“I’m sure it’s perfectly juicy, honey.”
Danielle almost dropped the glass she’d picked up to wash.
Annie kept their guest company while he ate, and as he did this he also answered her questions about his day and asked a few questions of his own. Their happy banter had her smiling to herself, as odd as this evening had gone so far.
Then, somehow, Knuckles ended up with Annie on the sofa, watching a rerun of an ancient episode of The Muppet Show.
Danielle opened herself a bottle of beer, took a few long gulps, then leaned on the counter, wondering what in the hell she was supposed to do now. Annie’s homework was done, she wanted to hang with her BFF. It was only seven. She didn’t go to bed for another hour and a half.
Danielle rubbed her forehead with one hand, then pulled open the fridge and poured two glasses of iced tea for the laughing pals in the next room. She couldn’t very well hide in the kitchen all night.
She set the glasses down on the coffee table in front of Knuckles and Annie, the former of which leaned forward to pick his up. “Thanks, Momma.”
She didn’t like being called Momma by someone her own age, but with the phantom scratch of that beard still on her chin, the word had a very different effect.
She parked it at the far end of the sofa, angled in the corner, as far away from long, lanky biker arms with their cool tattoos and hot, hard, and wickedly talented hands as she could get.
One of those long arms were slung out along the back of the sofa, and Annie was sitting right hip to hip with him, hands to her mouth, giggling at the antics of Fozzie Bear. Knuckles was watching her with an amused look. His iced tea sat on his thigh, clenched in his other hand. They were talking low to each other, so the TV could still be heard.
Annie had him as a friend. That had always been the case. He was not playing sweet with her daughter just to get to her, that much had become apparent. She had to deal with her own freak out on her own terms. Keeping him away from the kids wouldn’t protect them in any way. Knuckles was in the family in a way that had nothing to do with her and her raging hormones.
And he looked damn good hanging out with her daughter, making her giggle and whisper things to him behind her hand. Annie hadn’t had that with her biological father. Her relationships with men had been with neighbors, teachers at school, very limited. And yet her fear of them was non-existent. She really did bring out the good in everyone, and she had latched onto Knuckles in mere minutes.
Danielle’s ex had been a great father to Grace, though. Throughout infancy, the terrible twos and Grace’s toddler years he was present and attentive, involved. Then he was called up for the invasion of Iraq.
Her husband hadn’t come home. She was one of the thousands of women out there whose life partner survived combat physically but not mentally. Her story wasn’t anything special in the grand scheme of things. He would stare blankly, cut out in the middle of conversations. Insomnia kept him up all hours, creating an irritable bear of a man with no control over his anger. He’d been home three weeks before he hit her the first time, a man that had never raised a hand to her in all the years they’d been together.
Grace grew scared of him. He’d been gone two years and she didn’t recognize him anymore, which also pissed him off. The years became tense, and Danielle was beside herself. She couldn’t work because she couldn’t trust her husband to be home with their daughter. His disability payments were low. They’d been considering moving in with her parents at one point.
Then came a fateful night she’ll never forget or forgive herself for.
“Yeah, Mom! We should!”
Danielle frowned, shaking herself from such deep thoughts. “What’s that, Annie?”
Her daughter smiled up at Knuckles, squished her arms into her side which brought her shoulders up to her ears, and grinned as she squealed “We should have Knuckles over for his birthday!”
She blinked as Knuckles laughed, ruffling her hair. “It’s okay, Curly. I’m a big boy. Birthdays don’t matter anymore.”
That made Danielle inexplicably sad. “When’s your birthday?”
“In a few weeks. End of March.”
“We can do that.”
He gave a half-smile. “You really don’t have to do that.”
“We want to!” Annie cut in, sounding desperate. “Birthdays are a big deal! You need to have a special day!”
Knuckles grin went full-on as he gazed down at Annie, then his eyes twinkled as he met Danielle’s eye. “You wanna make my day special, Momma?”
Everything tingled when he said that, and that was completely his intent, obviously. “Yeah. We can make your day special.”
His smile widened. “I don’t doubt that at all.”
Chapter Fifteen
“You sure the license is up to date?”
“Yes!” Spaz hissed back, sounding annoyed. Knuckles grinned and leaned against his own Dyna as Spaz tossed the ramps in the back of the club van and slammed the doors shut.
Mad Dog McClune’s Fat Boy sat gleaming in the sun, the matte black paint job freshened up, the old-school red paint flecks picking up the sun and glinting around in the lettering that read Mad Dog up both sides of the gas tank. In the middle, positioned right between the rider’s thighs, the Red Rebels’ fist symbol.
“We’ll see you back at the club,” Jayce said, clasping fists with Spaz.
“You got it.”
The black cargo van pulled away in a cloud of dust and Jayce took up pacing as a hobby on the side of the freeway outside the Kern County Prison. In ten minutes his father was due to be released.
Tank stood next to his own bike, hands at his hips, watching his president carefully. And the Sergeant at Arms, Fritter, was chewing on a piece of beef jerky sitting astride his own bike. Fritter hadn’t been in the club with Mad Dog at the helm, so he had no idea what to expect. Knuckles barely remembered the guy and his impending appearance made Knuckles nervous. Apparently, it just made the SAA peckish.
Jayce wasn’t helping the nerves. His hand was clasped tight on the back of his neck, and he kept his eyes on the toes of his boots as he walked back and forth, not saying a word. That had to be the worst part.
“I don’t even know what he looks like,” Knuckles mused, drawing Tank’s attention.
The big guy took a few steps closer, eye still on Jayce. “I couldn’t venture a guess. Only Jayce’s visited him since he’s been inside. Christ, he’s gotta look old by now.”
By Knuckles’ estimate Mad Dog was in his sixties. Coming out of prison, they could be faced with an emaciated husk of man or a dude that found a steroid supplier inside and spent all that time lifting weights. It was anybody’s guess.
According to legend, Mad Dog enlisted during the tail end of the Vietnam war, getting just enough action to make him mean but not enough to kill him. If he was eighteen when he signed up, and say that was in 1974—which would have given him a year in the jungle—then the guy was sixty on the nose. But Jayce was forty-six this year, so sixty was probably an underestimation. No one asked the guy’s age—the strained father/son relationship prevented that. But this was what Knuckles had to muse over while they waited.
Well, not the only thing. They were still expecting the shit to hit the fan with Guidinger over his wife, an entire week after the hit. That shouldn’t be too much of a surprise, the guy was probably being watched and couldn’t leave town to hang out with some bikers while mourning his poor, dearly departed.
The waiting on that, just like the waiting for Mad Dog McClune, got more tense the longer it was drawn out. Luckily, Knuckles had spent some of that waiting period getting to know Danielle Prince a little better.
He hid a smile and ducked his head as she came to mind again. Last night he’d had Annie’s help on the Sportster’s engine assembly until it was time for her to go get ready for bed, and once he knew the little spark plug was down for the night he let himself into the Prince’s side door, finding Danielle in the kitche
n.
She’d looked up from the sink, where again she was doing dishes. She really needed a fucking dishwasher. Although, she wore cut off denim shorts and a tank top with no bra when she did dishes, so he couldn’t really say he wanted to fix that situation for her. He noticed her legs were freckled as well. In a flash, he was desperate to know if she was completely covered in them.
As soon as she saw him her eyes got a spark, a look he found damn appealing. And those nipples. Christ, he’d never seen such responsive nipples in his entire life.
In retrospect, he had no idea why he’d gone over, unless he’d really wanted to see her again. Which was possible, but that wasn’t really how he operated. He didn’t chase, he let tail come to him.
Although, Danielle Prince wasn’t tail. And she proved it again the night before.
“Can I get you a root beer?” she’d asked, returning her attention and those shining, grey eyes to the pot she was rinsing off.
He didn’t want a root beer. Not at all.
Instead, he stepped up to her back, one hand pulling her hair off her neck and to the side while the other wrapped low around her belly. She made a sweet, soft sound of surprise as he pressed himself into her back, her little ass the perfect cushion against his groin.
“Not thirsty for root beer,” he muttered, letting his lips brush against her neck as he said it.
Her head came back to rest on his shoulder. He chuckled, then used his teeth to nip along her shoulder.
“What are you doing here?” she breathed, like she was trying to distract him somehow.
“I haven’t seen you in five days,” he informed her. “Not since you attacked me right here in your kitchen.”
“Attacked you?” she shot back, still whispering, head whipping around his way.
“You kissed me, Momma.” She trembled under his hand at her stomach, he actually felt it, and his cock filled out. She liked him calling her Momma, he could tell. That confirmed it. “What am I supposed to do? Walk away from that?”
She felt his erection; her hips squirmed, but he had her trapped in place, his other hand sliding under the swells of her breasts, holding them up.
“You could have walked away.”
He shook his head, letting his chin brush along her bare shoulder. The thin strap of her top had slid to the side. “No, I couldn’t.” He peered down, eyes following the freckles that covered her collarbone to her chest to the glimpse of tit, freckles still marching south. Shit, he needed to see how far those freckles went. “You are really good with your mouth, Momma. I wasn’t walking away.”
“Knuckles...” It might have been a protest, but she stayed in place, her breathing getting heavy. And Jesus, what that did to her tits.
“I just hope you weren’t avoiding me.”
“No,” she whimpered, ass moving against him. “I wasn’t avoiding you.”
The skin of her stomach met his palm, hot and soft. She let her head roll back again, cradled against his shoulder, eyes fluttering closed. Grinning to himself, he eased up on her breasts so his hand could sweep upward, stopping to let a thumb trace the bottom of one breast.
She groaned, hips shoving back against him. He growled in response, cock aching. He wanted inside her so badly, a level of want he’d never experienced before.
And he had to see these tits.
A testament to her own arousal, she made a wounded, pitiful sound as he pulled back from her. But it was just to pick her up by the hips and set her on the counter next to the sink, shove her legs apart and step into her body.
“Oh God,” she whispered, distracted as a clean glass nearly rolled off the counter, but he caught it, set it down and then commenced making out.
Danielle Prince was a fucking fantastic kisser. Quiet and shy usually, but that kiss had plenty of heat when she really let go. Her tongue was soft and sweet, darting out and along his, rubbing and teasing. She even used teeth, nipping at his bottom lip.
Her hands pulled at his hair, using it to keep him in place or angle him to the side, however she wanted him. Fuck, that was hot. Her knees came up to press against his sides, and he got a hand on one, squeezing and caressing his way up towards her ass. He could get a hand in the leg of these shorts, he knew he could. And shit, her skin was amazing. She was hot everywhere.
A hand went to her tit. It had to. That hard nipple in the center of his palm was an intriguing tease, and as he gave it a slight pinch her legs dug into him tight and she pulled her mouth away from his. A hand released his hair then came down to cover his, and he froze in place. Shit, if she was stopping him now...
“You okay?” he whispered, breath coming hard.
“I’m okay,” she assured him, eyes running over his face. “That just...that feels so good.”
He smiled slow. “Well, that’s good.”
“I need to take it slow,” she continued, panting around her own need to breathe. “But that makes it really difficult.”
His cock kicked. “Fuck, Momma.”
“I need to take it slow. But...I want you to know I like this. I do.” Her look had turned to pleading somewhere along the way, and he frowned.
“I like it too, Danielle,” he whispered, kissing her softly then backing off. “Can I just...can I just check one thing?”
Now she looked turned on and confused, which was sweet on her. “What?”
He dropped his eyes and kept his movements slow, allowing her to stop him as he eased one skinny strap off her speckled shoulder. “I have to see.”
“See what?” Now she was back to sounding all breathy. He liked that.
The cotton fell away to reveal one champagne glass-sized breast, freckled all the way around, right to the puckered, rosy-pink tip. He groaned, ducked his head, and pulled that nipple into his mouth.
With a gasp her arms wrapped around his neck, and her hips squirmed, crotch against his. He licked, sucked, and nipped at her until she pushed him back, pulling her shirt back over her chest.
Her cheeks were bright pink, and it sounded like she’d just run a four-minute mile. To be fair, he sounded pretty much the same.
“Your tits are gorgeous.”
She made a sound of playful outrage, looking away even as she was trying not to smile.
“They are. I wanna play with them all night. Can I?”
“Knuckles, Jesus.”
“You can play with anything of mine that you want.”
She covered her face with both hands, and he had to laugh, pulling them away. “No kidding around here, Danielle. I’m very, very interested in you. Personally. Emotionally.” As he said it, he realized it was true. There was a goodness, a comfort to the Prince home that he enjoyed, and Danielle Prince was responsible for all of that. And yeah, that calmness included no buzzing bees. His head was quiet here. “And I’m sure as shit interested in you physically. You take as long as you need to, Momma. I’m not going anywhere.”
As he spoke she’d lost the blush and the embarrassed smile, eyes locked on his.
“So, we can stop. But I’m going to keep coming back for more.” He leaned in, nipping at her bottom lip. “Because I want it all.”
Her eyes got all drowsy, and he had to smile.
“Should I go?”
“No. But...yes, you probably should.”
“Well, at least I’m not the only one that wants this. Am I, Momma?”
She shook her head. “No, you’re not.”
“Good.” With one more soft kiss he bid her goodnight, went home, and jerked off in the interest of his own health.
And here he was now, grinning like an idiot as he remembered that perfect, cute freckled tit and fighting against going hard outside a federal penitentiary.
“Is that him?”
At Fritter’s question Knuckles stood, turning towards the rolling chain link gate. Sure enough, it was trundling open as a form approached. Knuckles squinted, but still it was impossible to make out any features.
Apparently, it was enough for Jay
ce, however. “Yeah, that’s him.”
Everyone stood straighter, and Fritter swung off his bike to stand at Jayce’s right. Tank filed in on the left and Knuckles hung back. As the man drew nearer Knuckles recognized the posture, the stride. The width of the shoulders and the arm span. This figure moved just like his president did. Yep, this was, without a doubt, Jayce’s father.
The head of hair shone white. That was one thick head of hair. A moustache was also of the snowy shade, all the starker against well-tanned skin. Yeah, the yard must have great sun.
He was dressed in straight-legged jeans, a perfect fit over thighs that showed muscle even through denim. Yep, Mad Dog found weights, not despair, on the inside. The arms of his plain black T-shirt strained at the bicep, cephalic vein showing. A plastic bag clutched in one hand likely held his other personal effects; jewelry, wallet, spare underwear. Who knew? Not a lot to show for a just over eight years of life, that was for sure.
Jayce moved up a few steps and the guys gave him the space. A few words were exchanged, too low to hear, and then Mad Dog pulled his son if for a quick hug, long enough to deliver a good slap on the back.
Tank came forward, and the older man squinted upward, releasing his son and grinning. “Well holy shit. You got old, you ugly fucker.”
Tank gave a low, rumbling laugh, then crouched over to also accept a man-hug. “And you got fucking ripped, man. What the hell do they feed you in prison these days?”
“The flesh of my enemies,” Mad Dog replied with a maniacal laugh, and it was hard to tell if he was actually kidding. Then his crystal-blue eyes settled behind Tank, right on Knuckles.
He nodded, then came forward with his hand extended. “Sir. I’m Knuckles.” Fuck, his hand was shaking.
Mad Dog didn’t notice or care. He took the hand in a death grip and gave it a sharp jolt. “Knuckles. Heard about you.”
No surprise; Jayce had kept his father in the loop once he was locked up.
“Iraq, right?”
Again, not a shock that he honed in on that. “Yeah. Dagger Brigade. 1st Infantry, United States Army.” That whole series of words rolled off the tongue with a bit of rust. He hadn’t repeated his company in years.
Shelter (Red Rebels MC Book 5) Page 15