Easy Little Lick (Copperline #3)

by Sibylla Matilde

  Tonight, we were truly rockin’ it.

  On nights when we hit that level, I felt almost high coming off the stage. It fed something inside me that turned me on and made me hungry. On nights like that, my need battled with my conscience for control.

  My conscience wanted more than cheap thrills, as cheesy as that sounded. They left me feeling empty, like I was missing something spectacular. When my conscience won out, I went outside and cooled off, or waited until I got home and jacked off… lately with visions of Ilsa in my head.

  My need wanted to grab the first girl I saw and, essentially, make Justin proud by fucking my way through the bar sluts like he did. When my need won out, it was just too fucking hard to resist the soft bodies that presented themselves. Like with Pauline. She was there and warm and willing.

  But she had never aroused this feeling in me that Ilsa had. No one else had even come close.

  Tonight, while we were rocking, I was raging. The adrenaline was coursing through my veins and burning through my system. I wanted to surrender to the visceral, carnal instinct of it all—the animalistic need to just plain fuck—and every bit of my lust was focused on Ilsa.

  Knowing the way my advances had pushed her back before, it would really be wise to avoid her. It was for the best that she was sort of MIA.

  As I skipped down the stage stairs and headed for the back door to cool off, though, I heard her voice, testing and tempting my resolve to stay away.

  “Cody?”

  Fuck.

  Bad timing.

  Down boy.

  I still froze. I had to. It was as though she’d shot a little Spiderman web out at me and I couldn’t move.

  I stopped walking away, but I didn’t turn around. I only tipped my head a little over my shoulder to glance back at her.

  “Hey, Ilsa,” I managed to force out.

  “Do you need anything?” Ilsa asked. “Cold beer or something? You look really hot.”

  A dry, choked laugh escaped my throat.

  Warnings flared in my brain, telling me to back off. To back away.

  But I was entirely too fuckin’ keyed up… and she had sought me out. This was something new. It was her play, even if she didn’t know we were in the midst of a game. In spite of her pushing me away before, she wanted me.

  Knowing this spiked my need. Courage and confidence surged through my veins. It was just too good of an opportunity to pass up. I was dying to make her blush a little.

  “Hot, huh? Thanks,” I grinned and turned fully towards her, pulling off my T-shirt, wiping it over my sweaty forehead and chest.

  Ilsa’s eyes went wide, her mouth fell open, and I was certain I heard the tiniest little moan. Her gaze followed the damp fabric as I swept it over my pecs, and she swallowed hard. As I stepped a little closer, her mouth snapped shut before she opened it again to try and cover what she’d just said about me being hot.

  “I mean… you’re, uh… you’re all sweaty.” Her voice had gone a bit breathless, and she leaned up against the wall behind her, holding her hands flat against it like it would keep her safe. I closed the distance between us, loving how she trembled, how she wrenched her gaze from my bare chest to look up into my eyes.

  “It happens when I play,” I murmured. “I get a little… intense. It’s a bit of a workout.”

  Her hazel eyes had gone soft, almost unfocused. Knowing it was a bad idea, yet finding it too hard to resist, I lightly cupped her cheek in my palm, then trailed it down to the base of her neck. Her skin was so smooth… like fine silk. Her cheeks were flushed, and I could feel the rapid, rhythmic beat of her pulse under my thumb. Racing.

  A tempo that matched mine.

  I stared at her, my blue eyes focused on the hazel flecks in hers. Her breathing fluttered against my skin, lighting my senses on fire.

  “I want so badly to taste you,” I warned.

  Her tongue darted out to wet her trembling lips as I moved to close the space between us. Miraculously, she began lifting up towards me, too.

  Justin would have been incredibly proud. In fact…

  “That’s my boy,” I heard him say from the bottom of the steps.

  Fuck.

  Ilsa jolted at the sound of his voice, and quickly slipped away from me.

  “Shit,” Justin laughed, “don’t let me interrupt. Carry on.”

  “No,” Ilsa breathed, sounding shaken and raw inside. “I’ll just go grab you guys something to drink.”

  And just like that, she was gone down the hallway.

  Damn, damn, damn, damn, damn…

  “God, you’re a fucker,” I grumbled to my friend.

  “You know,” he replied, as though I hadn’t even spoken, “she’s really not too bad when she’s all turned on like that. Funny… I've never noticed that curvy little ass before, either.”

  “Justin,” I warned.

  “I wonder if she’d be—”

  “Fuck off and don’t even think about it,” I snarled.

  “Hmm… you’re still a little testy when it comes to her, aren’t ya? Interesting.” He smiled and headed off to a group of girls that were eyeing him speculatively. “Ladies,” he began, wrapping an arm around each of the two closest to him. “How are we tonight?”

  They cooed and giggled and fawned over him, feeding his narcissism. Sometimes I was amazed that he was a bassist. The dude had the attitude of a lead guitarist.

  I waited a few more minutes, hoping to catch Ilsa back in the dark hallway again when she brought our drinks.

  Instead of Ilsa, though, Doug appeared. He looked at me, handed me an icy bottle, and narrowed his eyes.

  “I didn’t think I’d have to tell you this, of all the Mofos. Don’t fuck her, Cody,” he grunted as he handed me the beer, “and I mean it.”

  “Doug—” I began, but he just turned and walked away.

  He didn’t understand what was happening between Ilsa and I. I wasn’t out for a quick fuck with her, and he just didn’t get it… at all. There was something drawing her and I together that was stronger than her wary resistance, yet still hindered by it.

  It occurred to me that Doug seemed more protective of her than I’d ever seen him with any of the other waitresses. There was no way it was just him not wanting to lose her as an employee. Were his threats based on jealousy? Did he want her for his own?

  I instantly bristled at the thought. He couldn’t. He was way too old for her, too hard, and he didn’t act like he was hooked on her.

  And Ilsa… God, she’d been so close to me just now. I could still feel the faint whisper of her breath as she moved her lips closer to mine. She had wanted me. I’d seen it in her eyes.

  No, she didn’t have that kind of relationship with Doug, although something wasn’t quite right. Something was just a little off.

  But what?

  Don’t fuck her…

  Doug’s terse reminder echoed over and over in my mind while we played into the night. The crowd had grown larger, and was becoming a little rowdier than usual. Lots of people were passing through the area, mostly bikers on their way to the annual big rally in Sturgis.

  As more people, more strangers, filled the bar, I kept an eye out for Ilsa with an increased vigilance. The bigger the crowd got, the more on edge she seemed. The mood of the bar shifted. The easy, raucous revelry gave way to a darker tension. Too many strangers and too much booze.

  And Ilsa was right smack in the middle of it.

  During another quick break, I tried to talk to her. When I touched her arm, she about jumped out of her skin.

  “Jesus, Cody,” she exhaled, “you scared me to death.”

  “Are you okay?” I asked.

  A flicker of skittishness lit her eyes as she looked at me. It worried me.

  “Fine,” she lied. Clearly a lie. Whatever was freaking her out, she didn’t want to share.

  “Ils—”

  “It’s busy, and I've got work to do,” she murmured. “Thank you, though.”

  Not
feeling good about it, I let her go. I moved aside, allowing her walk back into the thick crowd with her drink tray in hand.

  But as we began to play again, I kept my eye on her. In fact, I didn’t let her out of my sight. She wasn’t fine. Something had her feeling raw and fragile.

  She made her way over to a table of a bunch of guys, all decked out in black leather cuts. Tattoos down their arms, bandanas around their heads, their skin red and leathery from riding their bikes all day in the sun. They’d been getting louder and rougher as the night went on, and one of them leaned into her to give her his order.

  Ilsa leaned away, and from clear across the room, I could see her swallow hard. I could see the tension rise in her shoulders. I could see a tremor course through her body.

  I felt the hair rise on the back of my neck.

  She quickly moved away, escaping back to the bar to get their drinks. I saw Doug ask her something, and she nodded, offering a small, nervous smile. He said something else, raising his eyebrows as though he was trying to make sure his point was clear, and she nodded again.

  With the tray full of drinks, she went back over to the table and started unloading it on the side far away from the guy who had leaned into her. The fellas on that side were better behaved, moving aside to allow her to get closer to the table. However, the other guy stood, slowly circling around until he stood behind her. He started to close in, essentially trapping her in between the table and his buddies.

  Now I was pissed. I was mad-drumming. My knuckles were white with my tight grip on my sticks, wishing I was thwacking them on that fucker’s face.

  But I was also on stage. We were in the middle of a song, Denny up front singing away. After I flubbed up for the third time, Justin looked over at me quizzically. I was fuming, burning up to clock the biker dude, and it must have shown on my face. Justin's eyes went wide when he saw my expression, and he followed my gaze to the table across the room.

  Ilsa had lifted her hand, warding off the big, greasy bastard, but he took it in his own, placing it on his chest. I could see her jerking to get it back, but he held firm. One of the other guys said something to him, and he scowled down at his friend and snarled some kind of response that had Ilsa blanching white.

  Now I was beyond pissed.

  The fucker had his arm creeping around Ilsa’s waist, his body crouching into hers even as she tried to shrink away. She had brought up her tray like a shield, holding it between them. I was about to lose it.

  Where the fuck was Doug?

  I glanced over towards the bar, but his attention was drawn by the crowd before him demanding their drinks.

  Ilsa pushed a little harder at the guy, and he grabbed her arm and jerked her up against him angrily. Her face contorted with a mixture of panic and pain.

  Fuck it.

  I dropped my sticks and jumped up from my stool behind the drums, ripping past Denny to take a flying leap off the stage into the crowd. The music quickly died out as my band, the couples on the dance floor—everyone in the bar, really—watched me charge over to the fucker.

  He was big, possibly even bigger than me. He was weathered and hardened and looked pretty fucking scary. And he was pissed.

  But I was more so.

  I was in full-bore protection mode, and this fucker needed to back the fuck off.

  His buddies jumped up, ready to fight, as I closed in and jerked his arm off Ilsa. The air crackled with tension. Positioning myself between him and her, I nudged her violently shaking body behind me, and she melted against my back. I still hadn’t put my shirt back on, and I could feel her broken breathing against my skin.

  “Oh feckin’ hell,” I heard Denny say into the still-live mic. “Let’s go, fellas.”

  I shoved my hands into the dickhead’s chest, pushing him back into the crowd a bit.

  “Leave her the fuck alone,” I growled.

  “You gonna make me, boy?” he snarled back, posturing for a brawl. “You’re awful pretty. Do you really think you can take me?”

  “Fuck yeah, I do.” I puffed out my chest, feeling the anger course through my veins. My body was pumped and ready to go. I wanted to kick his ass.

  He looked over to his friends, then back at me. “I’m not here alone, you know. You might be able to put up a good fight, but my brothers will fuck you up.”

  “He’s not alone either,” Justin stated from my right, and the fucker glanced over to see that Justin wasn’t shitting him.

  We were local celebrities. These guys were just passing through. One thing they didn’t know that everyone else in the bar did was that you did not fuck with the Bangin’ Mofos in the Copperline Bar. This was our turf, and we had the manpower to back it up.

  “Jesus, Harold,” one of the other bikers muttered, “this ain’t cool. Every guy in here wants to kick our asses right now. Plus you’re being a dick anyway.”

  Harold looked around, then back to his friend who’d spoken, checking out the faces of those around us, realizing that they were a bit outnumbered. It was evident, though, that he was either too drunk or too stupid to care.

  He jerked away from his friend and came towards me, giving me just a second to push Ilsa away towards Denny who stood to my left with a nervous Felicity. I barely caught a glimpse of Felicity urging her back from the fight when the guy hit me.

  Fuck, he hit hard, too. His tough act was not just an act.

  But he was fighting to fight. To be an asshole, pissed that his moronic behavior wasn’t appreciated.

  I was fighting to protect Ilsa.

  I swung back, catching him with a good, solid blow to the ribs that caused him to double over. A good shove, and he stumbled back. With a growl, he came right back at me, swinging with large meaty fists. I avoided some punches, but a few connected. I was dimly aware of scuffles going on around me as others started to join in the fray.

  Brannon had stepped up, probably the closest to my size, and was holding back the biggest of the biker’s friends, preventing him from jumping in to help kick my ass. Justin was in his own little brawl with another, a little wiry guy who successfully evaded him until Drew got the dude in a headlock. A few guys from the crowd stepped in as well, staring down or holding back the remaining bikers, keeping the last shred of civilization from turning into pure anarchy.

  Suddenly, a deafening boom echoed through the room.

  And there was Doug, standing with a shotgun aimed at the ceiling as bits of wood and plaster fell around him.

  That crazy fucker had just shot off in his own place.

  We all froze solid.

  “Get the fuck out of my bar,” he scowled to the bikers.

  “I thought this joint was biker friendly,” one of the strangers spat.

  “It is,” Doug replied. “It just isn’t asshole friendly. Now get the fuck outta here before I call the cops.”

  After a tense little standoff, they finally backed away and headed out the door. The crowd straightened and began to disperse, and Denny walked up to clap me on the shoulder.

  “Jaysus, you bloody eejit, maybe give us a little warning before ya go all white knight on us again, hi?”

  “Speak English, you fucker,” I chuckled back distractedly, glancing around behind me. I pulled my T-shirt from where I had tucked it in my pocket and slipped it back on.

  Sophie, Felicity, and even Maggie approached their guys, searching for boo-boos to kiss and fussing over the guys’ bravery for taking on the bikers. Doug shot a nod in my direction, seeming to be half thanks and half warning for my attention to Ilsa.

  Ilsa.

  Shit.

  Where was Ilsa?

  I couldn’t see her anywhere.

  “Felicity,” I said, leaning towards her and Denny, “where did Ilsa go?”

  “She’s right here…” she replied as she turned and looked behind her, but there was no Ilsa there. “Shit, she was right behind me.”

  “Go check in the office,” I barked at her and Denny, heading towards the back room.
I nodded to Brannon and Sophie as I started walking away. “Bran, see if she’s out back.”

  I pushed through the crowd, past the bar and towards the storage room. It was quieter in here, muting the sound from the barroom where Doug had started up the sound system, trying to regain the party vibe now that the excitement had mellowed some.

  “Ilsa?” I called out softly as I stepped through the door. There was no answer. “Ils?”

  Still nothing. Silence. I couldn’t hear a thing. Just as I started to turn, though, I caught the faintest glimpse of her tennis shoe sticking out behind a couple stacked kegs. Torn between the need to comfort her and her obvious desire to be alone, I hesitated but a second before I stepped over to where she sat and crouched down in front of her.

  She was barely moving except for the occasional tremble that wracked her petite frame. So quiet that I thought she may have been holding her breath, willing the world away. My heart ached and swelled. All at once I wanted to hold her and protect her. I wanted to beat the shit out of that fucker in the bar for triggering this fear. I wanted to go apeshit on whoever had made her this way in the first place.

  Her face was buried in her arms as they lay folded over her bent knees. There was an angry red mark on her wrist from where that bastard had grabbed her, and her entire body was curled up into a protective little ball.

  “Ils,” I repeated, “what is it? What's wrong?”

  “It’s okay, Cody,” she said into her knees, her voice muffled, but still sounding raw and shaken. “I just need a minute.”

  “You’re not okay—”

  “Please, just give me a few minutes,” she interrupted, still not lifting her face. “I’ll be fine.”

  I carefully reached out, lightly touching her shoulder. Her reaction was immediate—a flinch followed by a gasp. She was barely hanging on by a thread.

  “Look at me, Ilsa,” I said firmly. Gently.

  My fingers pushed the curtain of hair back from her face as I carefully attempted to draw her out of whatever terror had a hold on her. Finally, she lifted her head, just barely, but enough to peek up at me. The fear in her eyes was staggering.