, dickheads. Let’s roll. Keep it shiny side up.”
It was another pristine day. Our motorcycles ran beautifully. We rode in loose formation with Probie as the tail gunner. We weren’t the only club returning to real life as we took route 17 through Pawley’s Island and Georgetown. The road rumbled with bikers shouting to each other, nodding, giving the thumbs up.
A perfect run but instead of the usual blank-slate state of mind riding usually gave me, I couldn’t get Ashe Kingston out of my head. Her smile. Her laugh. Her lips wrapped around my dick. The way she’d put my boys in their place, not to mention Leta.
One by one, we parted ways from the outskirts of McClellanville into Mt. Pleasant until the road belonged solely to me. And my thoughts.
As fate would have it, the Steele family house stood in the center of the Old Village, about a freakin’ stone’s throw away from Josh and Leelee Stone. Ours was a rambling cottage style house with a sweet deep water dock on the Cooper River. Boomer and I kept the place up—the siding pressure washed twice a year, the lawn mowed, flowers fucking pruned.
Man, I still remembered the summers Boom, Cat, and I ran around the Old Village with our gang of friends. We’d had it so damn easy.
It was hard to sneak in while riding a twin-cam Harley, especially in an otherwise quiet neighborhood. Cutting off the engine, I rolled up the brick-laid driveway and past my old school ’83 Chevy pickup. I’d bought the black beast in high school, when I used to tinker on it with my dad. Over the years I’d made a few modifications—setting it lower to the ground, tinting the windows, revving up the engine. I’d always imagined one day passing it onto a kid of my own.
I stopped at the white wooden clapboard garage, unlocked the doors, and pulled them open. The welcome smell of grease and gasoline filled my nostrils. This structure must’ve stood on the spot since sometime in the 1800s. The windows were original, small squares of leaded glass. We stowed the garden shit on one side, our motorcycles on the other. Speaking of, there was no sign of Boomer’s bike. Good. Didn’t want to see him anyway. I had to get my game face on first. The man was like a goddamn bloodhound. He could always sniff out lies. I didn’t want him to find out about Ashe and me; I wasn’t sure how he’d react.
I closed the garage down and slipped up the side porch and into the house. No one home. Excellent. Emptying my bags in the middle of the kitchen floor, I did the single man’s laundry sorting: dirty, really dirty, should be burned. All of it went into two mismatched piles and I started the first load on hot. Make that super hot with an extra scoop of detergent.
Kicking off my boots, I suddenly found myself swarmed by cats, two of them. They butted their heads against me like they were goats. They arched their backs, purring and rubbing.
Rolling my eyes, I reached down to do the chin scratch. One was an orange tom, the other a gray tabby cat. A boy and a girl. I knew what they wanted. They liked to cling to my legs and make walking impossible until I fed them. I scooped out their food, replenished their water.
“There. Eat that and shut it.” I patted both their rumps, and they jerked their tails back and forth.
Sherlock was the tomcat, Watson the chick tabby. We liked to call them Shitlock and Twatson. Stray cats. Just couldn’t let them starve on my doorstep when they’d shown up within two months of each other last year. Mangy, scrawny, starving for affection things, but they’d filled out. Their fur shined now. We’d gotten them neutered, bathed the crap out of them with flea shampoo, put up with their yowling. Worse than kids, the pair of them. And somehow they both always ended up on my bed at night.
I didn’t have the heart to boot them out.
I hit the stairs, taking a moment to straighten the silver anniversary photograph of my mom and dad. Such a good-looking couple—Dad a little imposing with his blond hair like mine until he smiled and his eyes had crinkled in mischievousness. Mom the dark haired beauty Cat had taken after. They’d been awesome parents, the best a kid could ask for. Stern and strict when necessary, loving and giving in every other way. They’d pretty much adored each other. We’d always known that. This house used to be filled with all the good stuff. Now it was just me, Boomer, and a couple of cats.
Continuing upstairs more slowly, I ran my fingertips across the framed pictures. Boomer at football, the massive linebacker. Me at a skater park, wearing a cocky grin as I flashed the “rock on” sign. Cat during a ballet recital with pigtails, of all the damn things.
We’d had it good.
Maybe I still could.
In the shower, I washed away the road dust and the grimy grit. Water rained over me as I rub-a-dub-dubbed. I tried to banish Ashe from my thoughts. Didn’t work. We’d shared several showers in Myrtle Beach, all of them ending with me inside her one way or the other. Slick and wet, her sleek body had never looked hotter.
And now I was hard. Again. Fucking stupid cock. I wasn’t doing the beat-my-meat in the shower routine like a horny teen so I ignored the deep throbbing ache in my groin and went about my busine
ss. Quick dry off. Fingers through hair. Goatee trim and tidy. I exited the steamy room into my bedroom. Aaand Twatson curled up in the middle of my pillow, purring like a freight train. After I pulled on a pair of shorts, I hauled the fur bundle onto my lap and flopped back on my bed.
This was my boyhood bedroom, the same room I’d been in since we’d moved here when I was five years old.
Maybe it was time to move on.
I’d revamped my room. Gotten rid of the posters of busty babes waxing their tits on cars, painted over the Lego blue walls with a dark slate gray. Funny. That was the color of Ashe’s eyes I now realized. The only pictures hanging on the walls were black and whites of the Chrome and Steele storefront with Mom and Dad stood out front, Boomer with his President patch when he started the MC, one of the whole family on the front steps the summer before shit went sour, and me beside my first bike when I turned seventeen.
Our folks had left the house to the three of us, along with their life insurance payout and the Chrome and Steele business. Cat hadn’t ever moved back in. Boomer and I hadn’t been able to sell the family homestead. Not yet. Not even five years later.
Mom and Dad’s bedroom was down the hallway and around the corner. Clothes donated. Jewelry given to Cat, but she didn’t wear it. As far as I knew she’d stored the few special rings, earrings, necklaces in a safe deposit box at her bank. She still wore the mantle of guilt and blame for their deaths.
I’d saved Dad’s watch. It was nothing but a stretchy banded Timex. Nothing fancy. But he’d worn it everyday. My folks were smart and frugal, and they’d brought us up to be the same no matter how flush the bank accounts were. Life could cut you down in an instant. And didn’t we know it?
Boomer saved several pairs of our dad’s cufflinks, not that he ever wore a suit. That was all we kept. We didn’t need anything to remember them by. They were in our hearts every day.
The front door banged open downstairs followed by Boomer’s heavy footfalls on the stairs. He crashed into my room and loomed for a second before crossing inside to plunk down on my bed. Twatson jumped into his lap. Fickle female feline.