She wanted to ask if they could bear more, if they could bear her and all of her ghosts. Would that be too much? Not for tonight, she decided, as she cradled her head where it had started, at peace in this strange new realm.
CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT
In the light of the morning, she couldn’t believe her eyes at the man she saw sleeping before her, body stretched out taut in the lavender morning light. She is grateful at the fact that she's woken up and he hasn't. It means that, for the first time, not only did she have the chance to look at him without self-consciousness, she had the choice of what to do: like leave the bed. Not only because the longer they stayed, the more time they risked being discovered together by Colt or his family, but because she didn’t know what she would say to him. She didn’t want to say anything. She wanted to leave this as it was. She wanted to look at what she’d found.
He slept in a strange position, one arm curled up around his head, fingers bent slightly, and mouth parted gently. His breath was soft and even, peaceful, as the flat, toned ivory skin of his diaphragm rose and fell. He looked at ease--sort of. But upon closer inspection, her stomach clenched.
Dozens of scars marred his otherwise-perfect ivory skin of his arms and the tops of his broad shoulders. Long marks from belts or improvised whips, lacerations that could have been knives or broken bottles, and small round ones that she suspected were cigarette burns. Certainly he'd been in his share of fights. He led that kind of life. But some were obviously older, souvenirs from the kind of childhood no child deserved. Once again, Ruby thought how she’d called herself cursed when really she’d been lucky.
He'd tried so hard to convince her that he never needed sleep. He probably needed it more than she did. She suspected there had been many, many nights in his life when he'd been afraid to let his guard down enough to do so. She wouldn't begrudge him this, though, she also wouldn't mind if he woke up and smiled at her, send a lovely tremor from her stomach right down to her toes, the way only he could.
No wonder he's never talked about his past. Opening up would be fraught with the kinds of memories she didn't blame him for wanting to forget, or for wanting to get on his bike and ride away from. Her fingers strayed down between his legs, to his flaccid cock, to bring her lips down to that place. To wake him, but gently, in a way that thanked him wordlessly. A way that showed him that the taste of him was something she didn't think she'd ever outgrow. Or barring that, she wanted to touch herself, and she felt her clit begin to hum with excitement, just thinking of all the delicious ways she might give him pleasure. To wake him up and show him, right from the start, that she regretted nothing.
She turned over; stared at the ceiling. She hated to turn her eyes away from Joe sleeping in peace, a sight that delighted her. But there was too many difficult things to say and be heard. These crushed her. What if he didn’t want what she wanted? She didn't want him to feel obligated to kiss her, to stay with her; to reign himself in for her. Nor did she want to find herself in a place where she had to beg him to stay--in a way, that would be worse, because she'd be setting herself up for disappointment, if not heartbreak.
She tumbled off the bed, grabbed her clothes and, instead of risking making noise as she fumbled her legs into her jeans, she tiptoed down the hall to the bathroom, dressed there, quickly brushed her teeth, and left.
***
"Will you stop sneaking up on me?" she snapped. She’d almost dropped the pint glass in her hands, and now she didn’t dare to turn to look at him as she stacked it with the others.
"You mean like last night?"
"Yes, like last night."
He was baiting her, she knew. Probably wanted her to fall at his feet, telling him how he'd brought her to the front gates of ecstasy last night, to tell him she wanted him to do her again, right now, right here on top of the bar. Right in front of all his friends. And that was it, she thought, gritting her teeth. Last night had done nothing more than massage his ego. She had been, for lack of a better term, a conquest.
But did she really regret the night before? Well...Out of the corner of her eye, looking at this beautiful young man, with his ivory limbs, laugh-filled honey-colored eyes and cascade of blond hair. Knowing she had spent the night being touched by him, in the deepest, most hidden parts of her body, then slept till morning in the space next to him, made her ridiculously happy. It made her want to sing while she was peeling a lemon, to put her fist to her mouth when she was wiping down the bar, as if to contain a sigh. And she would never apologize for that, even if last night did turn out to be the worst choice she'd ever made.
"You ready for a break yet?" he asked casually.
"Why?" she asked, suddenly wary. Why was here, anyway? She knew he was meeting with Aaron Beeson today. It was all she’d been hearing about since morning.
"It's just--" he started, seeming momentarily surprised, though he regained his cool quickly. "Well, you told me yesterday that I never tell you anything. So, after last night, I thought--" Ruby paused, hugging a glass, suddenly understanding. He had deliberately sought her out, not to taunt her--although, being Joe, there had been a little of that--but because he would feel like a cad if he didn't. Call it guilt, or call it the desire for intimacy. If he had any desire to reveal himself to her, it couldn't possibly hurt to turn it down. "It's a nice day, so I thought we'd go outside and talk."
"Now?"
"Why not?"
"Well,” she hesitated. “Sure. I guess. It's not like I’m on the clock. I’m not even getting paid."
"You get paid in free beers."
"I do?"
He grinned. "Well, I own one-sixteenth of this place, so you do now."
“I’ll meet you out there,” she said. This seemed to agree with him, and after he turned to leave, she stood still for a second, trying to get her bearings.
To be honest, she had snuck out of the guest room not expecting to see him again that day. After all, he'd ridden out yesterday without so much as a by-your-leave, and she didn't want him to feel obligated to speak to her before going out again today.
In fact, the best thing she could probably do was to convey the fact that though the night before had been beautiful as it had been ephemeral, and that she could remain as dispassionate about it as he could. That she, and she alone, was in charge of her desires. She would decide what and when to give up and he needn't feel obligated to her.
Her dream last night had spooked her, that was all. It made it seem as if she had some ridiculous timeline, as if her loyalty to Kyle required her to go after Joe. Which was, of course, absurd, and in the light of day seemed even more so. She opened the refrigerator and took out two bottles of Anchor Steam.
“Joe?”
“In here.” She heard his voice call from a side door in the building. Opening it, it led to an auxiliary storage room, where jars of olives and cocktail napkins, and unidentifiable other things--nothing illegal, she hoped--stood stacked dozens high. He put it down immediately on the ground and beckoned her closer. “Don’t worry, this room isn’t connected to the bar.”
"Oh, I get it," she said, though she drew in a sharp breath at the mischievous gleam in his eye. "By talk, you didn't really mean talk."
"Believe it or not, I did," he insisted. “But that doesn’t mean it can’t wait a few minutes.” He raised his eyebrows.
Ruby suddenly remembered what she’d wanted to do that morning but had been afraid to, afraid he wouldn’t want it. She looked at him tentatively and placed hand lightly on his thigh, fingers working gently closer to the zipper of his jeans.
She avoided looking him, but he hooked one of his hands into hers encouragingly as she dipped slowly to her knees, giving her the okay she needed as she placed her mouth on the zipper of his jeans and nibbled it down, working her way through the flap of the heather-gray boxer briefs she found beneath. The heat from his engorged member radiating onto her face. She poked the tip playfully with her tongue and was reward by Joe's sharp intake of breath. She was si
lent for a second, simply listening to the silence of this place, listening to him breathe, waiting for her to take him into her mouth. All she could hear was a pulse, like a beating heart, one they shared.
From the wetness at the tip, she moved her tongue in spirals slowly and languidly up and down, listening to the feedback his body gave. He gave a thrust, almost playful, working his shaft deeper, past the line of her teeth, over her tongue, and she opened her mouth wider to take almost the entire extent.
He moaned a little, and she looked up, slightly apprehensive about what his expression would be like. He touched her shoulder and gave a weak smile, urging her on, and she reached a hand up to stroke his balls, fingers caressing the curves and contours, dry and smooth.
“Give me more. Give me all you got Ruby,” he said, reaching his hand down to guide her, though she batted it away, steeling her eyes in determination to do this alone. She raked her palms up and down the shaft, at first afraid to manhandle him, but his encouraging noises eventually coaxed her to go further.
He made a strange and bewitching sighing noise as he withdrew a little, spraying a little hot cum onto her tongue and lips, then onto her face and chin--baptizing her in him. She collapsed, back against the wall, out of breath, not quite believe what she’d just accomplished.
“I wanted to do that this morning,” she couldn’t help admitting, expecting him to scold her for holding back.
“It was worth the wait,” he responded seriously.
Patience. Another sweet surprise from Joseph Ryan.
He grabbed some cocktail napkins from one of the boxes and started dabbing at her, working so slowly and carefully that she laughed, grabbed them from him and finished the job herself. He was casual as could be again; grabbing one of the bottles at the same time Ruby realized she’d forgotten the bottle opener.
Joe didn’t even hesitate; he reached up to the latch on the door and pried it off in a second, then did the same for the other bottle. “Come on.” He led her outside the door and to a sunny patch of grass he seemed to be familiar with--this was his backyard, for all intents and purposes. Although the jukebox rumbled to the patrons inside the Bird, they were quite alone where they were. He knew what he was doing.
"So is this it?” she ventured after a sip. “Is this where you bare your soul to me?"
"We'll see. What do you want to know?" he asked.
"Regan told me you used to live with them."
"When I was seventeen, I stole a motorcycle out of someone's driveway and crashed it into a sycamore tree. It was the luckiest thing that ever happened to me.”
"Why?"
"Because it turned out to be Colt's."
“Have you seen that guy? Weren’t you terrified he’d string you up by your balls?”
“At first. I’m sure he wanted to. But when he caught me, he just called the cops.”
"So that's how you got involved with the Jockeys?"
"Eventually. First I had to do seven months in juvie." He stared down at the grass beneath them, brushing it absently beneath his fingers, obviously remembering.
He pulled one outstretched leg up close to his body, and suddenly he looked very young, as if the memory brought it out in him. "My first week in, they told me I had a visitor, and it turned out to be Colt. He started asking me questions and I made some smartass comment, hoping he’d write me off himself so I didn’t have to. But he came back, and eventually I figured talking to him was better than sitting there silently or going back, and he got the whole story out of me. Where I’d been. Why I stole it. Or why I thought I stole it,” he added.
“You bonded?” She smiled at the sweet image.
“I wouldn't say that. Not yet, anyway. But I opened up more to him than I had to anybody in my life, ever. It didn't hurt that I was kind of in awe of him. Instead of just a wannabe badass like me, he was an actual badass. He had power, but not only that; people listened to him; they respected him. After we got to know each other a little, he worked out a deal with the judge that instead of paying the restitution that it would take me another five months in there to work off, I'd help him build a new bike. They released me into his custody, and that's how I ended up with him and Holly.”
He took a drink, then peered down at the bottle in his hands, his fingernail absently picking at the label. “They took me back every time I ran away, until eventually I realized that no matter where I ran, I would end up back in prison or another foster home, and I already had too many scars to want to take that chance.”
Ruby gritted her teeth, remembering the grim assortment that had been revealed to her that morning when the light hit the window. "He taught me how to ride and fix bikes. It was the first useful skill anyone ever bothered to teach me. He gave me more chances than I probably deserved." He paused and almost blushed at what he said next. "Even when he caught me in the garage with Regan."
She snorted. "You were just doing your homework, right?"
"Depends on how generous your definition of 'homework' is."
"Joe! Regan told me nothing ever happened between you."
"I know, I know. She's right. Nothing did." He paused and averted his eyes. "We were just a little curious, that's all." He laughed and ducked as she rapped him on the shoulder, mock outrage in her eyes. “We were never really more than friends, and Colt knew that. That's also when I met Kyle. He pushed for me to get patched, and when he was voted president, I couldn't believe it when he named me his vice president. None of the rest of the guys could either. I think some of them are still a little resentful about it. They're my brothers, so they'd never say anything, but...it's just all the more reason I can't make a mistake."
“Anyway, it’s easy to see how we bonded. Kyle and I. But that's an M.C. for you. It's a family for those of us whose own families are too broken or screwed-up to be of any use. There are more than you think. Ruby?”
She shook her head. “I told Kyle I didn't want to be around the Jockeys, that if even so much as brought one of them around me ever again. But I..." She took a deep breath. "I think I was wrong. I could have known you. Maybe I could have even..."
"Stop,” he said. “If there's one thing I've learned in this life, it's that you can't look back. If you do, if you live in the past, you're stuck. It's like drowning in a riptide. Stick your head out and it pulls you back in. I know.
“I became a Jockey because I spent my whole life being treated like I didn't matter. I wanted to matter, and not just for myself--so I could help the people I'd come to love. My brothers. And this town we live in. Protect it. But it wasn't enough. I couldn’t save him. But I can save you. I can clean up this mess and start over. That's why I've got to talk to Beeson today, so we can settle this. Or at least try." All at once, it was as if he'd lost his train of thought, gazing at her face as if it was too much to look at and talk at the same time.
Slowly he pressed his hand on the earth and used it to hop up off the ground. Ruby followed his lead, but before she could do or say anything to respond, he came near, touched her elbow gently. He bent his head, and whispered to her in a voice that was more like a sigh.
"Kiss me, Ruby. Before I go. It'll help." She didn't hesitate for a second, and he accepted her kiss hungrily. He needed it, and she squeezed him tightly, building on that need. She had nothing else to give him.
The first time she'd kissed him, he'd been a cipher, a blank slate, and it had been dangerous and exciting. It had made her weak, almost afraid, to consider what it meant. Now the person beneath the tough leather and blinding chrome had at last begun to hatch open, to reveal himself to her, and none of the power had been lost. She felt weaker still. She had been let inside. It was all she had wanted. If he was unsure, if he was frightened, he would never admit it. Guys like him never did. But that didn't matter.
She was standing in the alley behind a biker bar in leather pants, kissing the tattooed president of the Steel Jockeys before he rode off to an important, and most likely dangerous, meeting.
Eve
n more astonishing, it felt right.
She fit in his arms. She took comfort in his mouth. And when his hand slid down her thigh, her fingers clutched the back of his head, burying themselves in the thick blond strands. She was acting like she approved. She was acting like this was normal. She was acting like the girl she thought she would never--and could never--be.
"Come back to me," she whispered.
CHAPTER TWENTY NINE
The neutral spot that Aaron Beeson had requested, and that Joe had chosen, was up in the hills. The spot was technically part of the land belonging to the county waterworks, but hardly anything could be seen except a cell phone tower that had been built a few years back. It was the one Kyle had discovered on a ride once, and he and Joe used to go up there and sit and look out over the sienna brown landscape and the hills, swaying righteously beneath them. It was conducive to deep thoughts and grandiose plans, and made them feel like brother philosopher-kings, rulers over all they surveyed. But the reason he’d chosen it was because if anything bad went down, he wanted it to be as far away from Ruby as possible.
Vicious: Steel Jockeys MC Page 17