Beard Mode (The Dixie Warden Rejects MC Book 1)

by Lani Lynn Vale

  “Exactly,” Ghost grumbled. “Ex-fucking-actly.”

  “So how did your second day of work go?” Big Papa broke in, shutting down Imogen’s line of questioning before it could get any more intense. “Was it better than your first?”

  He looked pointedly at Imogen, who giggled and I wanted to junk punch him.

  “We dealt with Smoove today,” I muttered darkly.

  I’d heard about Smoove, of course, but I hadn’t had the chance to meet him yet.

  “Oh yeah?” Big Papa started to laugh. “And how did that go?”

  I sighed and started in on my day.

  “I don’t understand why y’all still allow them to live together. This is what, the eighteenth domestic violence charge in the last six months?”

  “Who is Smoove?” Imogen butted in.

  “Smoove is the man that calls in every Thursday to tell us that his wife is trying to beat him with the smoove,” Big Papa started to explain.

  “What the hell is a ‘smoove’?” Imogen questioned.

  “You know, the thing you smoove your clothes out with?” Tommy Tom snickered.

  I rolled my eyes.

  “A couple of months ago, Aggie called in about his wife hitting him with the ‘smoove.’ When the dispatcher tried to figure out what it was that he was talking about, she finally realized that he was talking about an iron.” Big Papa couldn’t stop laughing. “He still calls it a smoove, too. And she still hits him with the smoove every Thursday.”

  Imogen lost her battle with her laughter and her small frame started to shake.

  “That’s kind of hilarious.” She wiped her eyes free of tears. “Was the ‘smoove’ turned on?”

  I nodded my head. “Sure was.”

  Her laughter started up again and I looked down at her, soothed by the laughter.

  Last night had been shit. I’d had to leave her there in the hospital with her mother and sister, while I went back to work. I had a shit ton of paperwork to do—who knew shooting a man meant that many forms had to be filled out? —and had to do a debriefing and explanation with Internal Affairs.

  By the time I’d gotten done with all the bullshit, I’d driven straight back home only to find Imogen at her apartment refusing to take a pain pill.

  She’d been on the couch crying silently—something that she hadn’t intended for me to see—and I’d practically forced her to take her meds. Which I’d been continuing to do for the last day, every four hours on the dot.

  I could see why she didn’t want to take the meds.

  Since she was such a small woman, the meds made her loopy, but in my opinion, loopy was better than crying silently when she thought no one would see.

  Imogen sighed and leaned more heavily into me.

  “You ready for bed, Im?” I ran my hand up her arm.

  “Mmm-mmm,” she refused. “I want to stay right here. I’m enjoying being out of the house and away from my mom, who won’t stop torturing me.”

  “I don’t think it’s called torturing. I think it’s called nurturing,” I informed her gently.

  Imogen shrugged. “Whatever. Just don’t take me home. Take me to your place when you do decide it’s time to leave. If I have to spend one more hour in that woman’s presence, I very well might castrate myself.”

  “That’d be pretty impressive,” Tommy Tom supplied. “Especially since you don’t have balls to remove.”

  Imogen lifted her lip.

  “Dazzle me with a story,” she ordered. “You probably have plenty of them. And I deserve it. You shot me.”

  “I didn’t shoot you,” Tommy Tom denied almost immediately. “I gave you a shot, which is totally different than shooting you.”

  Tommy Tom had been there to take care of Imogen when we got to the ER. When I had to leave, she’d stayed with him until he was able to bring her to the club since the apartment complex was a crime scene—and still was.

  “I’m not talking to you. You are rude,” she declared, turning her gaze away from Tommy Tom.

  Big Papa snorted.

  “What did he do, sweetie?” Big Papa asked, sounding all concerned, when in reality he was literally trying not to laugh at a pint-sized Imogen telling big bad Tommy Tom that he was rude.

  “He shot me in the butt,” she declared loudly. “And he did it hard, too. I wasn’t even expecting it. Just BAM! In the ass! No warm up, no preparation. No, ‘I’m going to stick this in your butt now.’ No nothing!”

  I was shaking by this point.

  I would’ve loved to have taped this discussion to share with her later, but she’d likely kill me for even thinking about it.

  Everyone else was laughing as well, and the poor woman didn’t even realize that what she said and how she said it was so suggestive.

  Tommy Tom’s smile was the biggest.

  “I’ll have to remember to warn you next time, Imogen,” Tommy Tom promised. “I wouldn’t want to surprise you like that again.”

  She sighed.

  “It’s okay,” Imogen shrugged. “You were pretty gentle for my first time.”

  I covered her mouth before she could say anymore.

  “You and me have some things to do,” I declared as I helped her up.

  “What kind of things?” she asked curiously. “I wasn’t aware we had anything to do.”

  Instead of answering, I finished what was left of my beer with one swallow, tossed the empty in the trashcan next to the table, and waved.

  “Catch y’all later,” I nodded.

  Each man said something resembling goodbye through their laughter, and I had to hurry Imogen along less she hear the things that were coming out of their mouths.

  We headed down the hall, her gait slow and easy, as she walked beside me.

  Her head was up and turned slightly to study the walls of the clubhouse, and I knew the moment she saw the picture.

  “What is that?” she asked.

  “That is me,” I said. “Who does it look like?”

  She shook her head. “It looks like you’re a sadistic, bike riding devil.”

  I grinned.

  The picture she was referring to was a photo of me in my leather cut, hair under a black bandana. I had black shades wrapping around my eyes, and a black bandana that resembled a skeleton pulled up over my mouth.

  I really did look quite intimidating in the photo, but it got cold as fuck out in the winter, and I sure as hell didn’t want to ride without all the protective clothing I could pile on.

  “I guess if that’s what you want to call it,” I teased. “It was Halloween anyway. It was festive.”

  She snorted. “Is that Truth?”

  I nodded at her side. “He was the zombie. Mine wasn’t as inventive. His got a lot more attention.”

  She hummed in agreement. “I’m sure.”

  With that, she turned, putting the wall at her back, and drug her finger from the hollow of my throat down to the top of my pants.

  “Tell me something,” she ordered.

  My eyes followed the way her nail traced the lines my abs made against the shirt.

  “What?” I asked, catching her hand when she tried to slip it under my shirt.

  The woman was quick, though, and brought her other hand up—knowing for a fact I wouldn’t stop her since it was her sore arm—and slipped it underneath my shirt to rest against the skin of my belly.

  “I’m horny,” she declared. “Really horny.”

  I snorted. “You’re also high on Vicodin,” I told her. “I’m not one to take advantage of ladies while they’re under the influence.”

  “Hmmm,” she murmured, crowding my body. “I think you need to take care of my itch.”

  I grinned.

  “Yeah?” I ran my finger along the length of her shoulder, stopping to curl my finger around a loose strand of hair. “Where do you want to do this at? The hallway?”

  I expected her to say no.

&n
bsp; In fact, I expected her to deny it immediately.

  Did she?

  Hell no.

  Her eyes went calculating and her head turned to study the hallway that led to the back bedroom.

  “Your club members won’t be up for a while. It’s still early. Only nine o’clock,” she pointed out.

  I bit my lip.

  “We have to go home tonight. I’m not leaving your family there by themselves with all that bullshit that went down yesterday,” I told her. “If I take you, we’ll spend the rest of the night fucking, and I don’t have time and neither do you.”

  She pushed me, and I took a step back even though I didn’t need to.

  Then she started to undo the buttons of her shirt.

  “My dad is there,” she explained.

  I blinked.

  “Isn’t your dad a doctor?” I asked skeptically. “What can he do that’ll protect your family? No offense, but their duty is to heal, not to protect.”

  She looked at me like I had a screw loose.

  “Isn’t that kind of like the pot calling the kettle black?” she asked teasingly, her hand going from just underneath my pec to just above the waistband of my jeans.

  Her fingers started to play with the hair of my happy trail before slowly dipping inside the small gap between my jeans and my belly.

  I automatically sucked my gut in, allowing her searching fingers better access to what she was rooting for.

  And she didn’t disappoint.

  The moment she had enough room to slip her hand in, she delved deep between my legs, cupping my hard cock over the soft fabric of my boxer briefs.

  “Did I mention how much I like these underwear?” she asked, running one fingernail down my side.

  I laughed then.

  Yes, she’d mentioned it quite a few times since she’d seen me change into them this morning.

  Though, I had been wearing the same pair for over thirty-six hours, which reminded me I needed a shower.

  “How about you join me in the shower?” I offered. “We fuck and go?”

  She snorted, “So eloquent.”

  I shrugged.

  I didn’t see any point beating around the bush and never had.

  “So was that a yes, or a no?” I hissed, sucking in a breath when she moved her hand from over the top of my underwear, to underneath them.

  Her warm hand surrounding my cock could be enough to send me to my knees.

  She squeezed, and then smiled.

  “I can’t tell you no, you know,” she pointed out. “You could say, ‘let’s fuck on this floor right here’ and I’d drop to my knees with my pants around my ankles.”

  My breathing hitched at the visual she’d just made.

  “You’d let me fuck you right here, with the possibility of anyone coming through and seeing us?” I asked.

  We were in a dark hallway, two doors down from my room.

  Her back was to the wall in between the bathroom and Truth’s room, and I was fairly sure she’d balk when I started to touch her.

  But she didn’t, surprising the ever-loving shit out of me.

  My hand skimmed down her back, coming to a stop on the swell of her ass as I pulled her in tight.

  Her arm became pinned between us, but that didn’t stop her hand from convulsing tightly on my cock, letting me know without words that she liked the show of dominance.

  “You want me to do you right here?” I breathed, my breath playing along the top of her head.

  “Maybe.”

  I hooked her around the waist and went even further into the shadows of the hall, stopping right outside the door to my room and pushing her face first into the wood paneling.

  Her hand was wrenched sideways as I did, and I used it to my advantage to pin her good arm to the wall right above her head.

  Without the lights on in the darkness of the hallway, there wasn’t much that could be seen.

  But I could hear.

  The whimper of her voice as I pushed against her ass with the saddle of my hips, digging my erection into the soft globes of her backside.

  She cursed and leaned forward, pushing back against me, urging me on.

  “Do it,” she growled.

  It was so cute that I wanted to ask her to repeat herself, but she yanked her hand free from mine and started to work on the waistband of her yoga pants.

  “Don’t hurt yourself,” I ordered her.

  I felt her head turn, her lips pressing against my cheek, as she said, “The only thing that is aching right now is my empty pussy.”

  I closed my eyes and growled.

  “Guess I better remedy that, hmmm?” I asked, dropping down to my knees directly behind her.

  Then talking ceased, and feeling and touching took over.

  With her pants down around her ankles, I pushed her ass cheeks apart and buried my face between them. My tongue stretched out to push into her wet entrance, and her flavor exploded on my tongue.

  If I could bottle one thing up in the world to keep with me forever, it would be the taste of Imogen’s pussy.

  It was like nothing I’d ever tasted before, and I couldn’t get enough.

  One lick turned into two, and suddenly I was lost in her. Her scent. Her taste. The feel of her on my tongue. So hot and smooth, wet and slick.

  “Oh, God,” she breathed shakily. “You’re going to make me come already.”

  “Touch your clit,” I ordered roughly between breaths. “I want to feel you come on my tongue. In my mouth.”

  Her breath whooshed out of her, and I smothered a smile in her flesh.

  My cock ached something fierce, and I had to squeeze her ass cheeks tighter to keep my hands from going to the ache and rubbing in search of relief.

  Then she clamped down on my tongue, her orgasm on the horizon, and I temporarily blocked out the way my cock demanded to be inside of her.

  My fingers itched to play with her, but I didn’t want her to come with my fingers inside of her. I wanted her to come with my tongue inside of her so I could catch every last goddamn drop of her release.

  And she did moments later. She called out my name in a fervent whisper, her hands slapping down on the wall so hard that I feared she’d hurt her sore arm, but she didn’t indicate anything was wrong.

  If anything, she started to push harder, demanding me in rough whispers to hurry up and take her.

  Not one to refuse a woman in need, I stood up hastily, fumbling at the belt of my jeans.

  She turned around and helped me, shoving down my underwear and jeans all at once with frantic hands.

  I picked her up and settled her down on my cock.

  The angle of her legs was odd, due to her pants still being around her ankles, but neither one of us seemed to care as I took her roughly against the wall next to my room.

  I turned her to face the wall, then lifted her up with one arm around her waist. I pressed her into the wall as I did for more traction, and pistoned my cock inside of her.

  She felt phenomenal.

  Soft, tight, hot and wet.

  Each thrust of my hips pushed me higher and higher, and before I knew it, I was coming—shooting high and hard inside of her as I did.

  Her breath left her, and it was only as I was coming down from my orgasm that hers took her over.

  I felt every single pulse and clench of her around my cock, and I idly wondered if I’d ever be the same again.

  Or whether I even wanted to be the same.

  She made me feel more in the short amount of time that I’d known her than I’d felt in my thirty-four years of life.

  She’d certainly given me more pleasure and happiness than Lynn had ever given me, and I knew that I was lost.

  So lost that I was sure I’d never find a way back.

  “You’re quiet,” she whispered.

  “I love you.”

  Her breath hitched.

  “You do?�
� she gasped in surprise.

  “I do,” I confirmed, pulling out of her slowly.

  Her feet dropped to the floor, and she hastily yanked her pants back up her thighs, settling them in place before she nose-dived into my chest.

  “That’s the best thing you’ve ever said to me.”

  I chuckled quietly as I wrapped my arms around her.

  “I love you, too,” she said after a while.

  The lights above us turned on, and Truth’s voice started down the hallway toward us.

  He was on the phone, though, which was why he didn’t see my bare ass until I was pushing Imogen into my room.

  “Nice ass, Moony!”

  I winced.

  “You think he’s going to forget he saw that?” she asked hopefully.

  I looked her deep into the eyes, and shook my head. “Not a chance.”

  Chapter 17

  I’m just a girl, standing in front of a salad bar, wishing it was an all you can eat buffet.

  -Imogen’s secret thoughts

  Imogen

  I wanted to laugh the moment my father met Aaron the next morning.

  There was a moment of silence, and then a wide smile split both men’s faces.

  “When did you serve?” Aaron asked my dad.

  He’d taken one look at my father and immediately fallen into an easy camaraderie with him.

  My father may be a doctor, but he was also a badass.

  He was fifty-nine years old, but he didn’t look a day over forty. He had dark brown hair that was styled to military preciseness. A large, muscular build that had intimidated each and every boyfriend of mine he’d met and hard eyes that could see down to your soul.

  Today, like any other day, he was in a black t-shirt, his hospital scrub bottoms, and combat boots.

  Yes, you heard that right.

  Combat boots.

  “Dad,” I said, interrupting the two lovebirds. “Did you or Mom cook breakfast? I’m starving.”

  “No,” my sister butted in. “But I did.”

  “Eeeeeee!” I screamed, turning on a twirl and barreling straight for my sister, the one that was supposed to be halfway around the world. “Howareyouhererightnow?”

  My scream brought Davis, who I just now realized was on the couch asleep, awake with a startle and a gasp.

  My mom came barreling out of the bedroom naked but for a short robe—and yes, it was obvious that her and my dad had done it—like her heels were on fire.