Devil May Care (Four Horsemen MC Book 4)

by Rayne, Cynthia

  She hesitated for the briefest moment, watching him. Fuck, if she didn’t make him hard from just looking at her. He hadn’t gotten the privilege of touchin’ yet, but he hoped that all changed this evening.

  Tonight, she’d dressed up. She wore a green sweater that matched her eyes and a blue and green quilted skirt. Evidently, hauling around all those cases of liquor gave her a good workout. God, she still had fucking spectacular legs, muscular calves, and slim ankles. If he had a choice, he’d get his name tattooed on the back of one of her calves. As soon as he took her to the doctor, to get Joker’s name removed from her wrist.

  And, fuck me, she wore high heels, too.

  “I haven’t been for a ride in twenty years,” she said, pushing a stray strand of hair behind her ear.

  “Then I’d say you're due.”

  Eddie smoothed her skirt. “Is that outfit okay?”

  “Why not?”

  She glanced at the bike doubtfully. “I might burn my thighs on the pipes.”

  Motorcycles ran hot and if you weren’t careful, you could get a nasty burn pretty damn quick. He should know. The first month he’d ridden, he’d gotten scorched a half dozen times until he learned to be more careful.

  “We’ll be real cautious.” Fuck, he needed those long legs of hers wrapped around him, wanted her to hold on to him. He was starved for her touch. Captain winked at her. “And if you get a burn on your thighs, darlin’, I promise to kiss them better.”

  Her mouth parted a moment, and his cock jumped in his pants. Then, she licked her lips and gave him a sassy smirk. “You wish.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  They stood on either side of his Harley Night Rod Special. She was a real beauty. He’d gone with the jade color and she shined up like a new penny. He’d given her an extra coat of wax today to make sure she looked her best.

  He’d gotten her a few weeks ago and he fucking loved the machine. To mark the occasion, Goat had given him a brand new gremlin bell for his ride. It was a small silver bell that read: Never Ride Faster than your Angel can Fly.

  Bikers believed evil spirits or gremlins would grab onto your bike, especially when you went out on a long run. They caused mechanical malfunctions, potholes out of nowhere, and other shit that ruined a perfectly good outing.

  It was a tradition to get a gremlin bell whenever you got a new bike. According to legend, the little fuckers would be trapped in the bell and be driven insane by the constant ringing, which caused them to drop off your motorcycle.

  Captain wished it would be so easy to get rid of Joker. That was one bad spirt he wanted to exorcise real personal like.

  He’d planned an outing this time, to get her away from her home and all those old memories. Hopefully, it would put her at ease, make Eddie more receptive to his advances.

  He grabbed an extra brain bucket from the saddlebags and handed it to her. She placed it on her head and he fastened his own helmet.

  Then, he straddled the bike and started her up. She purred like a panther and he held out a hand to Eddie, to help her climb on. She stood staring at him with the most curious expression. “Aren’t you gonna ask?”

  His cock kicked in his jeans again. “For your panties?” It had been on the tip of his tongue, but he’d thought better of it. He didn’t want to press his fucking luck, especially with her.

  “Yes, it’s tradition if my memory serves. One I haven’t participated in for years.”

  “Then, by all means, please give me your panties.” He extended his palm to her.

  Thank you, Jesus. Christmas came fuckin’ early this year.

  She was going to be wrapped around him not wearing any drawers. Temptation could be such a bitch. Hadn’t he sworn to take this slow and easy? To ease her into this?

  Right now, that all sounded like a stupid fucking plan.

  Eddie reached beneath her skirt, and quickly slipped them off, before tossing them to him. She wore a pair of satin panties. They weren’t the newfangled kind, not a thong or even bikini cut. Just lacy panties, and they were still warm.

  Oh fuck me.

  Captain had the urge to smell them, but kept his shit together. He didn’t want to come off like some kind of perv on their date. He tucked them into the pocket of his cut instead.

  “We should be going,” he said hoarsely and she nodded. Then, he steadied her as she eased onto the bike. She wrapped her arms around his waist, placed her head on his shoulder, and placed those thighs on either side of him.

  Oh, fuck me. This was gonna be a long, hard ride.

  “I’m ready.”

  Captain lit out of the parking lot, with Eddie clinging to his shoulders. He took them on a long, slow pass through town. Then, opened her up at the city limits, and the thunder headers boomed beneath them. Fuck, he loved controlling a motorcycle, the way machine and man merged into one powerful being. Nothing in the world, but the wide open road, and the woman on his bike.

  He took her to the bluff beyond the city limits, overlooking the town. From the apex, Hell was just some twinkling lights. In the distance, he could see the Smoke Desert, but he averted his gaze, focused on the beauty instead. You could see for miles, even by the light of the moon.

  She perched on one of the big boulders, rubbing her hands up and down her legs to keep warm. “Damn, I forgot what that felt like.” Her eyes were bright, her hair windblown. She looked fucking gorgeous, bathed in that silver glow.

  She glanced down at their town, shining in the distance. “I haven’t been up here in years. I forgot how pretty the view could be.

  “I agree,” he said, but he stared at her, not the scenery. “And did you get a burn on those luscious thighs of yours?”

  They locked eyes and she shook her head.

  “Well, I’d better check to make sure.”

  Next thing he knew, he was on his knees in front of her, reaching beneath her skirt. And fuck, she didn’t stop him, just watched him as he slowly slid it up her legs.

  Ah, she was old school.

  Beneath the skirt, was a pair of thigh highs, and garters. If it was possible, he got even fucking harder. He knew if he pushed the material up further, she’d be completely bare. But for now, he bided his time, and focused on the glory revealed to him.

  Damn, he had a thing for a woman in garters. Nothing sexier. He couldn’t help but slide his hands up and down her scrumptious legs, feeling every silky inch of them. He loved the way she looked in hose, and the way they felt against his skin.

  He wanted to wrap those legs around his hips, just before he slid into her.

  Captain couldn’t hold back anymore, he kissed her, right where the edge of her thigh highs ended and her smooth flesh continued on.

  She made a jagged, needy sound. But didn’t stop him. Thank God.

  He continued on, pressing kisses to her thighs, inching the skirt up. He got higher and higher until the fucking Promised Land was in sight. No panties, just a warm, wet pussy. She hadn’t shaved or waxed, either, only trimmed it a bit.

  Come to Poppa. He hadn’t seen full bush since the seventies and it fucking turned him on. He loved when a woman actually looked like a full-grown woman. And that meant hips, thighs, breasts, and yeah…. some hair.

  Trying his luck, he pressed his palm against her, letting her rock into his hand. And she did, making these sexy noises. God, he needed to have his cock in her when she moaned like that. With a roar, he hoisted her up in his arms, moving her further back on the rock, splaying her legs further apart.

  She was fucking beautiful, spread out in front of him. Every inch of her stunning.

  “Captain,” she murmured, sliding her palms down the face of the rock, then tugged at her skirt. “I’m not like one of those young girls. I have wrinkles and age spots. I’m—”

  “Incredible?” he asked. He didn’t have a fucking clue what flaws she was jawing about. He’d waited decades to be where he was at the moment and she’d surpassed every fantasy already.

  Thankfully
, she stopped trying to cover herself and leaned back on her elbows and let him look his fill.

  “Are you sure?” he asked. He wanted this to be good for her, good for both of them.

  “I’m not ready to…”

  He met her eyes. “Let me make love to you?”

  Captain understood. He wanted to be inside her, more than anything. Needed to fuck her in a very primal, demanding way, but he would take whatever she gave him for the moment. And be grateful.

  Hopefully, soon she’d have some mercy on him.

  “I know I’m not him.” He refused to say Joker’s fucking name out loud. He hated that fucker, but he didn’t need to share his opinion with her. “But I’m standing right here in front of you. I’m a flesh and blood man. Not a ghost or a memory. I’m real and I want you more than you could possibly know.”

  She sat up and ran her fingertips along his jaw. “I know it’s you, Captain. You and no one else. I wouldn’t want to be here with anyone else at the moment.”

  And that’s when the rails came off of this thing.

  He thought he’d be all smooth and shit, talk her into letting him touch her. Taste her. But fuck. He’d waited so long, wanted her so much, that all this romantic shit started to tumble out of his mouth. Like he’d lost his fucking mind.

  “You move me, Eddie. You make my heart pound. You steal my breath.” Right now, he thought his lungs might burst right outta his chest, horror movie style. “I get fucking goosebumps just thinking about you. And I’m always thinking about you. You make my hands shake.”

  He held a hand up so she could watch it spasm. “I know it in my gut. I burn for you. I was born for you. I’m yours.”

  He meant every fucking word.

  “And you’re mine, if you’ll have me.”

  She didn’t say a word, but she didn’t protest either.

  Then, he bent to taste her, tonguing her wetness. He had to coax her at first. It had been a while, he knew. But she tasted so salty, sweet, and so fucking fine. He put his fingers to work too, tracing her lips, her clit, rubbing deep into the heart of her.

  She gasped in response, moaning as her hips moved, and he felt like fucking crowing. She was wet, she wanted him. Needed him, too.

  This was working. He could feel it.

  He lapped at her and her legs came to rest on his shoulders. Then, he devoured her. Fucking her with his tongue, teasing her clit with licks and gentle nips. Finally, he sucked the little nub, grazing it with his teeth, before he pushed two fingers inside her. He kept her on the edge until she keened beneath him, thighs shaking.

  Coming for him. For him. No one else.

  And yes, it was loud. Louder than she’d been for that bastard Joker all those years ago.

  He wiped his mouth on the bottom of his Clash t-shirt and then joined her on the rock. He laid down, so she could curl up against him, lifted her so she rested on his body. His cock was unbelievably hard, throbbing, straining in his pants. And it was a magnificent sort of torture, a burden he bore for her, a badge of honor.

  When he got home, he’d stroke himself off, daydreaming about her, probably with her panties pressed against his nose, and the scent of her on his fingers.

  Tonight, he’d begun making her his. He could feel it in his fucking bones.

  “Oh my God.” She started to laugh, hiding her face in his shoulder. “I can’t believe I did that. I’m too old to have sex outside.”

  “Says who?” Captain couldn’t resist giving her a smug little smile. “And how was my score tonight?”

  “Another ten out of ten,” she murmured, before kissing him deeply, cupping the back of his head.

  When he pulled back, he could feel this fucking stupid grin spreading across his face. “Excellent. Make sure to fill out a comment card. I take suggestions.”

  She laughed and he loved the sound of it. Over the past few years, there hadn’t been much joy in her life. He could get addicted to that, pleasing her, making her laugh. “I’ll keep it in mind.”

  He threaded fingers through her hair and kissed her again, unable to keep his hands to himself.

  “What about you?” she asked, hand straying to his belt buckle.

  He seized it, then kissed her fingertips. “This time was all for you, Killer Queen. I’m a grown ass man and I control myself. Though, I might have hairy palms by mornin’, but I’ll be fine.”

  They locked eyes. “Then next time, we’ll take this further.”

  There’d be a next time! He felt like beating his chest, shouting loud enough to wake up all the townies sleeping in their beds down below.

  Halle-fucking-lujah

  Chapter Thirteen

  Captain walked her to the door and they spent ten minutes making out, before he headed home. He’d wanted to wait with her, but Eddie had sent him away, mostly because she didn’t trust herself to be near him in the vicinity of a bed. She had about twenty minutes until Ryker arrived and the last thing she needed was for her son to walk in and find them doing the bump and grind.

  But damn, that sounded so good…

  She felt younger, lighter, and happier than she’d been in years. Eddie tossed her keys and purse on the kitchen table and grabbed a soda from the fridge. She wasn’t even a bit tired. No, she felt keyed-up, like the time she’d had one too many mochas and spent the night cleaning the house from top to bottom, fueled by caffeine and sugar.

  And then someone grabbed her from behind.

  As she opened her mouth to scream, a hand pressed over her mouth, choking off the sound. Fuck. Her gun was three feet away, tucked into her purse. The guy who held her had a big, muscular frame. She didn’t stand a chance of overpowering him.

  He dragged her towards the door and she hung limp in his arms, like a ragdoll, trying to slow him down. Shit!

  She was usually more careful than this. She shouldn’t have let her guard down, she usually paid attention to her surroundings, did a visual scan before she entered, but tonight Eddie hadn’t even turned on the kitchen lights.

  It was a rookie mistake, one she might pay for with her life.

  Eddie couldn’t even put up much of a fight as he hauled her ass outside.

  ***

  Eddie tried not to panic, but it wasn’t working.

  She guessed she should be grateful Byron hadn’t ordered her bound and gagged and then tossed into the trunk of a car. Instead, her abductors, some of Beauregard’s boys, loaded her into the back seat of the Escalade next to an armed guard, another burly guy in an expensive suit. He pointed a Glock at her stomach.

  She doubted Byron would actually hurt her. After all, he’d said he wanted a partnership with the club, but she’d get the hard sell this time. She had no idea what that looked like, but her mind filled in the blanks and she imagined a torture session.

  Well, good luck, asshole.

  After giving birth to two babies without an epidural, she had a pain tolerance most men couldn’t touch. Unless he’d pushed something the size of a small watermelon out of his body, he didn’t know who was dealing with.

  At least that’s what she hoped.

  Not like she’d ever been through a torture session before. Unless you count that summer when she went to two little league games a day.

  It didn’t take them long to reach their destination, Beauregard Manor. The Beauregards lived in a mansion, done in the Antebellum style, with long Corinthian columns along the front porch. It reminded her of the lavish homes in Gone with the Wind. In fact, it would put Tara to shame.

  The property had a rich green lawn, a rarity in Texas, with dozens of ornamental flower beds, probably maintained by an army of gardeners. The long, curving driveway was flanked by massive magnolia trees. As they passed by, she noted security cameras discreetly placed in the branches recording every move and cleverly disguised by the thick foliage.

  Running wasn’t an option. Not that she’d get very far in heels, anyway. Note to self: buy tennis shoes for hostage situations. Not to mention? Don’t get
kidnapped when you aren’t wearing drawers. Captain had rode off with hers tucked in his pocket.

  After they pulled up to the main house, two of his beefy minions manhandled her out of the car and escorted her inside. They flanked her as she shuffled down a long hallway filled with grim Beauregard portraits. While the MC and its members were comfortable, or maybe even well-off, none of them even had hopes of being a millionaire. The Beauregards had invested their ill-gotten gains throughout the years. Small silver plaques beneath each framed picture detailed the name and dates of each person. They’d gone from thugs and thieves to being almost respectable, unless you pulled back some layers and looked at their dirty underbelly.

  Eventually, they reached his study. To the left side of the room, loomed a black vault door. Evidently, he had so much money, he needed an entire vault to store it all in.

  He stood behind a large oak desk in an elegant black three-piece suit, with a cut-glass in his grasp. “Good evening, Eddie. Welcome to the manor. I’m so pleased you stopped by.”

  Eddie rolled her eyes. “Save it. I didn’t have a choice because your henchman abducted me.”

  He laughed, his lips curling. “My associates gave you a ride.”

  “At gunpoint. Call me old-fashioned, but that’s a kidnapping.”

  “They were only thinking of your safety,” he insisted.

  Damn, he had an answer for everything.

  “And I’m not a villain, so I don’t have any henchman.”

  Eddie snorted in reply, crossing her arms over her chest.

  “I want to be your business partner, not your rival. You’re the one forcing me to do these things.”

  She raised a brow. “Mighty interesting reasoning you got there. Isn’t that what men who beat their wives say?”

  He sighed. “I see you’re determined to be difficult.”

  She sneered at him. “I’m just ornery, I guess.”

  “Well, make yourself comfortable. We need to talk.” He waved her over two Victorian antique chairs, taking one for himself. All the furnishings were vintage –large walnut bookcases, lavish chairs, an elaborate desk, even the fucking brass candlesticks on the fireplace mantle.