Old Man's Ride: Dust Bowl Devils MC

by Britten Thorne

  If there were more shots, I couldn't hear them. A big man with a long black beard stood just a few feet from the front door. A woman crouched at his feet. Whitney. He fired his gun into the parking lot, at the cars.

  A second man, this one bald, stood off to the side behind another row of cars firing as well. I couldn't see Anchor or Nomad anywhere. Ducking behind the cars. Unharmed, I hope.

  My heart was racing. I could hear the blood rushing in my head, feel my lungs taking big, shaky gulps of air, but I bottled up those feelings and thought quickly and clearly. I didn't want to risk Whitney's safety, so I turned towards the bald guy and accelerated. As he turned and aimed at me, I wondered in passing if my helmet was bulletproof.

  I jerked the steering right, then left, making an erratic path towards him. Unpredictable moving targets are harder to hit. At the last moment of my approach, when I could see the whites of his eyes, he tried to dive out of my way.

  He was too slow. The front tire clipped his ass mid-dive and sent him sprawling. The gun flew from his hands and slid beneath the cars.

  I wasted no time. I jumped from the bike and tried to ease its fall, but, it fell. Nomad will have a fit.

  Removing my helmet as I ran, I reached the bald guy before he could scramble to his feet, dazed as he was by the fall.

  I swung and slammed my helmet against the back of his head. He fell forward again with a howl. "Fucking bitch!"

  Then, Nomad was towering above him, a gun in each hand. The man clamped his mouth shut and showed his palms as he sat up.

  "That's right," Nomad said, "Fight's over. She got you." He extended one of the guns toward me. I shook my head, but I took it when he glared. "She's keeping your gun. You're lucky we don't burn this place down."

  I was buzzing all over with adrenaline, but again kept a tight reign on myself. Now was not the time to whoop and holler with our victory, or to grab and kiss Nomad, who looked darkly sexy when he was so angry. "Where's Whitney?" I asked. I held the weapon away from me, like a dead rat.

  "Tuck that away," he growled. I shoved it into the back of my pants the way the other guys did. "I told you to stay where you were."

  "Did I save your ass, or did I save your ass?" He scowled. "Is she okay?"

  He practically knocked me aside as he strode towards his bike. "See for yourself."

  I found her standing above the prone figure of the bearded man. Anchor was on his knees, binding the guy's hands.

  "We're not killing anybody!" he insisted.

  I never got to find out if she was arguing for or against killing the guy. She spotted me and cried out "Lily!" Then crushed me in a big hug. "What on earth are you doing out here? Did you seriously ride down that guy?"

  I laughed. "I did. Are you okay?"

  "Yeah. I thought I was done for, but they shot John here in the knee." She sighed. "Guess I'm heading home. I never got very far."

  I mumbled, "I haven't yet, either."

  Nomad wheeled his bike over, grimacing the whole way. Oh, no, I've hurt the bike.

  "Is it okay?" I asked timidly. He glared. His green eyes were cold. They held none of the passion we'd shared anymore, none of the affection I'd come to crave. An icy feeling washed over me. The fear I hadn't felt when I'd rushed into action came flooding back now, and I shivered and rubbed my arms. He's really angry.

  I may have saved the day, but I'd destroyed whatever had grown between us.

  ---

  The sun was rising when I rode to the motel on the back of Anchor's bike. Whitney rode with Nomad. He made me wait outside while he gathered our things from the room - it wouldn't be wise to stay in town any longer.

  I shifted in uncomfortably on the seat. My ass still stung something fierce. It felt like such a long time ago now, it seemed like it should have healed, but in reality it had been less than a day since he'd bent me over his knee. Less than a day to totally fall for him, surrender to him, and then fuck it up completely.

  It was a long drive back home. It had seemed so much shorter when I’d ridden out with Nomad - we left my apartment in the late afternoon and stopped just after sundown. We couldn't have been in the road for more than four or five hours, and the time flew by. But I was full of excitement then - fear, yes, but I was embarking on a new journey, freeing myself from my old life, and riding with a handsome older man who maybe, just maybe, might think I was pretty.

  Now, I was filled with dread.

  I'll pack a few more of my things and catch a bus instead. There was no way Nomad would want me to ride with him now. Not after I'd driven and damaged his bike. It was an act of blasphemy. Men got stabbed for less.

  When we were finally home, we went straight to Bill's house. He lived on a quiet street, not at all like the busy commercial district where my mom's apartment was. I stashed my gun in Anchor’s pack before following them up the driveway. I didn’t want it. In fact, I hoped I’d never see it again.

  Bill ushered us all inside as if he'd been expecting us.

  "You two, go sit in the kitchen," he said to Whitney and I. Then they disappeared into his office and shut the door.

  "Shit," I said with a sigh. We leaned against the kitchen counter, still stretching our legs after the long ride.

  "What's wrong?" Whitney asked.

  "I think I'm in trouble."

  She made a face. "You saved our asses. I didn't see what happened after you hit that guy, but it distracted John long enough for Anchor to put a bullet in his leg and take his gun. And I'll tell them that."

  "What happened to you?" I asked, "I thought you had plans to head to San Diego, last I heard."

  She snorted with derision. "Northern Eagle territory was as far as I got. I met a guy who I thought was nice." She looked at her feet. "He wasn't. It took a long time to convince my parents I was actually in trouble. They thought I was being dramatic because I couldn't make it on my own. Once they realized I was serious, though..." She shrugged.

  "They sent Anchor and Nomad."

  "Yeah. My dad wanted to go, but he hurt his back kind of recently." She sniffled. "I just hope they're happy to see me, and they're not in a rush to kick me back out."

  "Of course they'll be happy."

  She wiped her eyes. "What the heck were you doing out there?"

  "Bill ran me out of town. I hitched a ride with Nomad." I chuckled. "Guess I didn't get very far, either. I'm gonna just catch a bus going wherever, if they don't kill me first."

  "Well, they'll have to go through me."

  We raided their refrigerator. If they couldn't be bothered to have the manners to offer us a drink, then we weren't going to sit around and wait politely.

  We were sitting at the table sipping coffee when they finally emerged. Their faces were grim.

  "Your family is coming to pick you up," Bill told Whitney, "Go wait outside."

  She looked at me with concern. "Lily really saved our butts out there, Bill, she didn't -"

  "I know," he cut her off. "She's not in trouble. Go."

  I didn't trust Bill enough to feel relief yet, but I nodded at Whitney.

  "All right," she said, offering me a small smile. "Thanks again."

  They didn't speak until they heard her close the front door. They remained standing, towering over me, too close to allow me to get up unless I backed my chair away.

  "It's up to Nomad what to do with you for the crime of driving and damaging his bike," Bill said.

  I looked to him, but his green eyes gave away nothing.

  "Secondly," Bill went on, "We have something for you." He pushed something at me - black, leather - it was a jacket. On the front pocket was a patch that said, simply, "Prospect." "You spilled blood on behalf of the club. By our laws, we have to give you a chance at full membership." He bent closer - close enough for me to smell his aftershave and the beer on his breath. "In conclusion, you get to stay." They both stepped back. "Now. Put it on."

  My knees were shaking so hard, I don't even know how I stood. I was floored. I expecte
d punishment, I expected to be kicked back out of town... this has never crossed my mind. The familiar leather smell filled my nose as I slipped the jacket on.

  I felt stronger. I felt tough. Invincible. I met Nomad's eyes again. I could fix things.

  Bill nodded his approval. "All right. She's all yours." He clapped a hand on Nomad's shoulder, then showed us out the door.

  I stopped him before he climbed on his bike. "What are you gonna do to me?" I asked.

  "I'm dropping you off at home," he said, "Get on."

  "No. You know what I mean. About the... crime."

  Life returned to his eyes as he looked me up and down. Heat and fire crackled in their green depths. A cruel grin spread across his face. "I'm going to let you beg."

  ---

  When he said it, I assumed he meant just that night. I didn't realize he intended on dragging my torment out.

  But I was willing to do whatever it took though to win back his favor.

  When we reached my apartment, I didn't know what he intended. He didn't say anything, but simply followed me in. Mom was out - probably at work, or having post-work drinks. Maybe it’s time to start thinking about getting my own apartment.

  "Can I get you anything? I asked softly. "Water? A beer?"

  He regarded me for a moment, standing with his back against the front door. I suddenly felt awkward beneath his considering gaze. His eyes traced over my dirty top, my dusty jeans. His assessment made me feel naked. I wished I'd had time to shower before being alone with him.

  "Well? What?" I asked.

  "Turn around." I recognized that tone. My breathing hitched, and a warm glow grew at my core. I turned and watched him over my shoulder. His eyes settled on my thighs, then my ass. He licked his lips.

  "Take off your clothes." If there's a sentence that causes more instant arousal than that, I don't know it. Especially uttered in his gruff and husky voice. I pulled my jeans down first, tugging them below my ass slowly before kicking them away. Then came my new Prospect jacket, with its rich leather smell, and my shirt, all dropped at my feet. Goosebumps rose along my arms, and my nipples hardened beneath my bra. What is he going to do with me now?

  He stepped around and stood in front of me. His eyes were dark with heat and lust as he looked me up and down. "Underwear, too."

  I wanted to shake my head. I felt so exposed already. In this daylight, he'd be able to see every intimate detail of my body. It wasn't as if he hadn't already, but somehow the dim light in a strange hotel was a little different. It wasn't home - it was a little less real.

  "Come on," he insisted. So I did. With trembling hands, I unclasped my bra. The material teased my sensitive nipples as it fell away. Then finally my panties, now damp with the evidence of what he was doing to me.

  "Perfect." He walked a circle around me. "Beautiful." Standing before me again, he said, "Play with your breasts." I opened my mouth to speak, but he raised an eyebrow before any words could form.

  I cupped the soft mounds of flesh and squeezed and lifted them, like I was offering them to him. He nodded, indicating that I should continue. I pinched my nipples and gasped at the twin jolts. I circled them with my thumbs, soothing the sting; I tugged them, squeezed them, rubbed my hands all over feeling wild and sexy. Soon, his breathing matched mine; hard and fast.

  “Run your hands down your body,” he said, “Nice and slow.” I let my hands roam, brushing their way across my stomach. I traced the curves of my waist, rubbed my palms over my thighs. He watched as if hypnotized. I pressed my fingers harder, indenting my flesh as I passed up and down my body again.

  “Good,” he said softly, “Very good. Now. Stand with your legs wider. Touch your pussy.”

  I placed my feet further apart. With a wicked little grin, feeling powerful despite taking his orders, my fingers trailed across my thigh, through my soft patch of hair, and I brushed the pink folds of my sex. I gasped at the gentle contact - it stoked the fire within me. I hoped his hands would replace mine soon. I could imagine them, feel them, as I anticipated his touch.

  “Nice,” he said. He began to circle me again. “Just like that. Real light.” He stood close behind me - I could smell his sweat, his smoky leather jacket, the dust from the road. I could feel the heat radiating off his body. “Now, this is important. You can’t come until I say, understand?”

  “Yes,” I breathed. My fingers were coated with my juices as I kept stroking. I avoided my most sensitive places, but that didn’t stop the rising tide of arousal.

  “Repeat it back to me.”

  “I can’t come until you say.”

  “Good.” His fingers brushed the back of my neck - not touching, just close enough to graze the tiny, delicate hairs there. He breathed against my ear, his breath hot, his lips just barely touching. Delicious shivers of anticipation roiled through my body.

  My back cooled as he stepped away. I expected him to circle me again, but instead, the door slammed.

  I whipped around. He was gone. Son of a bitch.

  ---

  That was just the first time he left me hanging. Luckily, my desperation to be clean and my exhaustion eventually took my brain back over, and I got myself back together.

  I was expected to run all sorts of errands for the club - anything, for any member ranked higher than me. I could refuse a request, of course - if I was at work, or if it was something I couldn't or wouldn't do - but it could effect that member's vote later, when I was up for full membership.

  That there was the problem with becoming a full member as a woman. Some of the guys would withhold their votes for sexual favors. But once a favor like that was granted, they often decided they couldn't respect her anymore and would refuse her membership anyway. It was why there were no female members now, and hadn't been for as long as I'd known the club.

  One of my first assignments was a pickup - one of the members was being released from a prison a few miles away. Bill loaned me an old pickup truck from the automotive shop owned by another member and sent me on my way. His only instruction was to wait in the parking lot and wear my new jacket. Easy enough.

  Nomad pushed his way into the driver's seat, making me slide over to the passenger side. It was three days after he'd left me hanging in my living room, and I hadn't seen him since then.

  "What are you doing?" I asked. "I thought I was going alone."

  "You are." He slipped on his big black sunglasses. "I just need a ride to the clubhouse first." The clubhouse. I hadn't been invited inside of yet. I doubted that today would be the day. Somehow, I knew he had something else on his mind.

  Sure enough, he pulled onto a quiet stretch of road heading east - not exactly the most direct route.

  He was unusually silent. I got the impression that he was waiting for me to speak first. My stubborn side wanted to lock my jaw shut. But this was Nomad.

  "I haven't seen much of you around," I said. "Have you been traveling?"

  "No time for small talk today, girly. Unzip my pants."

  The old bastard was waiting for me to break the silence, and just so we could continue his game. Again, a war took place inside my head. I wanted to please him, but dammit, I deserved at least a little respect; I wore the jacket, though not the full club colors yet.

  It didn't matter what my head thought, though, because my fingers were already undoing his jeans and pulling his magnificent cock free. Further instructions weren't needed - I lovingly stroked it until it grew fully hard in my palm, like a hot steel rod wrapped in silk. I reveled in the feel of his soft skin before leaning over and planting my lips around it.

  I took him as fully into my mouth as I could and sucked hard - no teasing, no soft touches. Road head wasn't about playing nice, it was about getting off fast. I squeezed my hand inside his pants to massage his sack, rolling his heavy balls in my palm as I drooled over his cock.

  The masculine taste of his sweat and flesh had me hungering for more immediately. With a deep moan, I massaged the underside of his shaft
with the flat of my tongue. He squirmed in his seat. Good.

  I bobbed my head and wrapped my other hand around the base of his cock, stroking with my movements. With both hands on him, it was difficult to balance myself as twisted around in the seat as I was, but I intended this to be done fast. I stroked and sucked as I tried to ignore the yearning I felt inside, loving the feeling of having him fill my mouth, but wishing he would fill me somewhere else.

  "That's good. Real good." His breathing hitched, and his ass lifted just a fraction off the seat. He was getting close.

  I backed off for just a moment. "Give it to me, old man," I said, "Come in my mouth." My words made him groan. With a last heard suck, he exploded against the back of my throat. I swallowed fast as jet after jet of hot cum coated my tongue. The taste drove me a little wild - my panties were soaked, and it took all my self control not to start touching myself the minute I sat back in my seat. I tucked his now softening cock away and zipped his pants back up. All the while, he never turned his attention from the road. He still didn’t look happy, or even vaguely pleased.

  "I'm sorry about your bike," I said softly, looking out the passenger side window. "I didn't know what else to do."

  He grunted. "You should have stayed put, like you were told."

  "It's not like I broke it," I mumbled, "It just needs a little paint."

  He slammed on the brakes. My hands shot out and grabbed the dashboard before I could lurch from my seat, and the wind was knocked out of me when I bounced back. "What the fuck?"

  "Idiot girl," he snarled. Finally he turned to me. I shrank away - he was pissed. "You think this is about the bike? It's just a fucking bike. I was worried about you. Your safety. They had guns. I don't care how brave you think you are or how "badass" Bill thinks your move was. It was fucking stupid."