Midnight Obsession: A Midnight Riders Motorcycle Club Romance Part 4

by Olivia Thorne

  “Can you come?” I whispered as I moved atop him, back and forth, rhythmically.

  Yes, he nodded, his eyes never leaving mine.

  “Come with me,” I pleaded, breathy and overtaken with building passion.

  He nodded more vigorously, our gaze unbroken.

  “Oh God,” I whimpered as I felt my muscles tense. “Oh God – I’m coming – I’m coming – ”

  He cupped my ass in his rugged hands, and suddenly began to buck his pelvis upwards, thrusting into me. The increased pressure and sensation was almost unbearable.

  “OH GOD – ”

  “Nnnngggg – ” he grunted, then shouted, “Fuck – Fuck – FUCK – ”

  I felt him explode inside me, his cock swelling and pulsing. Jets of hot liquid tickled inside me. I thought of all that cum he had spurted on my belly, and imagined him filling me up with even more.

  “OHHHHHHHH!” I screamed, and raked my fingernails across his skin.

  “FUCK!” he roared as he pulled me violently down on top of him, crushing my breasts to his chest.

  We both moaned as our bodies shuddered with ecstasy. Then, as my waves of bliss began to subside, and I felt the pulses of his cock inside me lessen, he pulled my hair and forced my head up to look at him.

  His eyes searched mine in the shadows… and then he kissed me, tenderly, softly, like a man in love.

  I broke off the kiss first. “Jack…” I said.

  “Shh,” he whispered. “Don’t talk.”

  So we didn’t. But we did other things – kissing, caressing each other, fingers gliding sensually over cock and pussy – until, exhausted, we finally fell asleep in each other’s arms.

  46

  I woke up the next morning a little bit sore, very much sated, and happy for the first time in what seemed like forever.

  It was more than the mind-blowing sex. It was the feeling that things were right again. That Jack and I were okay.

  But when I looked over to see him next to me, he wasn’t there.

  Fear trickled into my stomach like cold water. But then I remembered the first morning after we’d slept together, and how he had made me breakfast.

  Some of my fear was replaced with hope.

  I thought more about that first morning. How I had stood there looking at the picture of Ali –

  I glanced over at the wall, but the picture was gone. There was a very conspicuous gap in the group of picture frames, with a rectangle of white wall showing through.

  All my fear came rushing back.

  I stood up and pulled the sheet off the bed, covering my naked body. Two minutes ago I would have walked openly naked around the house – but now it would have been too vulnerable. Too scary.

  I opened the bedroom door with the sheet clutched to my chest.

  There was Jack over on the couch, already dressed and putting on his boots.

  He looked up at me, his face blank.

  “I didn’t hear you getting ready,” I said.

  “I showered in the other bathroom so I wouldn’t wake you up.”

  His voice wasn’t cold, exactly. ‘Emotionless’ was more like it.

  “You could have,” I said, my heart sinking, though I tried to keep my voice light and coy. “I wouldn’t have minded. I could have even joined you.”

  He ignored the implicit invitation for more sex. “You should go get ready. It’s almost nine. We need to leave soon.”

  I stood there in the doorway, not moving.

  “What?” he asked tersely.

  “Last night didn’t mean anything to you?” I asked. I tried to keep my voice neutral, but some of the hurt seeped through.

  He was quiet for a moment, as though weighing his words. Then he said, “It was fun – but that was last night. It doesn’t change anything.”

  His face was like stone when he said it.

  Doesn’t change anything.

  “I see,” I said icily, trying to camouflage my pain with anger.

  “Go get ready.”

  I closed the door on him and made my way to the shower.

  I didn’t start crying until the water was on full blast, and I was sure he couldn’t hear.

  47

  Jack

  What the fuck was I thinking?

  Yeah, the sex had been incredible. For several hours, I forgot all about the shitstorm that was my life.

  And then this morning, when I looked over at her sleeping next to me, I remembered who had started the shitstorm in the first place.

  It was a strange sensation. Here was this gorgeous woman lying next to me in bed, her face like an angel’s, her body like a Playboy Playmate’s…

  …and then there was the memory of what she had done to me.

  I remembered what Lou had said that night two weeks ago, talking about the Midnight Riders: At least I didn’t sell them out for a piece of ass.

  He was wrong. I didn’t sell them out.

  But I had the uneasy feeling that I was close to selling myself out.

  What, we sleep together and suddenly we’re good now? It’s okay that she lied to my face – repeatedly? That she let me walk into a trap? That I lost everything because of her?

  A couple of fucks later, and it’s all supposed to be okay.

  To hell with her.

  The bitch of it was that I wanted it to be okay. I wanted to go back to the way it was. I wanted to say The slate is clean.

  But that shit wasn’t true. I couldn’t let it go that easily.

  I reminded myself that everything she’d done was because of Ali. That Fiona was only trying to get vengeance for her cousin.

  I looked over at the picture on the wall, the one Fiona had asked about after our first night together –

  Suddenly I was overwhelmed with anger. I remembered her being pissy and jealous that morning, which apparently was all just an act. A way to pump me for information and not blow her cover.

  She was even lying to me THEN. Right at the fucking beginning.

  If I’m going to be honest, though, there was another emotion under the anger – one that made me incredibly uncomfortable.

  Guilt that I’d let things go on with Ali to the point they did.

  Guilt that I hadn’t been able to stop it.

  Guilt that there were some things about that night I hadn’t told Fiona yet.

  But I didn’t want to deal with that, so I just pushed it all down and ignored it. It was easier to wallow in the anger instead.

  I got up quietly so as not to wake Fiona. I was about to walk out of the bedroom when I glanced at the picture again.

  Ali looked out at me from the photo. She was happy, radiant, alive – and draped all over a younger version of me.

  And there was her cousin, asleep in my bed.

  I felt sick to my stomach. I didn’t want both women in the same room at the same time. Yeah, I know that sounds crazy, but whatever. So I unhooked the picture and took it with me, where I stowed it in a drawer in my office desk.

  Then I took a shower and tried to wash away whatever this was I was feeling.

  Didn’t work.

  I was lacing up my boots in the den when she opened the bedroom door. She looked gorgeous as hell, with the sheet just barely covering her breasts.

  God, I wanted her so much.

  Which is exactly why I shouldn’t have gone to LA. Why I should have thought this through. Why I shouldn’t have brought her back here.

  I couldn’t stop being angry at her – but I couldn’t stop wanting her, either.

  (couldn’t stop feeling guilty about Ali

  couldn’t stop feeling guilty about what I did)

  And that was fucking with me in a major way.

  So I just went with what felt safest: not feeling anything at all.

  “I didn’t hear you getting ready,” she said, a little surprised.

  I kept my voice as even-keeled as I could. “I showered in the other bathroom so I wouldn’t wake you up.”

  “You could have,�
�� she said with a seductive little smile. “I wouldn’t have minded… I could have even joined you.”

  I thought about the water spraying down on both of us, me pressing her naked against the tiles, grabbing her wet hair, taking her from behind –

  Fuck, I wanted her so bad.

  Just get through this. Shut it off and go do the goddamn meeting and just get through this.

  “You should go get ready,” I said. “It’s almost nine. We need to leave soon.”

  As she stood there in the doorway, I could see the uncertainty and the hurt in her eyes, which killed me. And because I hated feeling that way – especially feeling like I did at the hands of somebody who’d stabbed me in the back (it’s not fair – why the fuck do I feel guilty about this?!) – I got pissed off.

  “What?” I snapped.

  “Last night didn’t mean anything to you?” she asked. She was trying to keep it together, and she was doing a good job, but I knew she was dying inside. And that fuckin’ killed me some more.

  God damn it.

  I knew I’d been acting like a dick. I knew sleeping with her and then walking out this morning was an asshole move. It was like I was trying to get back at her, like I was trying to hurt her, even though that hadn’t been on my mind when I did it.

  I didn’t want to be that guy – but I also couldn’t be the guy she wanted me to be. It wasn’t alright. We weren’t ‘all good’ now. The slate wasn’t wiped clean.

  But I wasn’t about to say any of that shit. I sure as hell wasn’t about to get all touchy-feely about it. The truth was, I’d made a mistake – both in involving her again, and in sleeping with her last night. The best thing now was just to try to get past it, and not fuck things up any more than I had.

  After all, I’d brought her back here to help me take down Lou. That part hadn’t changed.

  Better to just keep it professional.

  “It was fun – but that was last night,” I said. “It doesn’t change anything.”

  Which, of course, pissed her off monumentally.

  “I see,” she said, now in total bitch mode.

  Fuck – there was no way I was dealing with this right now.

  “Go get ready,” I said.

  Instead of arguing, she just turned around and closed the door.

  The last glimpse I had of her face, I could see her lower lip trembling.

  I closed my eyes.

  God DAMN it.

  I wanted to go after her – I wanted to say I was sorry –

  But sorry for what? Sorry for being the idiot who put myself on the line, all so she could lie to me and betray me?

  Fuck that.

  I had to let my anger and vindictiveness go, and I would… eventually. But I couldn’t right now. Maybe not for a long, long time.

  So I just had to get through this. Take down Lou, get the club back… get my life back.

  And yet…

  Things had been so good last night… so fucking good…

  But they’d been a mistake.

  The only option now was to fix that mistake and get back on course.

  Just get through it.

  Get ‘er done, and get the fuck out.

  48

  Fiona

  Jack and I rode separately to the meeting place – me in my car, him on his bike. There was no reason to, but it was obvious he didn’t want to talk, and I sure as hell didn’t want to.

  Fucking ASSHOLE.

  And me? Fucking IDIOT.

  Did I really think he was going to suddenly forgive me?

  No, the bastard was going to punish me, and punish me, and punish me. That much was obvious.

  I should have never slept with him.

  But it was SOOOO goddamn good

  I knew one thing for sure: it wasn’t happening again. He wanted to be an asshole, he could fuck his left hand.

  Just that image in my mind of him jerking off, though – his big, thick cock in his hand, stroking it up and down – got me a little wet.

  FUCK!

  I hated being so into somebody who could piss me off so bad.

  Speaking of people who could piss me off, Sid called on the ride over.

  “Didja bone?” was the very first thing he said.

  “I’m not talking about this with you, Sid,” I snapped.

  “You boned,” came his confident reply. “I KNEW I didn’t wanna stay in that house. Like bein’ around a couple ‘a cats in heat.”

  “Only girl cats go into heat.”

  “Yeah, I ain’t touchin’ that one with a ten-foot pole. HE mighta touched it with HIS pole, but – ”

  “What do you want, Sid?”

  “Just checkin’ in. You’re about to go see your guy, right?”

  “Yeah.”

  “What’re you gonna do if he arrests you?”

  I hadn’t really thought that through. “Make the best case I can for why he shouldn’t.”

  “Good luck with that one.” He said it in a tone like What a sucker.

  “Did you call me for some reason? Besides trying to make me even more nervous than I already am?”

  “Yeah, I’m workin’ on somethin’, but I can’t talk about it on the phone. Gimme a call when you get out. IF you get out.”

  “Thanks,” I snapped, then hung up on him.

  49

  Jack and I exited the highway and drove down the dirt road to the boulders. Unfortunately, nobody was there.

  I got out of my car.

  “Damn it,” Jack said as he got off his bike, looking around warily. “I knew this was a bad idea.”

  “He’s probably just behind one of the rocks, like he was last time,” I said, then called out, “Eddie, are you here?”

  “No,” said a voice I didn’t recognize.

  Before Jack and I could draw our pistols, a man came out from behind one of the giant boulders. He was mid-30’s and clean-cut. He wore jeans, a navy blue t-shirt, a bulletproof vest, and some sort of radio headset. He was also holding a semiautomatic pistol, which he pointed right at us.

  “Where’s Eddie?” I asked, my heart thudding in my chest

  He ignored my question. “Is there anybody else with you? Any backup?”

  “No – hey, could you point that gun somewhere else?”

  “No,” the man said. “You see anybody following them?”

  It took me a second to realize he was saying it into the headset, not to me and Jack.

  Apparently he got a satisfactory reply, because he said, “Okay, stay by the road and holler if you see anybody.” Then he said, “All clear, guys!”

  Two other men in bulletproof vests and headsets came out from behind the boulders, both with military-style assault rifles aimed at our chests.

  Jack was looking like he wished he’d never agreed to go along with my plan.

  The lead guy looked at me and shook his head in exasperated disgust. “You fuckin’ went and told Jack Pollari,” he said, like You have GOT to be kidding me.

  “How do you know my name?” Jack asked.

  “Oh, I know allllll about you.”

  “Jack’s what I wanted to talk to Eddie about,” I snapped.

  “That and twenty years in prison for blowing an agent’s cover?”

  “Jack can help us take down Lou.”

  The lead guy laughed. “Really. That true, Pollari? You gonna turn rat on your boys to save your own skin?”

  Jack just stared back at him in hatred.

  “Where’s Eddie?” I demanded.

  “Actually, we wanted to ask you the exact same question,” the lead guy said. “Especially you, Pollari.”

  I stared at him in horror. “Wait – what happened to Eddie?”

  “We’ll ask the questions. Now get down on your knees – slowly – and put your hands behind your head,” the lead guy ordered.

  With a couple of semi-automatic rifles at our backs, there was nothing to do but comply.

  50

  They handcuffed us first and confiscated ou
r guns and phones.

  “Planning to sweet-talk us with this?” the lead guy asked as he held up Jack’s .45.

  “Just exercising my Second Amendment rights,” Jack said, with a heavy undercurrent of Fuck you, asshole.

  “Maybe you forgot, but you gave up those rights when you went to prison. This right here?” he asked, waggling the .45. “This is another felony, asshole.”

  Jack looked at him in surprise, then at me. I could read the question in his eyes: How the fuck does this guy know my prison record?!

  Because he’s been hunting you for years, I thought, but I didn’t say it out loud.

  A white panel van drove up the dirt road. Lead Guy and his minions put bags over our heads that smelled like burlap and sweat. Then he forced me into the back of the van and chained me to a bench along the side.

  “Jack?” I called out nervously as soon as the van started.

  “I’m here,” he said, only a few feet away, his voice reassuring.

  “Shut the fuck up,” Lead Guy ordered, and we both kept quiet for the rest of the trip.

  The van drove for about 20 minutes, then finally came to a stop in some sort of gated garage. I heard the metallic door squeal and rattle down as the driver cut the engine.

  They roughly pulled us out, frog-marched us down a hallway, and led us into a room. They uncuffed one of my hands but locked the other one to a table, shoved me down onto a chair, and took off my hood.

  The first thing I saw was Jack sitting four feet to my left, his hand cuffed to the same table as me.

  “You okay?” he asked.

  I nodded, though I was terrified. “Yeah.”

  “Well, you’re not going to be for long,” a vaguely familiar voice said.

  I looked over. We were in a grey concrete room with one of those four-foot-long mirrors you see in TV shows – definitely a one-way glass for surveillance. The table and chairs were bolted to the floor so they wouldn’t move. In front of the glass mirror stood the lead guy, one of the men with the assault rifles, and somebody new: a balding man in suit pants, tie, and a white button-up shirt. He was long-faced, mid-to-late 50’s, with no discernible sense of humor. He stood with his arms crossed, looking at us like you might look at a smear of dog crap on your shoe.