by Cat Porter
Miller’s hand slid down my damp skin and stopped at my hip. “Babe, you are some kind of hungry,” he said, his breathing shallow.
“Oh?” My nerve endings still vibrated with electricity. “You were pretty enthusiastic yourself.”
“You fired me up,” he said. His fingers teased one of my nipples. “Has it been a while?” he asked.
Was I that obvious?
“Yes.”
“How long is a while?” His voice was gentle.
“Does it matter?” I closed my eyes against the tingles his fingers created.
“Tell me.” He pressed his pelvis against mine. I squirmed at the sweet pressure. My hands slid over his smooth contoured chest barely visible in the glow of light. Disappointment crept over me that I couldn’t see that tattoo.
“Grace?”
“A year… or so,” I said.
“Or so?” His eyes flashed through the shadows, his lips brushed mine.
“Hmm.” My body shifted underneath his, but he didn’t unpin his weight from me.
“Why, babe? You’re beautiful, you’re…”
I put my fingers to his lips. “Needed a vacation from the bullshit, that’s all,” I said. I didn’t want to continue in this line of conversation. His lips sucked my fingertips into his mouth, and my defensiveness melted into a puddle at his feet.
“There is plenty of bullshit out there.” He let out a sigh. “Plenty.” His tongue traced a wet trail around my nipple as his fingers caressed my other breast.
“It’s just not worth it most of the time,” I whispered. My gaze was riveted on his mouth taking in my aching breast and sucking on it. My body tightened and released to him all in one wave.
“But you took a chance on me?” The edges of his lips curled against my delicate skin.
“Yeah.” My fingers burrowed into his crop of very short hair.
“Was I worth it?” Miller rubbed my wet, aching nipple between his thumb and forefinger, then pinched it. I gasped, and my foot dug into his rear. “Did I make up for what you’ve been missing?” he asked.
I lightly smacked the firm muscles of his sublime ass and smirked. “You made a dent,” I said.
His eyes narrowed over me, and his thumb grazed my swollen lips. He didn’t laugh, smirk back at me, or return with a clever comeback. He didn’t take the bait. My ribbing, my jokes to distract and deflect from any kind of serious inquiry into me didn’t seem to work with Mr. Miller, like it always had with other men.
He remained still and studied my face, his warm fingers stretched out over my throat and around my neck. My heart thrummed in my chest. We continued to stare at each other in silence, our shallow breaths mingled.
“I’m honored,” he whispered.
I believed him.
He pulled out of me slowly and leaned over me. His mouth hovered over mine for a second, his breath warm on my skin. My fingers went to the side of his face. His lips nuzzled mine gently, then he tilted his head the other way and kissed me again, very slowly. His mouth pulled away and lingered, then it descended once more, even softer, relishing every part of my lips. His tongue finally found mine, but then he trapped my bottom lip in his teeth.
“Oh—”
“You good for another go?” he whispered.
“Hmm.” I rubbed the back of one of his long legs with my foot and savored the sensation of his body pressed against mine.
“That a yes or a no?” he asked. His warm mouth nuzzled my throat, his tongue flicked at my skin.
“Yes, yes,” I said, and he only chuckled. The sound of it deep in his chest only turned me on more without a trace of shame.
“Let me get rid of this condom first,” he said and pushed himself up. I sighed and stretched out. He licked my navel, and I let out a laugh. He peeled the used rubber off himself and tossed it in the wastebasket between the bed and the table. He quickly found another packet and ripped it open. A very motivating sound in my current state.
“Let me do it,” I said. I suddenly needed to touch his hardness, to feel it, to feel him. I sat up. Miller’s face was partly visible in the shadows. He pressed the condom into my shaky hand.
My fingers skimmed over his tense abs and wrapped around his cock. It was thick, warm, and slick with his release. My fingers stroked its hard length, and I bent over and licked around the crown. I took his thickness in my mouth and sucked from base to tip. Miller’s fingers dug through my hair, and he raised his hips higher. He hissed in air. My body jerked at the illicit sound.
“Babe, stop,” he murmured. “I want to fuck you now, want to come inside you.” His fingers found a nipple and squeezed, then released it just as quickly. A blaze of heat spiked through me. I slid the condom over his shaft and smoothed it firmly down his length.
His hand squeezed my shoulder; he pushed me back against the mattress. My eyes lifted to his searing gaze. There was hunger in those dark orbs and a steely ruthlessness. His mouth sank in between my legs, and I let out a deep moan.
He took his sweet time.
“Miller!” My back arched off the bed.
He immediately flipped me onto my knees, raised my ass, and rubbed his cock between my cheeks then slid it down where it found my needy, grateful center.
“Hold on, Grace.”
I held my breath, my fingers curled into the tangle of sheets, and he drove inside me.
My eyes came unglued in the haze of a pale halo of light around the dark curtains of the single square window in the room. I was pinned to the bed by an enormous weight, and the numbness and tingling in my limbs prickled. My insides were sore, and my skin smelled of sweat and musk. And sex.
Now it came back to me. Lots of sex. I moved in small increments, and a still-asleep Miller finally rolled off me with a slight moan and settled on his back.
I blinked at the sight of a large tattoo of a great eagle in profile. The eagle’s wings were spread across Miller’s shoulder and down his chest. I raised myself up on my elbow to get a better look. I never got to see it last night, as we had never turned on the lights. My fingers traced the outline of the majestic creature emblazoned across his tawny skin. One large wing pointed down, the other wing pointed up and its end wrapped around the back of his neck. The image was rather elegant, dignified.
Miller’s hand fluttered across his chest in response to my tickling touch. I bit my lower lip to suppress the giggle that rose in my throat. He let out a heavy sigh and twisted onto his stomach.
And then I saw it.
Ripples of pain tore through my gut.
It had to be an illusion. A cosmic joke.
But it wasn’t.
My throat constricted. That ancient, wild thing inside me shifted and cut loose. That primitive beast that had taken me years to leash and constrain shimmered before me again in all its hideous glory.
No. No. NO.
Tattooed on Miller’s back was the logo that had been forever burned into my brain, branded on my heart, and scorched onto my soul from a very young age. I struggled for air. My bleary eyes took in the familiar lines of the skull with one eye socket enlarged, and a great star glowing its devilish light from its blackened hollow. The leering skull was framed by that indelible name.
The One-Eyed Jacks Motorcycle Club, Meager, SD.
My stomach caved in as if I had been punched, my mouth went dry, and icy darts shot down my spine.
“Holy shit,” my voice broke. I clenched my jaw to stem the sour tide that rose in my throat.
“Get gone!”
My eyes widened as a voice from my past, from inside the deepest recesses of my soul, resounded in my brain and pummeled through my chest.
“Get gone now, sweetheart!”
“‘Miller,’ my ass,” I whispered to myself.
We even had the goddamn Harley conversation, and he didn’t mention he rode, or that he had a bike… nothing. He didn’t even use it to get down my pants. Now that was impressive, Mr. Miller, or whatever your road name is. I sure was easy, wasn’t
I?
I gritted my teeth. Of course, this was all my fault. As if I hadn’t known when I first laid eyes on him: Here was biker material, here was all man. This was the kind of man I hadn’t let myself get close to in years. Was the attraction so overwhelming that I kicked all my logic out the door at the sight of him? Was I so much in denial about what made me tick? Obviously, the answer to those questions was a resounding “yes.”
My eyes fell on the eagle ring on his finger. I knew I’d seen that very same ring before on someone else in the good old days. My instinct had warned me last night, but I had brushed it off in the name of hot sex. Such an idiot. I had plummeted headlong into the very thing I had wanted above all else to avoid.
I had to get out of here. I had to get away from him. I eased up off the mattress and twisted my hair into a messy knot securing it with a band.
There had been a sign at the entrance of the bar that declared “No Colors.” Any bikers who entered had to cover or remove their cuts, the leather vests they always wore with their club patches, or not wear jackets that were marked with the same identifying patches. Dead Ringer’s Roadhouse was on the main highway, plenty of riders passed through here, and no doubt the owner wanted to avoid any trouble.
Therefore Miller had himself covered up. But he was driving a cage—a vehicle, not a bike. He must have been on a run of some kind, making a delivery or a pickup somewhere under the radar. If you were in a cage you weren’t supposed to wear your cut, which was mandatory gear on your bike.
Miller had probably stopped at the bar to take a leak and a get a drink on his way home or on his way out. No, if he had time to spare to get laid he must have been on his way home to Meager. He had even pointed out his truck to me last night as we crossed through the parking lot on the way to the motel. I had actually smiled at the sight of his black GMC.
Get gone now.
I stuffed my duffel bag with the makeup, face cleanser, body lotion, deodorant, and perfume that I had scattered on the small bathroom counter. I dashed to my jeans that lay twisted on the floor and yanked them up my legs, not even bothering with looking for my missing panties. My bra poked out from under Miller’s jeans, and I snatched it up and hooked it on my back… that I couldn’t do without. I nabbed my socks and boots and shoved them on. My crumpled t-shirt reeked of last night’s indulgences. I shoved it in my bag and plucked a fresh one and stretched it over my head and through my arms.
The heel of my boot stepped on something unusually thick. My gaze darted down. A black leather vest, his cut with the club’s logo on it, was stuffed inside his black hoodie.
I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.
Part of a silver and black patch glared at me. I could barely make out the words “Road Captain.”
He had most definitely been under the radar last night. If he had only unzipped that hoodie in the bar, if I had seen the cut, I would have run like hell on the spot. But no, I had to kiss him back, I had to suck on his beautiful tongue, I had to push my tits into his chest.
Stupid.
I bit down on my trembling lip as I slowly zipped my duffel bag closed. I nabbed my car keys and the room key, slipped on my creased leather jacket, and swung my large studded suede handbag over my shoulder. My fingers gripped the door frame as I turned to take one last look at Miller. The incognito biker’s magnificent naked body lay face down on our snarled sheets.
His sleek tattooed back rose with every deep and even breath of sleep. The hard angle of his jaw jutted forward on the smashed pillow. His fingers were curled around the edges of the pillowcase. The silver eagle ring glinted in the soft light of dawn sifting through the drapes.
That gorgeous hard ass my hands couldn’t get enough of last night mocked me now. The sleek, powerful body that had held me, moved inside me, and gave me so much pleasure for hours was now only a menacing presence and left me numb.
“Get gone,” I whispered.
I carefully turned the knob and pulled opened the door. I stepped out of the room into the cold cloudiness of a day that I had dreaded dawning for a long, long time. Now it was here, and I had even more reasons to dread it.
“Grace, you made it!”
Alex, my sister’s husband of five years, took a last long drag on his cigarette and tossed it in a sand-filled can at the entrance of Rapid City Regional Hospital. The collar of his gabardine overcoat was turned up against the early morning chill in the air. He pushed back from the wall and took me in his arms.
Alex’s eyes narrowed over me. “You look like shit, Gracie.”
“Thanks, jerk.” I scowled at him. “Smoking again?”
“Insane, I know.” He raked a hand through his mussed waves of dark blonde hair. “I’ve been here most of the night.” His weary brown eyes rested on me. “What’s your excuse?” he asked.
“I’ve been driving for over two hours straight since before six this morning. And without coffee, by the way.” I put my arm through Alex’s. “How is she?”
He shrugged. “The same. Not in any pain, thank God. It’s the waiting that’s the bitch right now. For this test and that one,” he said. “They’re putting off the next round of chemo until these new test results come in. They don’t let Jake come too often. That’s ticking her off, but he’s only four. They have rules.”
“He’s staying with your aunt?”
He nodded and led me into the lobby.
“I can’t wait to see him,” I said. “So what’s the story, can I get tested today?”
“Yeah, if you don’t scare the doctor away first!” He let out a laugh.
I elbowed Alex in the chest. He threw his arm around my shoulders and pulled me into his side again. “You can tell me, Gracie. Did you go clubbing and hook up with some badass who kept you up all night?”
I crossed my arms. “Actually, I did indulge in the minibar at the motel last night, so I’ll have to schedule the testing for tomorrow.”
“Minibar?” Alex smirked.
I caught my reflection in a large mirrored memorial plaque behind Alex in the foyer. My strained eyes were slightly swollen and red with black smudges of mascara smeared under them. My face was pale, my hair had frizzed out from the knotted band. Definitely spooky. Definitely spooked.
I exhaled and let out a little laugh. “Shut it, Alexander.”
“Come on, party girl. Let’s get some caffeine in your veins, put you in front of a bathroom mirror, and I’ll find the doctor. Then we’ll see Ruby.”
“Sounds good.”
“Mrs. Quillen, your sister’s small cell lung cancer is extremely difficult to treat in general. There was some initial responsiveness to the chemo and the radiation, but not enough,” Dr. Braden said. “Some studies have shown that a bone marrow transplant may benefit the patient, but the percentages are rather low. It is a relatively new procedure and quite costly, I’m afraid.”
“I’ll be here first thing in the morning to have my blood drawn,” I said and dug the heels of my boots into the floor as I rubbed my cold fingers together. The jangling of my silver bracelets tinkled against the desk of the nurse’s station. “No matches on the national list yet?” I asked. But I knew the answer.
“No, unfortunately. You should ask anyone you know to get tested. We might get lucky that way. Every moment counts.”
My sister’s life was coming down to test tubes filled with blood and soggy swabs in plastic baggies. Tens of them so far, but still no hope in sight. I suppose I shouldn’t say no hope. Being pessimistic wouldn’t help her, or Alex, or their son, Jake. And being pessimistic wasn’t Ruby’s way. It never had been.
Out of the two of us, Ruby was the beautiful one. We had the same hazel eyes, but Ruby had a thick mane of honey-blonde hair like our mother’s. My hair was a light chestnut color like Dad’s. She was taller than me by two inches with long legs and a slim, but curvy body. I was curvy, too, but I had to work at the slim part. She was three years older than me and my best friend, always had been.
Ruby had
a great, big, loud personality that I envied and adored. I loved dancing in the glow of her brash aura. Our differences were never a source of divide between us. In fact, we cherished them. As we grew up, we found how well my quiet clicked with her loud. We needed each other. We were the opposite sides of the same coin, Mom used to say. Even she liked that about us.
However, Ruby was also the one that got us into trouble over and over again. Half the time it was fun, a lot of the time, especially as we got older, it was freaking scary. She had plenty of brazen bravery, but oftentimes crap luck. Her brain was sharp as a razor’s edge, and she was able to put a spin on at least 80% of the trouble we got into and find a loophole out.
We had a pact from our girlhood: “Love you no matter what, so just suck it up.”
By the time she got into high school, Ruby’s evenings out ended with Mom catching her sneaking back in through my bedroom window. I would clutch onto Ruby, but my mom would drag her out of my arms and into the kitchen. The slaps would crack over Ruby’s smirking face. Once, twice, three times.
“Punishment doesn’t work with you! Grounding you sure don’t work! What’s it gonna take, you good-for-nothing tramp? I’m not gonna let you take your sister with you on your little joyride to hell!” My mother’s shrill, shrieking desperation filled the house every time. I would cover my ears and slump on the floor in between my bed and the nightstand when it got really bad.
Ruby’s great big hunger for tasting life eventually got her into drugs. I had tried to dabble right alongside her, but it made me anxious, and I never enjoyed it like she did. That’s when I lost her to the rave parties and a variety of eager boy-men in their fancy trucks. Then there followed the menacing outcasts on their loud bikes who seemed to have endless supplies of pot, mushrooms, cocaine, an assortment of pills.
I went back to getting ready for college. That would be my escape from Meager. But I was always there to pick up her pieces when she needed me to. Because Ruby and I only had each other. Forever and no matter what. So we sucked it up.