He leads me downtown. It’s not big, a few shops lining the main street mostly. Edmond Hill only has 3642 inhabitants - I saw that on the sign welcoming me when Mick towed my car. It seems like a nice little town. Clean. On the quiet side.
Except for the sound of his bike. He rides rather carefully but it might also be because I’m supposed to follow him, and the look he gave Bertha as I climbed behind the wheel was anything but trusting.
As I park my car in front of a diner, I once again wonder what the hell I’m doing here. I barely took the time to spray some deo, brush my hair and reapply a little bit of makeup, and I’m about to go on a date wearing some of my oldest jeans because that’s what I changed into when I made it back to the motel.
They do make my butt look good though, so I guess there is that.
Apa is patiently waiting for me as I struggle with my decision to follow him. But it’s not like he could attack me in the middle of a restaurant, right? Not to mention, I haven’t had dinner yet and I’m starving. We could have both ended up here. The hostess could have put us at the same table. It’s still not that crazy.
With a deep breath, I finally get out of my car.
“Didn’t change your mind?” he asks as he climbs off his bike.
“It was a close call. I don’t usually do this. The whole go on a date with a guy I know nothing about.”
“That’s not true. You know my name.”
“That’s not your real name, though, is it?”
He looks at me as he opens the diner door to let me through - a gentleman biker, I didn’t even know they existed. “No, it’s not. But if you ask about a guy named Apa, I promise you everyone will know who you’re talking about.”
“Great. You have a reputation.”
He leans in to whisper in my ear as he follows me inside. “It’s a well-deserved one, too.”
I manage to not trip over my feet at the quiet promise in his voice, but it’s a close call. Combined with his hand on the small of my back, it makes me wonder how my mother is gonna react when the coroner tells her that the cause of my death was self-combusting panties.
Chapter 3
Apa
This girl is something else.
I didn’t even notice her at first at The Hoose. I usually pay attention to my surroundings, but I also know that I can let my guard down here. It’s our territory, our hometown. No one would ever be stupid enough to try something on our turf.
I saw her when she was playing with her phone, and I have to admit that I didn’t expect her to have the balls to take a picture of me. Just like that. I know chicks like me. I use that to my advantage, too. Never been lonely ever since I’ve hit puberty. But that? That was a first. She knew she had been caught red-handed but that didn’t stop her. I dig that. She’s ballsy.
When I got back to the clubhouse, I walked right in on Spike, one of our prospects, telling everyone about the hot chick Mick had brought to the workshop. The description matched the very little I saw of the girl - I mean as soon as that flash went off, she ran out of the bar so fast I didn’t even have the time to finish my beer and go after her. I could have caught her on the parking lot, I guess, but that was a fine beer, ice cold just the way I like them. Priorities and all that, you know.
So, the cute brunette’s car was getting fixed in the workshop I co-own. And she had also told Mick the story of her life, apparently. She was on her way to a wedding in Sonoma county. A bridesmaid, I kid you not. She seemed more enthusiastic about the inn than the newlyweds and raved about the gardens and the vineyards surrounding the historical estate.
You might wonder why that bit of information seems important to me.
Normally, it wouldn’t.
Except I’m heading to the same damn wedding myself. And I’ve had a feud with Todd since we were kids.
The douche is my little brother and he fucked my girlfriend when I was in Afghanistan.
And yes, it’s the bride-to-be. Fine, we only went on a few dates together. Still. There is a code. You don’t go after another man’s woman. Especially not if it’s your brother. And definitely not when he’s being deployed.
It turned out alright for me in the end because I joined the club almost as soon as I came back. And believe me, having a girlfriend when you just joined a clubhouse is the stupidest thing to do.
Free. Pussy. Anywhere, anytime.
I love my life. I’ve been part of the Last Sinners for more than five years now, and I wouldn’t have it any other way. We make good money, and a big chunk of it is legit. We get the best of both worlds, ultimate freedom and, even though we sometimes step over the line, it’s been a while since we last had troubles with the cops. Despite that, I still have that forbidden aura that makes the good girls go bad, even if just for a night.
Abby is the definition of a good girl. Right now, she is sitting opposite me in a small booth, all fidgety and tearing up an innocent napkin. She keeps glancing at the door as if she is still not convinced she is going to stay long enough to order a burger.
She might not be sure, but I am.
It’s not that I hold a grudge, but sleeping with one of the bridesmaids right before Todd and Cassie’s wedding? That’s as close to payback as I’ll ever care to get. Cassie still looks at me with bedroom eyes whenever we cross paths - which is not often except for the occasional family dinner I really can’t escape. Todd always seems to boast that he stole my girl, even though Cassie and I would have never lasted. The girl is hot, but she is also a pain in the ass once you get to know her a little more. All things considered, Todd and Cassie make a good pair and probably deserve the life of bitterness ahead of them. Me? Well… I’ll make a show of how I fucked the bridesmaid in a way the bride only wishes she’ll get fucked on her wedding night.
And the bridesmaid is cute as hell, so it’s not like it’s a hardship. Long, thick brown hair. It’s luscious and shiny and I know it will look fucking amazing wrapped around my wrist when I take her doggy-style. Her eyes are green, a clear green with a hint of gray around the pupil, which I only notice thanks to the unnaturally bright lighting of the diner. She is curvy, and those jeans hug her ass perfectly. Her tits seem like more than a handful, which suits me just fine. Even her voice is nice. Soft, sweet, and I can’t wait to hear her panting my name. Because even though she doesn’t like my nickname, I can guarantee you she will love the reason I got it before the night is over.
This whole getting back at my brother and his fiancée might be childish but fucking Abby is going to be rated R, I’m telling you.
***
Abby
Normally, on a date, I would order a salad. Maybe grilled chicken and vegetables. You know, something nice, proper, responsible. But this guy is clearly not boyfriend material, so who cares.
That being said, I should have thought twice about ordering a corn dog. Because the way he is looking at me right now is making me feel things I have never felt while having dinner. I was nervous at first, but the restaurant is half full and, with people around me, I find myself relaxing. I’m just sharing a meal with a good-looking guy who also happens to wear a biker vest. He’s nice, too. He tells me about his club, and I almost choke on my water when I find out they are named the Last Sinners. With the way he looks, it’s a little too spot on in my opinion.
“You’re a baker?” he repeats in surprise when I tell him my occupation. “The club would love you. We don’t have a lot of good cooks.”
“Ha. I’ll send you my resume if I ever get tired of being self-employed. And you, what do you do for a living?” I pale then. Because maybe if he tells me, he’ll have to kill me. What if he deals with drugs and weapons or human trafficking?
“I told you. I co-own the workshop,” he says without a hint of sarcasm. Yet, I can see it’s his usual cover story. Not that I really want to know the truth.
I bob my head, understanding it’s better if we don’t talk about his job at all.
“So why did you take my picture?” he
asks as we finish our entrées.
I groan. “Girl code.”
“Girl code?”
“Yes. I never met a biker who was… you know.”
He gives me a shit-eating grin that tells me that even though he probably knows what I mean, he also won’t let me get away with not saying it.
Asshole.
“Actually, no, I don’t,” he lies smoothly.
I cock my head to the side. “Bikers normally have long hair, a bushy beard, and ratty clothes. Seeing you was like spotting a unicorn. I had to take a picture for proof.”
He laughs, and it lights up his face. A few crinkles at the corners of his eyes soften them. “I’ve never been called that before, I have to admit.”
“There is a first time for everything.”
“Yes. There is,” he agrees, his teeth digging into his lower lip, his tongue following to soothe the bite.
My thighs clench.
I can’t help it, it’s like a Pavlovian reflex I wasn’t aware I had. I’m picturing him licking other things, and I wonder if there is a chance I might actually get a shot at being the object of said licking.
I’m not even picky. I’ll let him choose the spot.
“Since we’re all about questions… why did you ask me out?”
It seems to catch him a little off guard, and I mentally high-five myself. He doesn’t look like the kind of guy who gets surprised easily.
“You’re hot, you seemed interested enough at The Hoose, and I was hungry. It seemed like a good idea.”
“I’m not staying around, though. I literally would have never ended up here if Bertha had been more cooperative.”
He sits back against the booth, his fingers tapping the bottle of beer he had with his burger. “Doll, that only makes you more appealing.”
At least he’s honest. “So, you’re expecting a one-night stand or something?”
“Are you?”
Am I? Sure, it’s a nice fantasy. But am I really the kind of girl who can just go all the way with a man she barely knows? I’m not the most confident in the bedroom department. Not that I’m a prude either. Just that sex requires a certain intimacy, and it’s hard for me to be comfortable when I don’t know the other person that well.
“I’m usually a three-date kind of girl,” I admit. “Or even four or five.”
Maybe I’ve been dating the wrong kind of man, though. I’m not sure I could hold back for three dates with Apa.
“Do you guys want anything else?” the waitress asks as she clears our table. It’s not the same one who brought our food. This one is probably a few years younger than me, and she is eating Apa up like he’s the last meal she’ll ever have.
I’d like to say she’s a bitch, but I probably look at him the same way so I’m not judging.
“You know me. That always depends on the lady,” Apa says, giving me a wink.
She giggles and playfully slaps his shoulder, and I want to gouge her eyes out with my fork. Because it’s pretty obvious these two know each other. And well.
It’s rude, right? You don’t flirt with a guy when he’s on a date. You just don’t. Even if it might not be a real date. She doesn’t know that.
“I think we’re good,” I say a little more sharply than I intended.
I grab my wallet from my purse when she gives us the check, and I’m honestly a little surprised when Apa glares at me and shakes his head. It’s nice to be invited, especially since he really doesn’t know me at all, and I kinda made it clear that I might not be interested in what he has to offer.
The night is still warm when we leave the restaurant. It might be October, but central California doesn’t really know cold temperatures.
I should head back to my car, thank him for the food, and go back to my motel room.
I really should.
I’m almost there, my keys in my hand, and I can feel Apa is waiting for me to make up my mind. He is straddling his bike, his eyes on me. His thighs are strong and thick underneath his jeans, and my fingers are literally itching with the need to stroke the muscles there.
“Does the offer still stand?” I find myself asking.
That slow smirk of his stretches his lips. He nods.
And that’s how it all starts.
Chapter 4
Abby
It’s not as awesome as I first thought.
I’ve never been on a bike before, something I only remember when I’m less than two feet away from him. He stood up as soon as I started to walk and retrieved a helmet from his saddle bag, handing it to me wordlessly. He didn’t wear it on our way to the diner, but I like the fact that he worries about my safety a little more than about his own. I like my men cocky, I don’t like them arrogant. He might not feel the need to wear a helmet, trusting his own skills and abilities to ride, but he still won’t take the chance with a passenger.
There really is more to him than meets the eye.
“I’ve never done this before,” I say with a wince as I hold the helmet between my hands.
“I’ll be gentle,” he promises in a low voice, and I’m suddenly assaulted by images of him kneeling between my legs and stroking a long, thick-
Stop. We already decided he has a small dick, remember?
He helps me adjust the helmet, leaning in close enough to allow me to breathe him in, and of course he smells good, like soap, fresh air, and a hint of warm spice that I can’t place right away.
“There you go,” he says once it’s done. He sits on the bike and backs it out of its spot, using his feet to guide it. I follow like a little duckie follows its mother and wait for more instructions. “Hold my shoulder, flip your leg over it. Rest your feet on the small pegs and don’t move them. The pipes can get really hot.”
I take a deep breath then swing my leg over the bike, using his shoulder for leverage. I sit down, a little stiff. It’s a struggle to trust my balance because those pegs are tiny, and I feel like I’m gonna tip over.
“Arms around me.”
Oh, yes, please. I rest my hands on his waist, but he grabs them and pulls until they’re snug around him. It makes me slide across the small space behind him until I’m completely plastered against his back and I can’t help it, my head leans to the side until I can get a good sniff from his neck. Cinnamon. That’s the spice I couldn’t place. Maybe he likes cinnamon gum? Or he had a cinnamon roll earlier and a crumb fell or… or I don’t really care, honestly. What I care about is how it makes me want to sink my teeth into his flesh.
He explains how I should just follow his lead, and he’s not going to go fast anyway, but all I can think about is that I’m about to go on a ride with a hot biker, and I must have done something really good in another life.
“Ready?” he asks, and I barely have the time to answer that the engine is roaring to life and woah there… it’s vibrating.
As in… right there, between my legs.
He keeps his promise. I can sense he is being careful as we ride down the street. I should be slapping myself for accepting to ride with a guy I barely know, but I kinda trust him. Also, I told him I sent a text to my best friend and she already has his picture. I’m not that reckless. I’m nervous because I feel like I’m going to fall at the slightest bump and my grip on him is tight - probably too tight to be comfortable for him but I can’t seem to relax my hands. He doesn’t say anything though, and even if we stay well within the city limits, he also takes so many turns and detours I’m not sure how far we are from the restaurant.
Eventually, I relax. I find my balance, I learn to read his body language, and I copy his movements the best I can.
And then it gets awesome. Once I stop worrying, I can focus on the good stuff. Yes, the purring of the engine is… really nice. Having him between my thighs is great too, even though I’d probably prefer if we were face-to-face, but let’s not get greedy. My palms flatten on his stomach, which is hard and promising. The six-pack is most definitely there. The wind is blowing in my face and my ha
ir, and I find myself grinning. This is fun. This is really fun.
He seems to sense the shift in my behavior and speeds up a little. I shift behind him, my legs tightening their hold on him, but I’m not scared. The wind hits us stronger now, and it’s awesome.
When he stops at a crossroad, he rests his feet on the ground to keep our balance and I find myself trusting him enough to not instinctively try to do the same. His hand seeks my thigh and he gives it a good squeeze. Nothing crass, just a reassuring pat. “Do you want to continue?”
“Yes,” I find myself replying, knowing he’s probably going to go faster. I’m actually looking forward to it.
He nods and when the light is green, we take off once again.
He does speed up once we’re past the city limits, and the purring under me hikes up in volume too. It’s really starting to get to me now. His body is warm against me, especially compared to the refreshing wind that meets us on the empty road. I want to slip my hands under his T-shirt and stroke his stomach. I want to palm him through his jeans, and I’m getting turned on so fast I soon stop caring about his small dick. I’m so fired up, I won’t need much anyway. Because this, this exhilaration I’m feeling, almost as if I’m another person, is extremely liberating. Abigail Jones never went on a ride with a man she barely knows. But this girl does, and she’s having the time of her life.
It’s also worth mentioning I haven’t had sex in almost a year. This is the closest I have been to a male body in forever, and my lady bits are painfully aware of it.
I don’t know how long we ride but at some point, I start writhing on the seat. Not a lot, not even consciously, but my body needs contact. It needs friction, and it’s going after it. The vibrations between my thighs aren’t helping, and I’m pretty sure I’m already wet.
We stop at an intersection, even though there doesn’t seem to be a car in sight, and Apa’s hand is suddenly on mine. He rubs it gently, chasing the cold away then slowly, leisurely, slips it lower. At first, I think he wants me to slip it under his T-shirt to keep it warm, but it’s soon obvious it’s not what he has in mind when we move past his belt buckle. I feel his sigh when my hand covers the bulge of his zipper, his back pressing into me, his hips lifting slightly up.
Wild Side Page 2