Oliver (Inked Menace Motorcycle Club #2): Shapeshifting Bikers

by Hawk, Ryanne

  The squeal of children shifted his attention from his trembling mate to the human kids playing tag on the lawn. He appreciated their innocence, their unique ability to see the best in the world without the horror imposed by years of baggage and pain.

  “Do you want kids, Oliver?”

  Amara’s hand clenched in his, almost as if the words were ripped from her soul. A lump formed near his rib cage and for a long second, it was hard to breath. He measured his words before speaking.

  “Kids are great, but I have no immediate plans to raise cubs. If it happens, awesome, if it doesn’t, that’s fine too.”

  Beside him, Amara let out a long, quiet exhale. Like she was trying to bury the pain he could feel rumbling in his chest.

  “So no white picket fence, family-filled yard, and barbeques?”

  Oliver leaned back against the tree and closed his eyes, letting the sunlight bathe him in warmth, forcing out the cold shiver snaking up his spine. “I didn’t say that. However, I learned a long time ago, never plan or have expectations, because things change, people die, and curve balls happen even with the best laid intentions.”

  She blew out a breath, the air whispering across his arm, then her voice took on a hard edge. “Yeah. That’s too bloody right.”

  “What about you?” Oliver said, turning the tables and starting his own inquisition. “What do you want out of life?”

  He’d decided on the passive route to feel her out, not wanting to spook her or make those lethal claws come out. Maura was fond of telling stories of her kick-ass little sister.

  “These days I don’t know what I want, or who I am. I find I’m surviving more than living.”

  The air between their bodies thickened and he waited a moment before saying, “Tough road.”

  At her silence, Oliver opened his eyes and turned to face her dead on. She’d squeezed her eyes closed and was pressing her head so hard against the tree bark he thought she might actually poke a hole in it through sheer stubbornness. Both of his hands grasped her face before he could think better of it, and he kissed her.

  She jumped at the contact, resisting a little at first, her hands coming up to wrap around his wrists, unsure whether to pull away or claw closer. She gave up and returned his passion with the same intensity. Her arms bound around his neck, her tongue dueling with his, and he enjoyed the way she crawled forward, placing her thighs over his, scooting further until his cock almost touched her sex.

  Time lost meaning, and he was so drunk on her scent and taste, a pack of wild dogs could have been gunning for them and he wouldn’t have noticed, nor cared. His fingers dug into her meaty thighs and he tugged her closer, until she moaned and thrashed, pressing her hips, urgently.

  “Oh my gosh, would you two get a room?” a woman said from a few feet away. “There are children present. This is not a place for such activities.”

  Oliver cracked an eye and saw a stern woman wearing a form-fitting pantsuit, leather handbag, and pointy stilettos holding a hand over a small child’s eyes- the same child who was fighting to get free of his authoritarian mother.

  Amara pulled away and bit her bottom lip, the haze abating from her eyes as she measured their surroundings. She quickly glanced up, then away, and moved her body a safe distance from his, which, if he were being honest, really pissed him off, and he was about to give the cock-blocker the what for when Amara jumped to her feet and ran off into the woods without a word, or a yelp for back-up.

  Rather than waste words, Oliver shrugged and high-tailed it after his crazy woman. The tiger listened while they ran, trying to discern what had made Amara tuck and run, but Oliver heard nothing but squealing laughter, yelling, and parents yapping. He followed her scent through the woods, until he came to a small clearing where a pond was nestled inside of the thick trees. As he made it past the last line of bark onto the sandy beach, he watched, fascinated, as Amara dove head first into the water fully clothed, and it was in that moment he finally realized. She was fucking insane!

  To the left, Oliver heard shouts. The speakers getting closer, someone yelling out a name.

  Oliver scanned the surface of the water, not sure whether to stay or jump in after Amara. The palms of his hands broke out in clammy nervousness, and he’d just kicked off his boots when her head broke the surface and she had a small human clutched in her arms.

  “My baby!” a cry came from the far side of the pond where a half-dozen humans ran to the bank as Amara carried the child toward them. “My baby!” the woman cried again and sank to her knees in the sand. She had brown hair in messy tangles framing her face, and a torn dress, probably from all the pickers.

  Blood pumped inside Oliver’s chest as he walked around the water’s edge to the group of people on the other side. Amara had passed off the child to someone else, and they’d begun human CPR. Amara sat on the beach, breathing hard, her clothing and hair dripping wet. A towel was handed to her at the same time Oliver jogged to her side and sank down.

  He didn’t say anything. He stared at her, bringing a hand up to her face, then swiped a finger across her wet bottom lip. He cupped her cheek. “That was amazing, Amara.”

  It took her three tries to clear her throat enough to speak. “I hope the little one makes it.”

  A group had surrounded them, and now more shouting commenced as police officers and emergency personnel attended to the child. A uniformed man stepped in front of Oliver and Amara and said, “Ma’am? We need a statement about what happened here. Are you okay?”

  Amara took a second and used the towel to mop the water from her face, then nodded at the officer. “Yes. I’m fine. How’s the girl?”

  The man, who in Oliver’s estimation was not a day over thirty, glanced at the small form lying on the ground being worked on by a myriad of humans. His eyes were worried, but his voice didn’t waiver. “She has a weak pulse. They’re transporting her as soon as they get her stable.”

  “Good.”

  “How did you know she was in the water?”

  The inflection in the officer’s voice set Oliver’s teeth on edge. He turned to face her, away from the prying eyes of the Uniform and raised a brow. It’s true what they said about cats. Curiosity would kill them, and right then he wanted to chastise his mate and hug her at the same time.

  She looked up at the young badge from under her curtain of hair and said, “Instinct, officer. I thought I heard a cry for help and a splash, so I ran. I saw her head go down, so I jumped in.”

  A stiff pride filled Oliver’s chest. Amara had a kind heart under all that armor. Now all he had to do was worm his way under her protective shields, woo her, then claim her as his.

  Should be easy!

  8 Chapter Eight

  Once Amara was done giving her statement to the police, Oliver drove her back to the clubhouse where she’d changed clothes and donned her attire to take the train to New York City.

  “What a day,” she said to Maura, who tapped her foot in the doorway.

  “So I’ve heard. Save any kitties or doggies too?”

  Amara stopped throwing stuff into her bag and glared at her sister. “Not like I wanted to take a bloody swim today in the cold water.”

  “Oh, bless your heart.”

  “Don’t you ‘oh bless your heart me,’ you evil cow. It’s not like you would have let that little girl drown. The others either.”

  “Nah, I would have saved her too, if I could have. But the heat from the cops sucks. They’re gonna be sniffing around, asking questions.”

  “Why?”

  She shrugged. “It’s what they do. You’re a foreigner and they’re going to want to take a closer look.”

  “I hope not.”

  “Yeah, me too.”

  “Well it’s not like I can go back in time, so…” She let the sentence trail off and slammed her feet into her tall boots. She wore black jeans, a studded leather belt, red v-neck t-shirt, and had braided her hair off her face. “Okay, I’m ready.”

 
“For a night on the town, yeah.”

  “What?” Amara glanced down. She was comfortable, and wasn’t that point of travel?

  “Nothing. Thankfully there’re all sorts of…weird people in New York City, so no one will pay us any mind.”

  Those words made Amara clench her fists and punch her sister in the arm. “I suppose what you have on is better?” She eyeballed her sister’s breezy skirt and fitted shirt with matching cardigan. She had brown leather sandals on. Sandals!

  “Hell no, but,” she leaned in closer, forcing her sister to meet her halfway in a conspiratorial manner, “it’s much easier access for fucking on a train.”

  At that, Amara laughed and looped her arm through her sister’s, then tugged her down the hall toward the front door, sort of wishing she’d worn a skirt too.

  The men whistled as they walked out of the door into the cool evening air. Amara slung her leather jacket over her arm and tugged her purse up her shoulder as Oliver walked closer and gave her a once over.

  “You look delicious,” he said.

  “Thanks, you clean up nice as well.”

  And he did. He wore dark jeans, faded leather boots, a solid leather belt, a distressed, painted on t-shirt, and carried a black nylon windbreaker. “What, no leather without colors?” Amara said, glancing at the jacket.

  He gave her a boyish grin, barely showing his teeth, which accentuated his cheek bones. “I’ve got plenty, sweetheart, don’t you worry about that.” His hair was tied back in a low ponytail, and his streaked locks now reached the middle of his back.

  She shook her head to clear the thoughts of running her fingers through those colors. Hammer leaned against his bike and wagged his brows at her sister, who made a show of exaggerating her hips as she walked toward him and stepped between his open legs.

  “God, do they ever quit with the PDA?”

  “Hmm?” Oliver said and closed his eyes for a second before opening them and staring at her with those wicked blues. “You say something?”

  “I think we’ve all gone mad,” she said and walked to her bike, which someone, most likely a prospect, had cleaned, shined, and fixed during the day. “Maura,” she called, and waited for her sister to answer.

  “What?”

  “How the bloody hell are you going to ride in a damn skirt without looking like a tool?”

  In answer, her sister pulled out a pair of slinky black leggings from her mammoth purse and slid them on under her skirt, then tugged the fabric down and stepped out. “There,” she said and did a cat-walk turn. “Happy?” She shoved her skirt into her bag, then placed her purse in her saddlebag.

  “Do you two always bicker like this?” Oliver said and slid a leg over his bike and donned his helmet.

  “No, not all the time.” Sometimes we sleep, she thought.

  “Most of the time?”

  Amara chuckled, put on her helmet, and slid onto the bike and pushed up the stand. The bike purred to life beneath her and at the rumble between her thighs, she instantly regretted not having an orgasm in over three days. The ache only intensified as they drove in pairs to the train station, Maura and Hammer leading the way, and Oliver grinning like the Cheshire cat next to her, like he knew her secret torment.

  Amara had never been on an American train, and she wasn’t too impressed. The food cart was abysmal, but her rolling stomach wasn’t lending itself much to food anyway, and her sister and Patrick kept making trips to the bathroom…together.

  “Seriously. What are they? Rabbits or fucking lions.”

  “Sounds like you’re jealous,” Oliver whispered in her ear and ran a hand up her thigh. They were seated and alone in the car. Not many travelers at that time of night.

  “Why did we change plans?”

  His hand crept further up her leg and he gently brushed the pads of his fingers over her jeans in small circular motions, angling closer to her sex. Amara held her breath once he was an inch away and waited for him to touch her, her pussy throbbing with desire, and just being near him set her panties on fire.

  “Didn’t want to leave the bikes unmanned overnight in the city. One of the prospects drove the cage and will park in a garage close to the lab, then he’ll take the train home tonight.”

  Amara didn’t like being kept out of the loop, but she supposed her ordeal that afternoon didn’t leave much room for hashing out recon plans. She’d spent most of it talking with police, and then waited at the hospital to see if the little girl would make it.

  “Where’s your head right now?”

  It took a moment for his words to resonate, and it was then she noticed his hand had stopped its slow perusal of her leg. She waved her hand. “At the hospital, thinking about the day.”

  “Here, let me take the edge off for you,” he said and licked her ear lobe with his sinfully decadent tongue. He didn’t give her time to answer or think.

  The world melted away until the only thing Amara was aware of was the scent of her arousal mixed with Oliver’s earthy aroma and the firm pressure from his hand pressing against the nub of her jeans. If her body had an axis, she’d be tilted sideways, awash in pleasure and basking in the glow of sensual bliss.

  Words floated through the erotic haze. “…Can’t wait to get my cock nestled into this tight pussy and have my mouth lapping your juices as you scream my name. Damn, I want you so bad.”

  He rubbed two fingers hard and fast over her pants, the friction causing delicious sparks to shoot from her sex to her toes and back up to her brain.

  In the distance she heard laughter, voices, the clinking of glasses, but nothing deterred her focus on climbing higher and higher toward the ultimate goal of desire. Oliver bit her neck, pressed his entire palm firm against her pussy, and stars broke across her closed eyes as wave after wave of pleasure stole her breath and made sound cease.

  Gooseflesh broke through her skin as his rough breathing tickled her arm and the side of her face. On instinct she turned her face, opened her mouth, and met his warm lips with long, slow licks. Her hands moved of their own accord, roaming over his muscular chest and lower, down into the waistband of his jeans. She tugged his belt away from his abdomen so she could slide her hands down further, and she stroked his erection over his boxers and smiled when he groaned and lifted his hips.

  “God, my skin is on fire. Touch me, woman.”

  The gravelly tone made her insides clench. Amara shifted his boxers to free his cock, the skin rigid and soft, and she grasped his thick length and started to caress up and down in time with her tongue dancing in and out of his mouth.

  “For the love of…” Amara heard her sister say. “There’s a bathroom right over there for this level of…”

  Amara refused to open her eyes or still her hands, and Oliver showed no sign of wanting her to stop, not if his rapid hip shifting was any indication.

  “Are you even listening to me?”

  The scuff of feet moving closer popped onto Amara’s radar, but she ignored her sister. Now was just not the time.

  Maura said in a furious whisper, “There are people here. For fuck’s sake, Amara, use your head!”

  Amara broke free of Oliver’s sinful mouth and looked up and to the right at her sister. “I’m in the process of giving a rather good hand job, so sod off.”

  In the seat diagonally across from them, Hammer shook his head and laughed, a lightness to his face that came from, well, coming. Something the man beneath her hand needed just as badly. If she were wise, she’d take him to the bathroom and shag him rotten, but that required… more, and this was what she was willingly offering.

  Hammer reached and snagged her sister’s hand. “Come here, Maura. Leave ‘em alone.”

  “Fine,” she hissed, raising a fist and shaking it in their direction, then retreated, leaving Amara and Oliver to their indecent debauchery.

  Oliver cupped her face and slid his large hands to the back of her head. He stared into her eyes and she lost all her remaining common sense. She glanced do
wn and bit the inside of her cheek. It was late, and she wanted to feel. So she unzipped his jeans while staring back into his eyes, sprung his impressive cock free from its cotton restraint, then lowered her face to slip his dick into her mouth.

  His hands clenched her hair, his nails digging into her scalp as she worked him hard and fast, just like he’d done to her. She hallowed her cheeks and sucked, then took him down her throat, thwarting the gag reflex by breathing through her nose and loosening her jaw. As she bobbed up and down, his incoherent grunts and moans of pleasure were music to her ears.

  “I’m gonna come, baby. So close,” he groaned, and slammed his head back against the seat, his hips moving of their own accord, the veins of his forearms popping with exertion.

  Amara maneuvered her hand to cup his balls, where she stroked and fondled in time with her sucking. Oliver stilled, then a torrent of curses and prayers spilled from his lips as he came in jets flowing down her throat in warm spurts. Amara swallowed every last drop, milking him dry and leaving him wet and sated.

  She pulled up, and Oliver grabbed her face and kissed her, the violent passion gone, replaced by tenderness. “That was amazing. Best blow job ever.”

  A smile hit Amara’s face as his words made her beam with happiness. “You weren’t too bad yourself,” she said as he put his cock away and zipped his jeans, then stretched his legs out in front of him.

  She rested her head on his shoulder for a time, then caught her sister’s disgruntled look across the way. Amara nudged Oliver and they both stuck their tongues out at her at the same time, causing her to shake her head and groan in disgust.

  Oliver and Amara giggled like teenagers who’d just been caught by their parents and weren’t sure whether to laugh or bolt.