Resilient

by Gillian Archer

  I kinda couldn’t believe that I was doing this. After twenty-nine years of hating bikers, I was going to sleep with one. The thought was difficult to wrap my head around. Between the adrenaline from initially making the decision to cross the yard and proposition him and the mind-altering capabilities of his kiss, I wasn’t sure if I had any functioning brain cells left now.

  But I had to figure it out quick. Ten feet later, we triggered the motion lights at the front of the house. The grass we stood on and the large circular driveway lit up in stark technicolor. Now I didn’t have the darkness to hide behind. And in about twenty feet, we’d reach his bike.

  “Nic? Hey, is that you?”

  Every cell in my body froze at the sound of my best friend Emily’s voice. Crap. So much for the clean getaway.

  I swung around and faced Emily. She still looked so fragile after her ordeal a few weeks back. Despite the balmy September weather, she had on a light sweater that covered the worst of the bandages on her arms, but I could still see a few poking out the sleeves of her sweater. My heart ached at the visible proof of her pain. She was so tiny and delicate and had already been through so much before Reb’s ex-wife and her Saddletramp biker boyfriend went after her.

  “I, uh, was wondering…” Emily trailed off as her eyes zoomed from my face to my hand still clasped in Tank’s.

  I tried to pull my hand from his grip, but Tank held firm. We probably looked ridiculous as we silently tussled—me trying to pull away and him not letting me. I threw a glare at him, but Tank just stared placidly back at me and didn’t let me have my hand back.

  “You know what? Never mind. I’ll see you tomorrow morning. I’ll just…Yeah.” Emily raised her palms and slowly backed away as though she was afraid that whatever we were clearly afflicted with was contagious.

  I watched as Emily disappeared inside Reb’s house, then turned to Tank and slapped his ridiculously taut stomach with my free hand. “Really? You had to play ‘Mercy’ with me in front of my best friend?”

  “Doesn’t count unless I make you scream mercy. I can go over the rules with you again later if you’d like.” Tank’s mouth curled in a semblance of a smile. “You have some problem with being seen holding my hand?”

  I waffled for a minute. I couldn’t say what was in my head at that exact moment. That I felt guilty for getting caught with a biker, when for the past year I’d been giving both of my best friends a hard time for falling for bad-boy bikers. Or that it’d been an impulse to pull away from him when really I didn’t mind the way my hand felt in his. Or how his lips had felt a few minutes ago. Or that hand that’d teased my breast.

  Oh God. I was so doing this. Him.

  But Tank must’ve seen my initial indecision because he suddenly pulled away and lifted his palms like Emily had moments ago. “Hey, I’m not into the whole ‘I don’t like you; yes, I do’ bullshit. Ain’t got time for that. Doesn’t rev my engine anyway. It’s one night. You’re either in or you’re out.”

  I didn’t even have to take a second to think. “Which bike is yours?”

  “Why? Are you gonna decide whether or not to let me take you home based on how hot my bike is?”

  “No, dingbat, I need to know which bike is yours so I know which one I’m getting on the back of.”

  Tank took a sec, then a smug look crept over his face. “Okay, then. My bike’s on the end. The one with the desert camo.”

  I had to hide my grin when I zeroed in on the bike he’d described. If I was asked to blindly pick out the one I’d thought was Tank’s, it’d be that one. It screamed Marine badass. All it was missing was a damn Property of Tank decal, it was so obviously his. But I didn’t geek out over his bike since I really didn’t want to explain how I knew so much about motorcycles. Instead I pointed to the hot bike I was mentally drooling over and asked, “That one?”

  The Harley Softail Slim was painted an array of boxy, pixelated tans and taupes with chrome pipes that gleamed in the dim lighting. But where most of the bikes around his had black seats and saddlebags, Tank’s bike had contrasting tan leather. The combination was awesome. Like something out of a movie. Sexy.

  Tank grunted in reply before practically dragging me over to it. He buckled on a helmet and pulled a spare out of his saddlebag for me. Then he swung his leg over and sat down. “You ever ridden before?”

  I opened my mouth to answer, then closed it. Concentrating on putting on my helmet, I took a second to answer. I didn’t want to tell him the truth, so I fudged. “Do four-wheelers count?”

  Tank snorted. “Fuck. No.”

  I shrugged like a ditzy chick who didn’t know any better.

  “It’s not difficult. Just throw a leg over and sit behind me. Your feet go on the pegs there.” He pointed out where my feet should go. “I don’t have a sissy bar, so you gotta hold on tight.”

  I jerked my chin in a nod, then followed his directions. After I tucked my skirt under my thighs and was sitting behind him, I wrapped my arms around his waist tight. Immediately his scent enveloped me again, spice mixed with leather and man now. Which reminded me. “Hey, you’re good to drive, right? You didn’t have too much to drink?”

  “Two beers in four hours. I can ride.”

  “Good. Let’s go. I have plans on what I wanna do with this hot bod when I’ve got you all to myself. My apartment is on—”

  “Double Diamond, off South Meadows. I remember.”

  The motorcycle rumbled to life under us and Tank let the engine idle as he walked the bike backwards out of the row of motorcycles. A few seconds later, he opened up the throttle and we blasted down the pavement toward the freeway. My arms tightened around his torso as I buried my helmeted head in his back. His large frame protected me from the whipping September wind, which had a bite tonight. Suddenly I appreciated just how big this man was. And muscular. My hands flattened against his rock-hard torso, covered by a thin T-shirt and a leather vest. Before I knew it, I found myself petting his body—his firm, muscular abs and the indent at his hips that led the way south toward his…jeans. I barely resisted the urge to follow that indent south to the treasure waiting below. It was hard—har, har—but I was counting on the delicious edge of anticipation to keep me thrumming. And I really didn’t want to distract him with my roving hands. I kinda wanted to live long enough to see what he was packing behind his jeans.

  Instead I wrapped my arms around his body and enveloped myself in that exhilarating feeling of flying. As we raced up the freeway onramp, I sat back slightly and let the wind whip at my face. It’d been more than a decade since I’d ridden on the back of a motorcycle, and it was more thrilling than I remembered. Although I think that had more to do with the driver than anything else.

  And the purpose of our destination.

  The motorcycle beneath us vibrated more than my favorite Hitachi wand and left me aching. My pussy fluttered insistently. The combination of the vibrating bike and the firm masculine body in front of me was intoxicating. But Tank didn’t seem to be bothered one bit. My slightly roving hands met firm, unflinching muscle, even when they wandered south for a fleeting brush against his jean-encased cock. He was hard everywhere but totally under control. I leaned forward and brushed my rock-hard nipples against his leather vest. The stitching in the True Brothers skulls rubbed my tender points through my blouse and bra. I arched into the sensation and purred like a cat. By the time we rolled up the driveway of my apartment complex, I was ready to say, “Screw propriety, just do me here.”

  Tank parked his bike in the crosshatched area nearest my building, then shut off the engine. I almost moaned in disappointment. It wouldn’t have taken much more to put me over the edge. I wanted, needed more. We sat there frozen in silence—me wanting just to rub up against him like a cat in heat to get off and him probably wondering why I was still sitting behind him. Tank leaned forward, ripped off his helmet, and hung it off the handlebars. With shaky hands, I undid my borrowed helmet and handed it to him. After releasing a huge, shud
dering sigh, I swung a leg over and dismounted.

  Before I could blink, Tank had put down the kickstand, swung off the bike, and grabbed my hand.

  “Gak!” The sound left me involuntarily due to the force Tank used to pull me after him as he strode toward my apartment. I had to practically run to keep up. “Where’s the fire?”

  “In your panties apparently,” Tank answered sardonically. And like the stoic man he was, he said nothing more.

  Given his apathetic reaction to my roving hands, I was kinda surprised he felt the same driving need to fuck that I did. But hell, yeah. My attraction to him doubled.

  Right up to the point that he reached my apartment, bent down, and grabbed my hide-a-key.

  “Wait…How did you…?” I watched astonished as he chucked my fake rock into the parking lot where it landed with a telltale crack. Then he unlocked my door and held it open for me in an appalling juxtaposition of manners. “How did you know that was there?”

  “Babe, we’re surrounded by cement and grass. There isn’t a fucking rock to be seen in this whole place. That plastic piece of shit was obvious and dangerous. I did you a favor.”

  “No, what you did was rude and presumptuous. Maybe next time you should ask before destroying someone’s property.”

  “Nope.”

  “That’s it? That’s all you have to say? Nope?”

  “Yup.”

  I sighed heavily in frustration and shouldered my way past him inside my apartment. This was why he and I couldn’t be more than one night. I couldn’t put up with this caveman alpha behavior that seemed to be a requirement to be a biker. Honestly, I didn’t know how Jessica and Emily handled it.

  Tank calmly followed me inside and shut the door behind him. Then he crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back against the door. Clearly he was settling in for what he believed would be a pointless argument about the hide-a-key since it was already lying broken in the parking lot.

  Obviously he didn’t know me.

  Like a guy I was able to compartmentalize. I mentally tucked his alphahole behavior into a file titled “Not Boyfriend Material” and grabbed the bottom of my flirty top. In one quick motion, I pulled it over my head and tossed it to where Tank stood with his mouth open. It landed just shy of him in front of his boots.

  I mentally patted myself on the back for wearing my prettiest black lace bra. It’d paired well with my discarded top, but more important really pushed my girls together and up into an impressive show of cleavage. I reached around to the hidden zipper on my skirt when Tank woke up from his stupor.

  “No, keep it on. I’ve got plans for that little piece later.”

  My body heated at his statement. He’d spent time thinking about me. The knowledge filled me with power. I turned to face him and tilted my head. “It’s gonna be pretty hard for you to put those plans in motion from all the way over there.”

  Tank’s eyes narrowed as he pushed off from his slouched position against my door. He coolly shrugged out of his biker vest while crossing my living room. When he reached my coffee table, he folded his vest neatly and placed it on the table. He toed off his boots and put them next to my sofa. The entire time he kept eye contact with me. I shivered at the heat arcing from his eyes.

  Raising his arms, Tank pulled his shirt off from behind his head in an amazing display of flexing muscles. He calmly folded his white T-shirt and put it down next to his leather vest.

  Meanwhile I just stood there and tried not to drool. The huge man with rock-hard muscles and tattoos in front of me was fucking hot. And was that a grim reaper arm curling around his ribs with a bony index finger pointed at his heart? My eyes danced from the reaper’s hand to the rippling abs below to the bands of color circling his left arm from shoulder to wrist. I wanted to trace every line of color with my tongue. Then maybe follow all the dents and valleys of his muscles. Especially the ones that led to the large cock straining against his jeans.

  His belt buckle clanked in the still apartment as he undid the clasp. Leaving the belt hanging open, Tank’s hands got to work on the button fly of his jeans, and I’m pretty sure I swallowed my tongue. When the last button popped free, he shucked his jeans and boxers down his legs in one go. Unlike his previous fastidiousness, he kicked the material to the side and stood in front of me, totally nude aside from his socks.

  There were so many places for my eyes to go, but I was a greedy bitch. My eyes immediately zeroed in on one place:

  The coin-size hoop dangling just above the base of his impressive cock.

  Chapter 7

  Nicole

  Tank was pierced. I didn’t know how to handle that bit of knowledge. I vaguely remembered a conversation with Emily a few weeks back about her guy Reb’s pierced package. But Reb reportedly had a Prince Albert piercing—through the head of his cock. Tank’s was a pubic piercing, meaning it was in a place where it wouldn’t do much for his sexual enjoyment—this piercing was all about his partner, hopefully me in a few minutes. The ring should rub right against my clit when he was deep inside me.

  My legs moved restlessly at the thought. I wanted him. I wanted him now, inside me, feeling that ring pressing against me. Before I knew it, I’d closed the distance between us and my finger was tracing the bands of color on his arm while my eyes didn’t lift from that dangling ring.

  “See something you like, baby girl?”

  I could hear the smile in his voice. “I, uh, wasn’t exactly expecting that. How did you—when did you get it done?”

  “Hello? I’m up here.” Tank placed two fingers under my chin and tilted my head until I was looking him in the eyes. “Kinda hard to have a conversation with someone who’s too busy checking out my dick.”

  I smirked. “Now you know how millions of women feel.”

  “Doubtful.” Tank dropped his hand from my face and took a long survey of my mostly clothed body. “I think we’re a little uneven in the getting naked races.”

  Laughter bubbled out of me. “So it’s a race now? Lord, please don’t tell me you have that same mentality when it comes to orgasms. If I have to finish all by myself, we’re gonna have problems.”

  Tank’s eyes narrowed on me. He didn’t say a word as he wrapped an arm around my back and pulled me toward him until his cock brushed against the flowy material of my skirt. He took another step toward me, pushing his hard cock into my belly.

  My lips parted with my gasp, but before I could light into him, he covered my lips with his and devoured me. His lips moved demandingly over mine, telling me without words who was in charge. He wrapped his arms around me as he deepened the kiss. Bolts of pleasure shot through my body when the motion brought my nipples into contact with his rock-hard chest. With my eyes closed, I melted into his body and kissed him back. It felt like we locked like that for hours, his tongue dueling with mine, both of us lost in the moment.

  My knees sagged, and but for Tank’s arm around me, I would’ve melted into a pile of goo at his feet. Instead he wrapped his other arm around the back of my knees and hoisted me into his arms. He jostled me for a moment as he did something to his pants on the coffee table, then strode purposely out of the room and down my narrow hall.

  “Which bedroom?” he asked while I ran my lips over the ink on his neck.

  “Last one on the left.” Every part of me that he touched felt electrified. I couldn’t remember the last time I wanted someone so suddenly, so acutely. I couldn’t get enough of him. My lips burned a path from his neck to his bristly chin before I found his lips again. This time I took control of the kiss, reminding him without words just who ultimately had the final say. He might be the big, bad biker, but I was the one who was truly in control in this room. I lured his tongue into my mouth, then suckled greedily on the tip.

  Tank tripped and almost dropped me.

  Feeling particularly smug, I pulled back slightly so he could see, then groaned in satisfaction when I felt the plush sensation of my bed against my back as Tank lowered me. I hear
d a distant plop as something landed on my nightstand, but I couldn’t look since Tank lowered himself on top of me and kissed me again. This time our hands wandered at will. I explored the planes and divots of his tremendously muscular body as he thumbed my achingly hard nipples. He pinched and pulled the tip of my breast through my lacy bra, the material adding delicious soft slide against my throbbing flesh. But it wasn’t enough. His blunt fingers made quick work of the complicated front clasp of my bra, and my breasts were free.

  Tank groaned low in his throat as my seeking fingers found his hard cock. I gripped him in my fist, squeezing him much in the same way that another part of me would soon. In retaliation he lowered his head and caught my nipple with his lips. He pulled my aching flesh into his mouth and suckled me. His teeth teased me as he alternated between suckling and nipping. He drove me crazy until I was practically begging him to unleash the same torture on my other neglected nipple.

  “Please. I don’t…I can’t…” I’d never been so close from nothing more than a mouth on my breast. I wanted—I needed just a little more. Then Tank’s hand moved to my other breast, pinching and thumbing the distended peak, and I lost it. Trapping his knee between my legs, I ground my panty-covered pelvis into him and grinded my way to bliss. Every one of my muscles tightened. My upper thighs quivered. Then Tank’s teeth nipped at my nipple, and I broke. Euphoria sang through me as I sank into the bed, unable to even hold my head upright.

  “Shit, baby girl. What was it you said about finishing first?”

  I could hear the smug satisfaction in Tank’s voice, but I couldn’t muster up my give-a- damn—I was too busy surfing nirvana.