Lock and Key

by Cat Porter

  “Somebody’s coming.”

  Wreck didn’t answer. He increased the speed of the Chief. The muscles in my legs ached as I held onto the bike with everything I had. The powerful engine vibrated right through my jaw, my eyes, my skull.

  “Baby, baby, where you going, baby?” the voice teased.

  Butler’s Harley came up to the side of Wreck’s bike. Butler’s eyes were glowing an eerie dark violet color. Caitlyn was with him. Her long wavy blonde hair glared like neon in the black night and swept behind her like some sort of punk Lady Godiva. Her eyes flickered in that violet color, too. She had long red fingernails that were shining over Butler’s cut.

  “Baby, where you off to? I need you baby!” Butler laughed. Caitlyn licked his neck and groaned loudly as if she were having an orgasm. She shot me a smile and licked her lips with an incredibly long red tongue like some kind of freakish supernatural being.

  My stomach lurched. I tried to shout, but my voice was choked in my throat. I held on tighter to Wreck. My legs squeezed around the roaring metal.

  Butler’s bike came closer to the Chief. I tried to hide behind Wreck’s massive frame. My fists tightened and thumped against Wreck’s back to get his attention. But he didn’t react. Butler and Caitlyn laughed and suddenly receded into the darkness. Wreck disappeared, and only the groaning throttle of the Indian remained as the night swallowed me whole.

  “Grace—Grace!”

  My body shook, my skin prickled with cold sweat. My lungs strained for precious air.

  “You’re having a bad dream. You’re okay, I’m with you, it’s okay, baby,” Lock held me in his arms. He swept my matted hair from my face. I struggled to open my eyes and flinched in his arms.

  “You with me?” He planted a kiss on my forehead and swept the rest of my hair out of my face. “It was just a dream,” he whispered. “Just a dream.”

  “So real,” I said. “Freaking crazy.”

  “It’s over. It’s okay.”

  “No, it’s not.”

  “It’s over now,” he whispered.

  I turned in his arms and we spooned, his broad chest pressed into my back. His one hand went around my middle, and I reached for it and brought it under my shirt to my bare breast. I needed to feel him on my skin.

  “I was with Wreck on the back of his Indian Chief,” I said. “We were riding in the dark with no lights on, then suddenly Butler was behind us on his Harley looking like a freaky ghost, and he had a zombified Caitlyn with him. They were following us, teasing us. Wreck just kept going faster and faster in the dark, just looking straight ahead.”

  “What was that about the bike?” he asked.

  “What?”

  “You said the Indian Chief?”

  “Yes, it was the one he fixed for you,” I said. “But I haven’t seen that bike in a million years.”

  Lock’s arms tightened around me. “I have it here in the garage.”

  He swept my hair to the side and planted a kiss on the side of my neck. “Tell me about the dream.”

  “Wreck was happy,” I said. “We were riding so fast in the dark. He kept telling me to hold on. He didn’t care about the darkness, his speed, or Butler. He just kept going faster and yelling “Hold on, Sister!”

  Miller chuckled softly.

  “But Butler and Caitlyn, they were damn scary.”

  “They’re the past, babe. That’s done.”

  I rubbed over the hand that cupped my breast. “I like it when you hold me,” I whispered. He turned me back onto the sofa. His brow had knit together. His brain was churning behind those troubled eyes.

  “What is it?” I asked.

  “You still living it, Grace?”

  My eyes widened. “What?”

  “The past,” he said. “A lot just went down, and I know Butler was a part of your past.”

  “Do you think I haven’t let go?” I asked.

  “I don’t fault you for it. Being back here, it’s only natural.”

  I shook my head. “Being with Butler was suffocating. I couldn’t breathe. Yes, those old buried feelings came up, but they were like… powder. He’s so lost, just stuck. Butler’s been trying to fill the holes the pain tore inside him with a bunch of crazy stuff,” I said. “I did something different. I never let anybody too close, so I wouldn’t let those empty holes get filled by anyone or anything else, like a real home. I think I wanted to hold on to that empty somehow, not fill it, like Butler.”

  “You can’t hold on to empty.” Lock’s fingers dwelled at my throat.

  “I tried, though,” I said. “I tried very hard and trudged on. I made it an art form.”

  My fingers swept over his broad cheekbones. “I came back for Ruby, but I was scared. Scared because my sister needed me, not an empty version of me. Now Jakey needs me, and all that empty is just useless, isn’t it? Every time I’m with him, I feel that pull, that demand.”

  “It’s a good kind of demand, isn’t it?”

  “Yes, it is. It’s humbling.” My voice shook in the darkness. “I want to give that boy everything.” My heart beat quickened under his roving hand. I looked up at him. “And you know, I feel that with you, Miller Flies as Eagle LeBeau.”

  His hand stilled at the base of my throat.

  “It’s almost…”

  His lips crushed mine.

  “Yeah, that,” I breathed into his mouth. “That… just everything.” I kissed him again.

  My hands slid up over his sleek skin and the rippled muscles underneath. His breath snagged when my fingers lingered on his chest and brushed over the leather cord around his neck from which hung his beads and the arrow. There, I had confessed my darkness to him as I had done with no one else. I did not combust or go poof in a cloud of smoke. I survived, and it felt good.

  He sat up and took me in his arms, rearranging the quilt around us. We stared into the fire again. My body settled into his, my fingers dragged through his hair.

  “A brave cuts his hair off when in mourning for a loved one, doesn’t he?” I asked.

  “It’s the sign that he’s lost a part of himself.”

  “You’ve kept your hair short since Wreck died, since you were discharged?” I asked. “You still holding onto that loss?”

  He didn’t reply.

  “Lock?” I whispered. My fingers brushed his stiff jaw. “You’ve cut off your spirit all this time?”

  His head jerked down at me, his eyes flared. “I don’t need a white girl telling me…”

  I gripped his bicep. “You’re the same as me,” I said. “I’ve been floating for years, but you shouldn’t be locked down either. Not locked down in your soul and not locked into the club if that’s not what you want anymore.” My fingers dug into his bare flesh. “You should be flying with eagles.”

  The breath caught in his throat, his chest expanded, and my hand slid across the eagle’s wings branded on his skin. “I want to see you fly, Miller.” I peeked up at him from under my lashes. “I want to fly with you.”

  His eyelids sunk closed, his hands curved over my ass and pressed my body into his.

  We kissed, and it was sweet, warm, urgent. His liquid eyes melted into mine. His teeth nipped at my lips, my jaw, my earlobes, then down the sensitive skin of my throat. A shiver skittered over my flesh. His teeth sank into my shoulder.

  “Miller—” The tips of my fingers scored his back.

  “Touch me, Grace,” he said. “For God’s sake, touch me.”

  My hand went between us, and my fingers grazed the waistband of his pajama pants and tucked into them. Like me, he wasn’t wearing any underwear, and my hand immediately wrapped around his velvety smooth hardness. A deep groan escaped his lips.

  What a beautiful sound. Heat coursed through me.

  His pelvis arched up into my hand, and his erection grew and hardened under my strokes. With my other hand, I shoved the quilt out of my way, sat back and took him in my mouth. A hiss escaped his chest, and his fingers dug in my hair. My body ached
for him more intensely with every heavy breath and grunt that I wrought from him.

  The need to envelop him with affection overwhelmed me. I wanted to be his refuge. The way he’s made me feel safe and cared for. I wanted him to know that I cared about him, that he was worthy of living full and real.

  Full and real with me.

  Most of all, I needed him to know that he mattered.

  Every little thing about him matters to me.

  Ruby’s words blasted right through my heart. We had to let go of that sadness and get on with the joy. Right at this moment I only wanted to offer him more of myself.

  I released him and sat up. “I want to feel you inside me, Miller. I want you to take what you need from me.” The logs crumpled in the fire and hissed at us. The orange glow flickered over the taut angles of Miller’s face.

  He pushed me back against the pillows and shoved his pajamas down his legs as I swiped off mine. My gaze darted down the length of our bodies. I wanted to see us joined, watch his beautiful, sleek body work over mine. His tip nudged at my entrance, and my swollen flesh hummed. I hooked my leg over his hip and spread my legs wider underneath him. My hands smoothed down the bunched muscles in his lower back. I wanted all of him, as much as I could possibly get. His body pressed against mine, and his thick cock entered me slowly. My blood seemed to drain from my system and rush back through my veins all at once.

  “Oh God…” I clung to his body. I wanted to melt inside him right there in the inky darkness.

  “Grace,” Miller whispered. He pulled out slowly, paused for a gasp-filled millisecond, then sank back inside me, deeper this time. I pulsed up to meet his thrusts. He stopped, his fingers gripped my face.

  “Maybe all those other guys you fucked over the years let you take care of yourself, but not me. I’m giving this to you, Grace. I want you to know it’s me making you come.” He raised himself over me and thrust again. “Me in you,” he breathed.

  I relaxed and lifted my legs higher against his sides. “Miller…”

  He thrust deeper, faster. “You feel so good, baby. So good. Aw, Grace—”

  “Don’t stop.” I tightened my insides around him, my hands dug into his ass.

  Miller groaned. “Oh… yeah…”

  His wet skin slid over mine. I clung to him as my heart pounded through my chest and into his. I flew. His body stiffened and shuddered into me. My fingers kneaded the smooth skin of his back, and I inhaled his musk.

  “I love you, Miller,” I whispered. I took his earring in my mouth, and his arms tightened around me.

  My hand slipped between us. My fingers swirled through the fantastic mess we had made and stole over the root of his cock embedded inside me.

  That’s truth for you. That’s as real as it gets.

  “I’m not floating anymore,” I whispered against his skin.

  I stretched my limbs under the soft cotton quilt and turned my eyes from the glare of the morning sun pouring through the picture window. Miller definitely needed curtains. I sat up and smiled to myself. I could still feel his harsh and tender kisses on my skin. I pulled the henley over my head and smoothed it down over my body when a large piece of thick white sketch pad caught my eye on the floor. It was open to a charcoal sketch. Of me. Under this very quilt.

  I studied the drawing. My long hair was swept across my one arm. A faint, secret smile was etched on my lips in my sleep. The curvy lines of my throat, shoulders, arms, bare breasts stretched out across the rough paper.

  I bit my lower lip. The thought of Miller studying me and sketching me early this morning, his fingertips rubbing over the paper to create the lines of my body as I slept sent stabs of heat through me. My fingertips skimmed over the surface of the rough paper. My vision blurred.

  I flipped the page over and there was another sketch of me. This one showed my bare legs twisted in the quilt, the curve of my naked rear leading to my bare back, and one arm stretched out under my head. Simple, sensual. I turned the page. There were no more. It was a new sketch pad and had only those two drawings. I shot up off the sofa. I had to find more.

  I was hungry for a peek into Miller’s concealed artistic self. Oh, this quiet man had a secret beauty all his own hidden deep inside, and I wanted to uncover it. I wanted to know it.

  On the opposite side of the room from the construction supplies were piles of sketchbooks in a rickety pine bookshelf. I grabbed one, and my fingers flipped through the thick pages. A variety of motorcycles, skulls with plenty of accessories, phantom skeletons flying on wings, stars in a naked woman’s long hair that floated through a dark night sky, eagles, eagles, always eagles. The pages flapped to an intricately patterned butterfly in dark midnight-hued colors which took my breath away. Then a sinister landscape of hills with a grouping of three trees, the land saturated in blood red. That one over and over again. A souvenir of war, no doubt.

  My eyes widened as they searched through the treasures in my hands. Then a portrait on the last page. A Native American woman whose severe face was softened by her large dark eyes. Those were Miller’s eyes. Her long hair had been worked in a variety of rich jewel colors giving her an otherworldly quality. Colored butterflies took shape from her strands of hair and flew into the sky. She shimmered with intense color, with vibrant life.

  “Grace?”

  I gasped and swung around. Miller held a grocery bag in one hand and his keys in the other.

  “I didn’t have any coffee or much food, I went to buy some…” He stared at me. “What are you doing?”

  “I found these.” I held up the drawing pad in my hands. “They’re wonderful. I really like them.” I cleared my throat and raised the last drawing to show him. His eyes darted to the portrait in my hands and softened.

  “Is this your grandmother Kim?”

  He nodded.

  I grinned. “It’s stunning.”

  “Stunning?”

  He dropped his keys and the shopping bag on the granite countertop, peeled off his jacket carefully, and leaned his hip against the island. “Come on, Grace.”

  “It is. It’s also fantastic and magical all in one. That’s what this is.” My eyes returned to the portrait of Kim. “Fantastical. And I liked mine, too.” I gestured towards the sketches of me.

  “You did?” He smiled. “Get over here, baby.”

  Thick bubbles popped inside my chest. I loved that rough tone in his voice; the one that held a secret just for me. I scooted over to him, threw my arms around his neck and gave him my mouth. He pulled me in tightly against his chest, lifted me up, and deposited me on the kitchen island.

  “Good morning,” he murmured. His dark gaze lingered on my mouth.

  I plucked the slouchy knit cap from his head and mussed his short hair with my fingers. “Make the coffee, baby.” I grinned up at him.

  “Hmm… bossy.” He leaned down, and his tongue swiped over my lips.

  I opened the shopping bag, pulled out the bag of gourmet ground coffee and smiled. Miller spent money on good, high-end coffee.

  “Brazilian?”

  “Always. You like it?”

  “I do. It’s very smooth and rich.”

  “Scissors are in the drawer, there.” He gestured with his chin.

  I opened the drawer between my legs, found the scissors, cut the bag open, and held it out to him. “Here you go.”

  Miller took it, spooned out the coffee into the filter of his very clean, equally high-end coffee maker, flipped the top, poured in the water and hit the buttons.

  He sauntered back over to me and stretched out his arms on the counter at my sides and studied my face. My stomach dipped and that hum took over my body.

  “We’ve got a few minutes before the coffee’s ready,” he said quietly.

  “Hmm?”

  “I’ve got an idea,” he whispered hoarsely.

  He leaned in and kissed one corner of my mouth and then the other. My face heated, and I sighed. My thumb rubbed over his generous lower lip. Those sensuous
lips of his were what a few of my fantasies were made of.

  “I like you in my shirt and nothing else,” he murmured. His hands slid up my bare thighs. His nose rubbed against mine. “Come here,” he said. I nestled closer in his arms.

  He swept me up, and I let out a squeal. He chuckled as I hooked my legs around his hips. He snatched the sketchbook and a pencil from the drawer and carried me to the living room to the oversized leather armchair. My body sank into its thick softness. There was room for two on this chair. I could imagine the two of us curled up in the comfy leather island under a blanket before the fire, TV on, necking, reading, eating popcorn, napping. Very domestic.

  He pressed me against the back of the chair so I was slouched against the cushion. He pulled my legs apart and kneeled down on both knees before me.

  “I want to see you, Grace. Haven’t really had a chance yet.” His eyes were somber, wide. My breathing accelerated.

  “Take off the shirt.”

  I wriggled out of his shirt, and he took it from my hands and let it drop to the floor. I licked my suddenly dry lips. His heavy gaze swept down my body. My nipples pebbled immediately. He groaned as he cupped my breasts and kneaded them together, and then he leaned closer and kissed each one gently.

  I let out a cry, desperate to kiss him. My lips ached for his. The pads of his fingers glided over the curves of my waist, my hips. His touch was feather-light, full of reverence, yet there was possession in it. A tremor betrayed me.

  “Are you cold?” he asked.

  I shook my head. My fingernails dug into the soft leather.

  Miller’s hands pushed apart my knees. Sparks flew threw me as he lazily stroked my inner thighs. His thumbs barely caressed over the center of my own cataclysmic tornado.

  “Oh, Grace,” his husky voice pulled at my name. “So beautiful, baby.” My eyes fluttered closed. His lips nuzzled their way up my left thigh. He took my one leg and slung it over the wide arm of the chair, my other remained on the floor, and he draped my upper body at an angle against the other arm. He sat back on his haunches.