by Wilde, Kati
All I can think is that it won’t be long until he’s inside me. Fucking me.
God, I hope it’s soon. My pussy is already soaking wet again. I don’t know where we’re going. If I’m lucky, it’ll be straight to his bed, but I’d be just as happy if he stopped on the side of the road and dragged me onto his lap.
But as we ride through town I realize we’re headed to the Hellfire Riders’ clubhouse—maybe because of whatever message he was trying to respond to on his phone. Though I’d have liked to leave thoughts of the Titans and the Riders behind us for a few hours, I can’t be upset. I’ve got my stuff to take care of and Saxon has his, and I know exactly how much time a club demands from its president.
He told me that he wants me for himself. That this need between us is just about him and me. I don’t doubt that. A man’s dick doesn’t give a shit what colors anyone wears. But I can’t pretend for a second that the club won’t always be right there with us.
That’s not so bad. My mom told me once that a club can be like in-laws. Sometimes easy to get along with, and sometimes you just want to kill them. And they might put strain on a relationship, but if a couple is solid, they’ll get through it.
I’ve seen a lot of the Titans’ relationships fall apart, and almost every single time, someone blamed the club. But the club wasn’t really at fault; it was just the excuse. Sometimes the guys were dickheads and used the club as the reason to avoid other responsibilities—their jobs, their families. Sometimes they took advantage of easy pussy and cheated. Sometimes the old ladies and girlfriends were jealous of every second their men spent away from them. Little things multiplied into big things and soon they were splitting up.
The club is already a big thing for Saxon, just as my dad and my brewery are for me. If I want to be with him, it’ll mean never trying to force him to choose between me and the Riders.
I can’t imagine that I ever would. Now that he and my dad are working something out, the Riders aren’t a threat to me or to anyone that I love. And I can’t imagine Saxon avoiding responsibilities. If I ever need him, he’ll make time for me.
He’ll be there for me. The question is whether his heart will be there, too.
Mine is. Right here, exposed and raw. He intends to persuade me into taking a chance on him, but the truth is, there’s no other choice for me. He wants to call me his—but I already am. The only thing I can do is go into this with my eyes wide open. So before I tell him my decision, I’ll take a few days to collect all the little bits about Saxon that I didn’t know before, and make sure that my heart is prepared for everything that comes next.
For now, though, I simply savor the feel of him against me.
My hold on him tightens as we approach the clubhouse. I know where it is, of course—although I don’t come this way often, this is a small city. So I’ve seen the place before. Decades ago, it was a car lot on the outskirts of town, until the owner moved his business up to Bend. Tommy Burns took the property over and established it as the Riders’ base. At the time, there wasn’t much out this way except empty fields and a few farmhouses. Now a chain-link fence is all that separates the clubhouse parking lot from the neighbors on both sides—a self-serve frozen yogurt shop and a laundromat. Across the street, a Starbucks shares a building with a local pizzeria and a taekwondo dojang. A little farther down, the street is lined by long rows of midsize houses with tiny brown lawns.
The bike slows as we turn into the parking lot. The old car dealership used to have big front windows, but those probably hadn’t lasted long. Now the front of the clubhouse is walled in. Though only a single story, it’s a big and boxy structure, resembling a warehouse. Almost a dozen motorcycles are lined up outside the building. Each door of a big three-bay garage is up, and there’s a small crowd around the entrance to the first bay.
When Saxon rolls in, all eyes turn our way. That’s to be expected. Acknowledging the club president’s arrival is standard protocol. But their gazes linger on me, until the focus of the entire group has shifted away from whatever they’d been gathered around.
A motorcycle, I realize—and my lips part on a horrified gasp when I see the state of it. The chrome pipes are beat to shit and the tires slashed. It looks like someone took a sledgehammer to the tank and the front of the frame. And I know that bike. It’s Lily’s. Jesus jumping Christ. That’s not just a bike but a custom chopper Lily ordered from Wheels Up a few years ago. Whoever fucked it up hadn’t just destroyed a motorcycle but a freaking work of art.
Tension has turned Saxon’s muscles to iron, but his manner is easy when he brakes at the edge of the group. Lily’s crouching beside the ruin of her bike. The red around her eyes says that she’s been crying. I’d bet anything that not one Rider has seen her shed a tear before, not when she knows they might call her weak for it. But some of the guys are looking a little weepy themselves and no one is going to blame her for crying over this.
Saxon touches my knee, letting me know that it’s safe for me to get off. As soon as I do he snags my wrist and pulls me close again. He’s still straddling his motorcycle, his booted feet flat on the ground, and now I’m all but sitting in his lap. Everyone is staring. Casually I unbuckle my helmet and try to pretend that the way he’s stating his claim without saying a word is nothing, and that my heart isn’t thumping through my ribs.
His arm circles my waist, but his focus is on Lily’s bike. “I’m guessing you didn’t take a bite of the road, Zoomie.”
“No, boss.” Lily stands and her gaze flits to my face for only a second before returning to his. “Not unless I bit it while riding in the hangar at Tucker’s field.”
The airfield where she works. “So you were up in the air and it was locked away?” Saxon asks.
“I was. And it was.”
“And you didn’t see who did it.”
Her jaw firms and her eyes are like flint. “I wouldn’t be here if I knew, boss. I’d be busting some fucking heads.”
Saxon nods. “We’ll find out. You got a ride in the meantime?”
“I’ll figure something out.”
“Talk to Blowback if you can’t. He’ll hook you up.”
For just an instant, the flint in her eyes sparks, as if she might tell Saxon to shove that suggestion right up his ass. But whatever set her temper off, she quickly swallows it. “I will.”
“All right. If you see my veep, send him up to the Crib. I’ll be there until I’m gone,” Saxon tells them, then gives my ass a little smack, a signal for me to get up again.
He seems to like spanking me. I don’t really mind it, either. In front of everyone, it’s not really a turn-on—it’s just kind of fun, and I love that he’s treating me as if I’ve been hanging around the clubhouse longer than five minutes. As if it’s completely natural for me to be there and there’s no reason for everyone to keep staring.
Threading his fingers through mine, he leads me through the garage. Not a bolt or a tool is out of place. The concrete pads practically gleam.
“Are you the hard-ass in here,” I ask quietly, “or is someone else?”
He grins. “I would be. But I don’t need to. Blowback gets on them if they leave shit lying around.”
The Hellfire Riders’ vice president, Jack Hayden. I know him by sight, but I don’t think we’ve ever exchanged a single word. I’m not really sorry for that. Saxon looks big and mean; his veep is just big and scary, built like a tank and always wearing an expression that said he’d just as soon kill you as look at you. “Why is he called Blowback?”
“Because he’s the hell that rains down on your head when you fuck up.”
“Has he ever rained on your head?”
He glances at me. “A few times. But that’s what veeps are for.”
Uncle Thorne does the same for my dad. Never in front of the other club members, always in private—and my dad lets him because he trusts Thorne over any other living man. I suspect that Blowback is the man Saxon trusts.
“He’s kind of te
rrifying,” I say as we enter the main building. “Is he really like a giant, gentle puppy on the inside?”
Saxon’s deep laugh echoes through the big, open room. “Not even a bit.”
That’s good to know. But I don’t reply, because curiosity has taken hold and I’m looking everywhere at once. The outside of the clubhouse tips toward the side of ugly, but they’ve got a nice setup inside. There’s a couple of seating areas with plush leather couches and big screen televisions. A galley-style kitchen with stainless steel counters and a well-stocked bar take up one wall. A pair of pool tables stand at the far end, and through an open partition is a weight room filled with equipment. Doors in the back wall probably lead to bunks or showers.
There’s a pair of women sitting at one of the dining tables. A blonde and a redhead. I recognize their faces but don’t know their names. They both fall silent as we come in, their mouths rounded in surprise and their eyebrows raised high. Saxon doesn’t look that direction at all but I give them a little wave and smile. Even if I’m not around the clubhouse much, starting off wrong with the old ladies is a guaranteed way to make my life a living hell. It’s a relief when they grin and waggle their fingers at me in return.
Everyone else seems to be gone. Probably outside crying over Lily’s bike or over at the Wolf Den drinking their Saturday night away. Saxon leads me to a staircase built against the south wall. The clubhouse is only a single level, but they’ve constructed a spacious open loft over the weight room. The Crib, I’m guessing—and probably off-limits to everyone but the club’s officers and the people they’ve explicitly invited up.
In the corner of the Crib stands an office with walls and a door. There’s another beside it with a heavy lock. Maybe the treasurer’s office, or where the club’s weapons are stored.
Instead of a desk, a conference table fills the corner office. Saxon leaves the door open and takes the chair at the head of the table. He doesn’t have to ask me even once before I’m straddling him. My mouth quickly finds his—and, God, his kiss unravels me so fast. But there’s already a little thing rearing its head. I don’t even want to bring it up. I need to, though.
My breath is coming in sharp pants when I raise my head. “I don’t want it here.”
He palms the back of my neck, guiding me down again until our lips are only a whisper apart. His voice is a low growl. “You don’t want what here?”
“Sex. It’s not…private. Even if the door is closed.”
His mouth claims mine, and I feel the possessive heat of his kiss down to my toes. A whimper escapes me, and I can’t stop myself from rocking against him. He’s thick and hard and in another minute I might not even care that the door is open.
He groans and pulls back. Big hands slide down my spine before gripping my hips. “No fucking here,” he agrees roughly. “Because I don’t want to share you with anyone. That includes sharing what you look like after I’ve had my cock deep inside you, or what you sound like when you come. I’m not into making it public.”
Neither was I. “Good. So we’re just waiting for Blowback?”
“Not just,” he says, and grinds up against me, until I’m writhing and biting my lip against my moan. “I’m here to persuade you.”
My response is a breathless laugh. “I knew you’d use sex.”
He offers an unrepentant grin. “This is just because I like getting my hands on you. But that’s not why I brought you.”
“You heard about Lily’s bike.”
“I was going to bring you here, anyway. To show you what we’ve got. What I’ve got. Fuck, I can’t think when you’re on me.” All at once he lifts me onto the edge of the table. He leans back, looking up at me. God, he is such a man. From those intense eyes to his iron stomach to the thick bulge behind his fly. “You know about the Den. You can probably see that I’m doing all right there. I’m not making a shitload of profits, but business is steady.”
I stare at him, trying to make sense of that. He’s talking about his pub. I’m just not sure why. “All right,” I say.
“Now, this place—when Burns was killed, the property went to his widow. Blowback, Stone, Gunner, and I bought it from her. But this location is shit.”
“You get complaints?”
“Not a fucking week goes by without one. Our bikes are too loud, we’re bad for business, and the good citizens down the road are just waiting for us to rape and pillage. It doesn’t matter that we were here before they all moved in and built their shit.”
“So that’s why you want the clubhouse out by my place.”
“Yes. No. Fuck.” He leans forward and wraps his hands around the back of my calves, just beneath my knees. “I’m talking about persuading you. So I’m telling you that we’ve been discussing moving to another location anyway—but we don’t intend to give up this place. Instead we’re thinking of renovating it into a gym. Weights, a fighting ring, personal trainers. Pine Valley doesn’t have a real one yet, just that shitty little club off Main. It’ll be a good investment.”
It probably would be. But it still didn’t explain what I’m being persuaded to do. “Why are you telling me this? You want me to invest, too?”
“Just in me.” His dark gaze holds mine. “Because if you agree to this, I’m thinking long term. And you, Jenny—your brewery is doing pretty damn well, isn’t it? You’re smart and you’ve got a lot of drive, and you won’t be happy with someone who’s just coasting through. So I want you to know that I’m solid, too.”
Long term. My chest is tight again. “I already knew that.”
“You do.” His voice flattens. “Then what’s holding you back?”
“From going all in on the package deal?” At his sharp nod, I tell him, “Because it’s a big investment that includes a hefty amount of risk. No matter how good it looks, I’d be a fool to jump in without taking my time to consider the angles and doing a little research first.”
His eyes narrow. “You think it looks good?”
“I think it looks really good.”
He likes that. Easing back in his chair again, he regards me with renewed determination. “Where’s the risk? I’ll minimize it.”
I have to laugh. “You can’t. Just making that offer increases it.” On a deep breath, I tap my fingertips over my pounding heart. “The risk is here.”
His frown tells me that he doesn’t immediately get it—as if maybe I’m pointing to my tit. Then his gaze shoots to mine and he says gruffly, “You get over here.”
I do, straddling his lap again. His fingers tangle in my hair and his kiss is hot and fierce.
He pulls back but keeps hold of me, his big hands cupping my face. I can’t look anywhere else. “You’re safe with me. I’m a rough man, and I’m not promising I won’t ever fuck up, but I won’t do anything that would bring hurt onto you. All right?”
With emotion clogging my throat, I can only nod. It’s enough for now.
He tastes me again but it doesn’t last long. I don’t hear any footsteps. Only the subtle tension in Saxon’s body tells me that someone is there.
Jack Hayden, looking as big and as scary as always. Despite the heat of the day he’s wearing a black long-sleeved shirt under his kutte, but it doesn’t conceal a single heavy muscle. I start to climb off the chair, but Saxon simply grips my waist and resettles me, sitting sideways across his lap. Blowback doesn’t blink, just watches us with a cold, dead stare.
“You hear anything yet?” Saxon asks him.
“Spiral says he passed a van heading toward the airfield road, and the driver was one of the little shit prospects for the Eighty-Eight. But he was a few miles out and couldn’t say for sure that was where the fucker went. I’d put my money on them or the Titans. Some of them are still pissed that you brought Lily in.”
My body stiffens. No way in hell would anyone in my dad’s club do that. Only a bunch of cowards would trash someone’s bike when its rider wasn’t around to defend it. But although I keep my mouth shut, my reaction doesn’t g
o unnoticed by either man. Blowback’s eyes are like dark knives, slicing right through me, seeing everything.
Saxon’s hand smooths over my hip. “They’re pissed, but if it came to that, they’d go after her. Not that bike.”
“We’ll look at the prospect, then.” Blowback’s cold gaze slides over me again before meeting Saxon’s. “You’re going to have to deal with the First Lady clause.”
Now Saxon’s every muscle is steel. “Fuck it.”
“I’d let you. But some of the brothers won’t. Just so you’re prepared.”
His jaw clenching, Saxon nods. “You got a ride for Zoomie?”
“I’ll see if I can round something up.”
“I’ve got one,” I offer and both men look to me. “Mostly it just sits in our garage but my dad keeps it up. Lily could use it until her insurance comes in and she’s able to buy another.”
Saxon and Blowback exchange a glance.
“It’s not a sissy bike,” I add. “She won’t be embarrassed by it. The Riders won’t be, either.”
“All right,” Saxon says. “But we’ll hold off on that until we’ve got our other business with the Titans squared away.”
Meaning that he hasn’t told all of the Riders that he’ll be folding in the Titans. So Lily can’t accept a motorcycle from Red’s daughter yet.
Blowback nods. “Got anything else for me?”
“That’s it. Let me know if you track down that prospect.”
Obviously the other man has no doubt that he will. “You’ll be getting a call.”
I wait until Blowback is gone before asking, “What’s the First Lady clause?”