Abe (Savage Kings MC Book 2)

by Lane Hart

“You good?” Abe asks. “We need to go.”

  Glancing back over to the front of the restaurant, I see Chase and Sasha break free of the crowd.

  “Yes,” I say.

  “Hold on tight,” Abe reminds me before he cranks the motorcycle’s loud engine. After he slips on a pair of sunglasses over his eyes, he pats my hands and then leans toward the handlebars.

  “I need to give you my address!” I shout so he can hear me over the muffler.

  “Yeah, you do,” he says with a chuckle before the bike jerks forward, which means the momentum sends me backwards.

  I don’t have to be told twice about holding on tight to him. I clasp my hands snuggly together against his taut stomach just in time because we’re zooming out of the restaurant lot and down the road at what would be a dangerous speed in even a completely enclosed vehicle.

  When we go around the first curve, I’m certain that the last thing I’ll remember about this world is kissing pavement before I leave it. I even consider unfriending Sasha on social media as soon as my feet touch the ground again.

  But then the road straightens out. My shoulders finally begin to relax a little. The rest of my body eventually follows suit, and soon I’m even able to lift my head from Abe’s back to watch the rows of trees in the swampy forest pass us by. The wind in my face takes my breath away at first, but it’s also refreshing and invigorating. Like I’m flying free, a bird escaping the cage for the very first time.

  Ironically enough, knowing you’re so close to a horrendous death at any second makes you feel alive. Especially since you know you can only evade mortality for so long.

  And who knew that motorcycles were like gigantic vibrators? The sensations it’s putting off between my extremely neglected legs are a very welcome surprise to go along with their muscular owner. The scent of leather is also becoming a new aphrodisiac for me apparently.

  By the time we take an exit off the highway to pull into a rest area minutes or hours later, my panties are damp, and I feel like I’m right on the verge of an incredibly embarrassing orgasm.

  “You still back there, Red?” Abe teases me with a grin over his shoulder as he puts his boots on the pavement to back his bike into a parking spot while my arms remain locked around his waist.

  “Yeah, I think so,” I answer with a smile as I finally loosen my grip and let him go to sit back. “That was…fun.”

  “Glad to hear it,” he replies before he climbs off and removes his sunglasses and helmet. “If you’re ready to go home, you can give me the directions,” he says, standing with his hip against the bike and his tree trunk size thigh pressed against my knee.

  Am I ready to go home yet to my lonely little cottage? Not really. Since I just started moving in, it doesn’t feel quite like home to me just yet. For the last year, I’ve been traveling through Europe with my mom, something we both always wanted to do but never had enough money for until I was cast on King of Hearts last year. So at least one good thing came from looking like a fool for the whole world to see.

  “I can give you my address, but you can take the long way there,” I finally inform Abe.

  “Sounds good,” he agrees with what I’m pretty sure is a smirk peeking out from his thick facial hair.

  Without thinking about it, I reach up to tug on the end of Abe’s beard, making his dark eyes widen. “Doesn’t this get hot in the summer?”

  Clearing his throat, he strokes his hand over his beard and says, “Hell yeah, it does, but it also gets the ladies hot too.”

  “I bet,” I say, even though I’m a little disappointed that he apparently has not one singular lady, but plural “ladies.” Which is stupid since I don’t even know the guy.

  About that time, my eyes lower to actually read the black shirt that he’s wearing underneath his open leather cut. There’s a cartoon drawing of a bearded man wearing sunglasses. The words in white say, “Beard Rides”, with ten cents written below it in the beard itself.

  “Oh,” I mutter when understanding finally dawns on me and I feel my face flush from thinking of this man’s mouth between a woman’s legs. Not just any woman, but I imagine it in between mine. Isolation and loneliness are solely responsible for stupid, crazy thoughts like that. When have I ever thought such a thing about a man I just met? Never, because it’s very unladylike.

  “Well, we better get back on the road. You wouldn’t want to keep the ladies waiting,” I tell Abe as I silently yell at my hormones to settle the hell down. In just a few days, I’ll be surrounded by twenty amazing men who will all plot, scheme, and compete to get some one-on-one time with me. And will I be able to trust that any of them really want me for more than just a tumble in the sheets? Probably not, but it’s possible I could find a decent guy.

  “What ladies?” Abe asks several seconds later with his brow furrowed.

  “The ladies that love the, um, beard,” I tell him.

  “There aren’t any ladies waiting on me tonight,” he replies.

  “What about on other nights?” I ask as I look down and brush the invisible lint off my dress, even though it’s none of my business. He’s just a nice guy doing a friend a favor by dropping me off.

  “I’m sure there are some…ladies back at our clubhouse, but I haven’t been able to recall any of their names or faces since the moment I saw yours.”

  Jeez, he’s laying it on thick for a guy I just met. And the worst part? It’s totally working for him.

  Again, my lack of physical contact in over a year is making me think things I really shouldn’t. I’m not the type of woman who sleeps with a man I just met or has a one-night stand. I have more self-respect for myself, and I’m smart enough to know how those things end for women. It’s never good. Even women who think they’re just in some friends-with-benefits situations, deep down they’re desperately hoping that the man will one day wake up and realize he’s in love with her. That never, ever happens. The man just moves on to the next stupid, naïve woman. That’s why I can’t afford to do something so crazy just because I’m horny. Or lonely. Whatever. Besides, do I really want another man to experience an awful round of sex with someone as cold as me?

  “Listen, Abe,” I start. “I really appreciate you helping me out with the ride. And maybe I’m completely wrong about you, but I’m sort of on the rebound right now, so you shouldn’t waste your time trying to get in my panties. It wouldn’t be worth it…”

  “So you’ve already thought about me in your panties?” the giant of a man asks with a smirk when he crosses his arms over his massive chest.

  “No, I didn’t say that,” I reply with a scoff. And oh, my god. We’re now having an actual conversation about my panties and it’s all my fault. “I said you shouldn’t try to get in them, because I’m a lost cause.”

  “Are you wearing panties?” Abe asks me as his dark eyes lower to where my body is straddling his bike like he’s trying to see through the material of my dress.

  “What? Of course I am,” I reply indignantly with a roll of my eyes, trying not to think about the dampness in them.

  “Then the possibility of me getting in them, however slim it may be, is still there, right?” he points out.

  Yes.

  “Uh-uh. Nope,” I disagree with an adamant shake of my head. I’m looking for love, not a chance to finally try and have wild, hot sex. There’s a huge difference between the two. Letting the big man I just met have his way with me would not be conducive to building a relationship. However good it could possibly feel at the time, as soon as it’s over and he walks away like every other man in my life, I’ll feel ashamed of myself and regret my irrational decision. And it will most likely be terribly unfulfilling for both of us.

  “There’s no way to change your mind?” Abe asks. “I’d literally do anything to get in your panties just once. I promise to make it worth your while.”

  See! I knew it. He just admitted that all he wants from me is a one-night stand. And while I appreciate his candor, that’s exactly what I
’m trying like hell to avoid.

  “Consider my panties a chastity belt of sorts. They’re impossible to penetrate nowadays,” I tell him.

  Crap, why did I say penetrate? Now I’m thinking about sex with the giant when I’m supposed to be guiding the conversation away from sex. Having meaningless sex with a stranger would be wrong for so many reasons. At the moment, I can’t think of any right off the top of my head, but I know they’re out there in the world somewhere.

  “Unless I find the key,” Abe says.

  “Huh?” I ask, having gotten caught up in the penetration issue.

  “Those chastity belts from the Medieval Times had keys, didn’t they?” he asks.

  “I think you mean the Middle Ages,” I reply, biting back my grin because he’s thinking of the dinner theater place down south of us in Myrtle Beach. “And there was only one very special, hidden key, so it wasn’t like just any old key would work.”

  “What if I know a damn good locksmith?” Abe asks with a cocky grin that makes me laugh out loud.

  “You’re funny, big guy, I’ll give you that,” I tell him with a shake of my head.

  “So what’s the deal with the rebound?” he asks, causing the smile to slip right off my face.

  “It’s nothing,” I say. “And you’re obviously not a fan of reality television or social media.”

  “Nope, I’m not,” he replies.

  “Well, then you’re not missing much,” I assure him. “I went on a dating show and thought the guy was going to propose to me at the finale. Instead, he picked another girl.”

  “Is he blind?” Abe asks. “The bastard’s obviously fucking blind, right?”

  “No,” I answer, unable to bite back another grin. “He was not blind.”

  “Was he good in bed?”

  “What? I’m not telling you that,” I huff.

  “So, he wasn’t,” Abe murmurs.

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “Because you’re a sweet girl who wouldn’t badmouth a man behind his back,” he declares.

  “Or I just don’t go around bragging about my conquests,” I argue.

  “Did he give you beard rides?” Abe asks entirely straight faced as he tugs on his beard, making me laugh even harder because he looks so serious.

  “Oh my, god. You’re too much,” I tell him. “Take me home.”

  “Answer the question and I will,” he says when he plants one of his gigantic hands on the seat of the bike, his fingertips disappearing underneath the stretched fabric of my dress, not touching me but so close I can practically feel them.

  Since I don’t have much of a choice but to reply or walk, I decide to tell him the truth, even though I know I could lie to him. For some reason, I think he would know and not budge until he got the truth.

  “No beard rides,” I respond. Then, with a slight smile I say, “He was clean-shaven.”

  “Oh, come on!” Abe exclaims as he pushes off from the bike, then turns around in a circle and comes right back. His planted hand disappears a little further up the seat under my dress but still doesn’t touch me. “Answer the question, woman.”

  “Why do you care?” I ask him curiously.

  “Because any man who turns down the chance to lick your pretty, red pussy should be castrated,” he grumbles.

  My lips part on a gasp of surprise at his filthy words describing a very intimate place on my body. I like them, maybe even too much. No man has ever spoken to me in such a crass way.

  “How…how do you know I’m a natural redhead?” I ask.

  “Just taking an educated guess,” Abe replies, letting his hand slip forward a little more. How do I know? Another gasp escapes my lips when his thumb grazes along the inside of my thigh and then stays there to keep rubbing up and down, up and down, stealing my breath with each small movement. “I’m all for taking a peek to confirm.”

  My mouth is so dry that I have to lick my lips before I can reply. I shouldn’t encourage him, but for some reason I can’t help myself. “Most of the time even a peek wouldn’t do you any good because I usually get Brazilian waxes. But I may have missed a few appointments…”

  “Good lord,” Abe groans as his dark eyes squeeze shut as if he’s trying to picture what I look like down below. His thumb on my thigh doesn’t pause for even a second, though. It’s singularly responsible for causing my entire lower body to start to tingle. In my head, my hormones are staging a hostile takeover of my common sense and ability to rationalize. They want me to reach down and shove Abe’s left hand up just a little further until it’s touching that needy little spot that only ever gets attention from my Finger Fun vibrator. His thick fingers would be a much better replacement, or even better, his tongue…

  Abe’s eyes finally reopen, looking even darker than before as they zero in on my lips. His right hand comes up and grabs a strand of my hair from my shoulder that makes my breath catch. I’m certain that he’s about to kiss me when the sound of an approaching car in the once empty rest area interrupts. Abe and I both freeze like we were doing something naughty when, to the passerby, it only looks like we’re having a casual conversation.

  Disappointment hits like a bowling ball in my gut at the interruption since now I won’t find out what Abe would’ve done if they hadn’t pulled up and parked three spots away from us. Would he have kissed me? If so, would it have been light and soft or rough and dirty like how the man looks?

  “It’s time to take you home,” Abe grumbles before he withdraws both of his hands and turns around to grab his helmet from the handlebar. He sounds angry and his movements are jerky as he secures the chin strap and then climbs back on the bike.

  I guess that means our flirty banter is over.

  Such a shame too. I wasn’t ready for him to give up quite so soon.

  Chapter Four

  Abe

  Riding around on a Harley with a hard-on really fucking sucks.

  I don’t remember the last time I was this damn horny. I mean, sure, I wake up with morning wood seeking a warm mouth like any other bastard, but never at this level of desperation.

  It’s so bad that I want to tug my zipper down just to let some of the pressure off. And my hard cock doesn’t improve a bit on the way to Mercy’s house. How could it with her arms around my waist, full breasts pressed to my back and thighs squeezing my waist? Not to mention that her hand is totally caressing my abs. Sure, she’s trying to be discreet with her tiny movements, but I feel every single one of them.

  Mercy yells out directional turns to me when we slow down and get into her neighborhood. A moment later we’re at her house. I slow my bike down to pull into the driveway and try to keep myself in check as I park behind her silver BMW that Sasha brought over.

  Right now, I’m a hair-trigger away from throwing her on the ground and jerking the skirt of her dress up so I can see her pussy. Seeing it wouldn’t be enough, though. I’d want to touch it and taste it, which would get me arrested if I do it in her front yard. On the other hand, she doesn’t have many neighbors…

  No, no, hell no, I tell my dick. We have to have a woman’s permission before we start lifting skirts, and Mercy specifically told me that I didn’t have a chance of getting in her panties. So he’ll just have to wait for me to get back to my apartment at the clubhouse and find someone else to relieve the pressure.

  My balls tighten as if to say fuck that, it’s Mercy or your hand, buddy. The fantasy of her is gonna be ten times better than the real thing with anyone else. Likely for the rest of my miserable existence. Sad but true.

  I kill the engine and sit back once Mercy climbs off the left side, staying seated on my bike, ready to get the fuck out of here before I attack her.

  “Thanks for the ride,” the gorgeous woman says sweetly from beside me as she smooths out the front of her blue dress.

  “Welcome,” I mutter, trying not to look directly at her for fear my inner caveman will come out. Instead, I look straight ahead and watch her from the corner of my ey
e.

  Her heels click and clack on the concrete driveway as she starts to walk toward the front door of her house; but then she suddenly stops to dig into her purse, probably looking for her keys.

  When Mercy remembers that Sasha and Chase used them to bring her car back, she goes over and opens the door; then bends down, I assume to retrieve them, giving me a great view of the curve of her ass. The fact that she doesn’t have any panty lines means that she must be wearing a thong, the thought of which actually makes my cock cry a few tears. I knew the woman was out of my league, so I’m not surprised that she turned me down. What do I have to offer a classy woman like Mercy?

  Finally finding her keys, Mercy straightens and shuts the driver door. I wait for her to head for the house, but instead she turns back toward me and click-clacks over. When she’s standing next to me, she lets out a heavy sigh and then reaches over to…stick a coin down into my front jean pocket.

  What the fuck?

  Is she paying me for giving her a ride? If so, that’s ridiculous, and the small piece of change is offensive.

  I ease up my white-knuckled grip on the handlebars to retrieve the measly…dime so that I can give it back to her along with some serious attitude when Mercy says, “I’ve never done this before, and I can’t promise that you won’t regret it.”

  I want to say regret what, but my cock shushes me and tells me to look down at my shirt. Since I just grab the first tee in the clean pile every day, I don’t usually notice the one I have on unless one of my brothers laughs at it or says something about it. That’s why it takes me so damn long to remember that I’m wearing the “Beard Rides ten cents” one, and Mercy here just gave me…ten fucking cents.

  There’s no way in hell. Surely, I’m misunderstanding her. Or dreaming. But then I recall the last words she spoke, something about never doing this before and regret…and it hits me that she must mean that she doesn’t want me to make her regret letting me put my tongue in her pussy.

  Holy fuck.

  “Or not. That’s…that’s probably for the best,” Mercy says softly when I take too damn long to get off my bike. Hell, if I could rewind time back thirty seconds, I would already be inside her house with my face between her legs.