Hard Rider

by Lydia Pax

  “Was it just him who raised you?”

  He was silent still.

  “Come on. You know like, my entire family now. Give me something.”

  Ram approached a tree, peeling off a piece of bark. He twisted it this way and that, slowly crushing it in his hands.

  “My mom died when I was real young.”

  “I’m so sorry, Reid. How?”

  “Police raid.”

  “Oh,” said June. She put a hand to her lips. “Oh, god…”

  “Don’t worry about it.”

  “How can I not worry about that? I’ve pulled you into this place and Christ you must hate me, oh god.”

  “It’s fine,” he said, taking her by the shoulders. “Really. I barely knew her. Not a lot of memories.”

  “I mean…okay, if you say so, but that doesn’t make it fine, I mean…your mother…”

  “My sister, Madeline, was more like my mother to me. Seven years older than I was. She raised me more than my dad.”

  June felt a spark of hope. This could still be salvaged, then.

  “When do I get to meet her?”

  “You don’t. She’s dead too.”

  Good god. He’s got no one.

  June’s eyes were liquid and full. “Oh…Reid. That’s such a burden. I’m so sorry.”

  “Not your fault.” He tossed the remaining scraps of bark to the ground. “Can we change the subject?”

  “Sure. Sure, of course.”

  There was pain in his face now, real pain—and she needed it to be gone. It was her fault it was there, her fault he had been dragged to this place with all her awful people, and he needed to feel better and he needed that now.

  She pushed herself up against his body, cradling her hands gently against his face. With supreme tenderness, she lifted her face up and met his, kissing him softly on the lips.

  He was so much bigger than her that he had to lean down to even properly kiss her—at least, without lifting her up. So when he began to kiss her back, his warm lips moving over hers, his tongue sliding across into her mouth and meeting her own—she knew that this was a welcome gesture on her part.

  Their embrace continued and intensified, her leg sliding against his, opening her pelvis to the hardness developing so rapidly between his legs. His hand came against the small of her back, easily pulling her up and into his body, sliding his growing erection fervently against the inside of her thighs.

  June moaned, looping her arms around his neck, sliding her lips down his chin, his jaw. Every part of him was so strong.

  “You know,” she whispered, “it would be pretty scandalous if we…got caught kissing, making out, or…”

  His hand landed on her hips.

  “Or?”

  Suddenly her breaths were coming very fast indeed. She hadn’t planned for this—hadn’t planned, really, any of this. It was unlike her—planning was her stress relief, her go-to fixation.

  She felt compelled to finish the thought, even knowing where it would take them. “You know…caught having sex.”

  “I guess we’ll have to be careful not to be caught, then.”

  One big hand fell upon her breast, half on the exposed skin, with his palm pressing intently upon her nipples. She wet her lips, a low groan sounding in the bottom of her throat. She wanted him.

  Sex was precious to her. Not something given away lightly. Not something tossed out to the nearest alpha male in the heat of the moment.

  But Ram was making her forget all about that.

  On instinct, her fingers pushed forward to between his crotch, feeling the long, thick lines of his cock beneath his slacks. Her leg skated up against his thigh, the heat of her entrance pushing on his straining erection, and finally they kissed again.

  This was stupid and wrong, and they both knew it, and neither of them cared. June reveled in the fact of them not caring, sliding her lips across his with eager delight.

  One thing she was coming to understand very intimately was how strong Ram was. His hands slipped up underneath her ass and pulled her upward with almost no effort at all. A squeal of delight left her, surprised at how small and weightless he made her feel. June was no waif, but to Ram, she might as well have been. Her legs wrapped around his waist, hair tumbling across his face as they embraced again, kissing harder than before.

  She loved the feel of her fingers drifting through his thick hair, his heavy beard, stroking and feeling every part of his handsome muscled form at her leisure.

  Slowly, he lowered her down onto the ground, unbuckling his pants along the way. His cock sprang out into the open, bigger than she ever could have imagined. Her mouth watered as she examined its elegant, half-moist turgidity. Hungrily she moved forward on her knees, ready to take it in her mouth with no questions asked—but he pushed her back and down on her back.

  “I was just getting tired of feeling it grind against my pants,” he said. “I’ve got another idea first.”

  He pushed her all the way back, quickly pulling her tights and panties down around her ankles. They were elastic enough to let him slide in between her legs, his mouth pushing forward like a hound after a hare.

  “Believe me,” he said, “I’ve wanted this a lot longer than you’ve wanted to suck me off.”

  “H-how long?” she asked. She felt completely vulnerable, exposed.

  “Since the second I saw you at that diner.”

  His mouth fell down between her folds, his whole face on top of her. The tip of his nose searched blindly for a moment before finding her clit, and once he did, his tongue slid slowly up the area until resting directly on top of the little mound.

  The whiskers and heavy scruff of his beard did not scratch between her legs—the hair was surprisingly soft, acting more like a slightly ticklish cushion than anything else.

  June bucked her hips as his tongue went to work, flicking up and down across her spot. Pleasure filled her. He definitely knew what he was doing. Her hands latched out against his shoulders, his arms, tracing down the lines of the heavy ink shapes beneath his thin shirt.

  Even, rhythmic pace going in the same up-down direction, occasionally accenting on the up or down flick with an extra increase of fluid, easy pressure for just a few seconds. It was building a whirlwind inside of her. A whirlwind of need, of passion, threatening to consume her from the inside out.

  She hadn’t been touched like this since her ex, Simon. And she hadn’t been touched as good as this since ever.

  No one had ever licked her with so much skill and confidence in her entire life, and for Ram to do it right away—and so voluntarily, with his cock already hard and her desperate to suck it for him—blew her mind.

  Sitting up on her elbows, she wanted a better view of him down there. This might very well be the last time this ever happened, after all, and she wanted to crystallize his image for years of fantasies to come. There was no doubt in her mind that this tryst with Ram would be the highlight of her sexual life. He was too handsome, too beautifully built to ever be outdone.

  What she saw accelerated her own need to come by a thousandfold. He was stroking himself as he licked her. His big hand holding that big, massive cock, beads of his pleasure running down and quickly being stroked into the hard flesh. A long moan left her mouth at this hot sight and she couldn’t stop what started.

  Stroking himself, she thought, amazed, while he licks me.

  Her hips bucked again, that whirlwind of pleasure in her center unfolding and flattening throughout her entire body, carried from tip to toe by lightning bolts of bliss. Thighs squeezed against his head, dragging him closer in, forcing him down.

  The orgasm hit her hard, erasing all her worries, all her cares. She was just a woman with her legs wrapped around the head of a very willing man—and the two of them didn’t have to be anything more than that.

  A minute passed, and then another. The hot, sudden, urgent thrills of the orgasm were replaced with low, easy waves of contentment. She breathed hard, riding this wave
of crazy bliss as far as it would go.

  After the pleasure passed, she finally let him go, breathing hard still. He got up to his knees, grinning. The hard meat of his cock stood out in front of him like a lamp post hanging from the brick house of his body.

  “Did you…did you get to do it too?” she asked, feeling silly with her reservation about the words.

  Did you come? Did you spill it all? Do you have it enough to empty it out in me? Down my throat, on my belly? Please say you have enough.

  “No,” he said. “That wasn’t what that was about. I wanted to save some for you.” Looking down at her, breathing hard and disheveled, he could not help returning his hand to his cock. Her thighs spread open a little wider. “How about it?”

  June was, obviously, going to say yes.

  But, it was not to be.

  “June!”

  The voice was her mother, steadily making her way towards them through the brush.

  She flashed a look at Ram—hide!

  Chapter 17

  June’s mother eventually broke through the brush, finding June looking a bit out of sorts, but otherwise dressed. June had just managed to clean herself up in time, standing up and trying to look casual by leaning against a tree.

  She was an adult, and could have sex with whoever she wanted, but that didn’t mean by any stretch that she wanted to have her mother see a biker outlaw hunk with a huge cock straddling over her, ready to give her the fuck of her life.

  “Hi Mom.”

  “Is he gone?”

  June’s heart fluttered a bit. “Is who gone?”

  He was, in fact, completely gone, smart enough to know that just sitting around nearby would be too obvious of a hiding space. She had no idea where he ran off to, but it wasn’t close.

  “Don’t act dumb with me. I know what goes on back here with boys. Or did you think I forgot about high school?”

  “I don’t have any idea what you’re talking about, Mother.”

  Sheila rolled her eyes. “Have it your way. I just wanted to come out here to apologize for your father. I’d hoped your friend—”

  “—fiancé—” June said it with a fierceness that surprised herself. But then, he had just given her the best orgasm of her life.

  “Fiancé, of course.” Her mother smiled, clearly coming in peace. “I’d hoped he was here too.”

  “You don’t have to apologize for anything. It’s Dad who was being the asshole.”

  Sheila picked at her fingers. “Yes, well. You find a way for him to apologize, you let me know. I haven’t sourced it after forty years.”

  June nodded. “I don’t know why you put up with him like that.”

  “Because your father is a good man, with many flaws. Like all men. Even your man, I expect you know.”

  “Everyone has problems.”

  “Some more than others.” Her mother sometimes was erratic, eccentric, going off on strange tangents in the middle of sentences. A discussion on the prices of oranges could turn into the moving of Pisces through Saturn, or the like. But right now she was in one of her grooves—her thoughts smooth and unimpeded. “It won’t last, honey. Between you and him.”

  “Mom!”

  “It won’t. I don’t know what it is you think you’re feeling? What you’re trying to achieve? Hoping to piss off your father, I expect, and it’s working. So, good job there. And I’ll try and keep him civil. But it won’t last. You know that, don’t you?”

  June crossed her arms. “I don’t know anything. Least of all the future.”

  Her mother sighed and nodded. “Well, there’s still pie and cake for you to eat up. The guests are leaving. You might want to say goodbye.” She turned and began to exit the crossing, and then stopped. “Paxton may not be the man you were hoping for? He may not be some stud on a bike? But he’s a good man. Reliable. He’s the sort of man you want. The kind every woman really wants.”

  Chapter 18

  The center stopped holding that night, and everything began to fall apart.

  Big Frank Mitzen, a five year member of the Black Flags, walked into a bar at the edge of Marlowe by himself.

  Three Wrecking Crew followed him inside, and after five minutes, they dragged him back out again. Big Frank sported a bloody face and a broken ankle that would keep him off the road for six months. They ripped off his patch from his vest and told him to stay the hell out of Marlowe.

  That same night, two Black Flag members arrived at Buddy’s Auto Mechanic with crowbars and knocked out the windows of every car left in the parking lot outside the shop. Buddy’s took the cost on themselves to repair the windows, but it was expensive—which was the point.

  The following evening, a car blew up in front of a bar downtown when the gas tank exploded. No one would claim who did it, but inside the bar were enough Black Flags and Wrecking Crew to start a long brawl. The parade of broken teeth, smashed faces, and splintered tables only ended when the cops showed, scattering the bikers to the wind.

  The war was in Marlowe, and it showed no signs of slowing.

  Chapter 19

  The day after the day of the homecoming party, June pulled up to Shovelhead’s, the unofficial-official bar of the Wrecking Crew MC. It was five in the afternoon and the sun had another good three hours before it would set.

  Ram had made good on his end of the deal. Yesterday, June picked up her car from the auto shop where he worked, and it was good as new.

  “Should be good to go for at least three months,” he said. “Old cars need a lot of maintenance, okay? So bring it back in here and I’ll change the oil.”

  She wanted to ask him more—to make some heavy sexualized pun about oils, body oils, lubricants, and more—but his boss called him away.

  They texted throughout the day—she couldn’t stop herself from asking about him, wondering if he was available that night. She kicked herself for asking as soon as she had, knowing how transparent she was being. She wanted to have him between her legs again; she wanted to have him licking her again.

  She wanted to return the favor.

  He seemed to know the score, from the texts he sent in:

  Ram:

  Looking for another tongue lashing?

  Sorry babe. Busy tonight with work. Gotta rest.

  Come by Shovelhead’s tomorrow? We’ll hang and you’ll meet my people.

  June:

  Meet YOUR people?

  Ram:

  Only fair, isn’t it? We gotta make this as real as possible.

  We can have a few drinks beforehand. Loosen our tongues a bit.

  And so now here she was.

  Her day had been decent thus far, making progress on the job search front. So far, none had interested her as much as the Pet Luck place, but every guide she had read on the internet said that getting a job in the short-term was a numbers game. You had to apply to as many as were available.

  The bar squatted low to the ground, heavy brick building up its walls. It was located on the outskirts of town, the last stop on the road it was on for more than five miles. Beyond it was hot Texas sand and dirt, pads and patches of cacti populating the ground where there were not heavy bushes of creosote.

  The entrance to the bar was open to the road, and there was a long patch of gravel where cars and bikes—mostly bikes—could park.

  To the side, wrapping around the back of the bar, was a long concrete lot behind a heavy wire fence. This was where most if not all of the Wrecking Crew parked their bikes.

  June parked in the front. As she did, her phone rang.

  It was Kyle. Not sure that she wanted to have that conversation yet, she waited for the phone to ring out. A few moments later, a voice mail arrived.

  “Hey June, it’s Kyle. I hope you’ll give me a call later. I want to apologize for blowing up on you at the party the other night. That was out of line. I had…I had more going on in my head than I thought I did, or else I wouldn’t have even tried to get into it with you.

  “Bottom line,
I fucked up and said a whole lot I shouldn’t have. I’d really like to reconnect with you. I’m still worried about you, but you’re an adult and you got this far without my help. If you need anything, please give me a call. I want to be there for you.”

  Wow, thought June. That was…very mature.

  She hadn’t expected that from her brother, not at all. Her family held built up resentments like savings accounts, most of the time. For Kyle to come forward with an apology, unprompted, filled her with an unexpected updraft of hope for the rest of the day.

  At the entrance of the bar there was a heavyset man with a thick mustache, arms crossed, apparently on lookout. He looked at her with open elevator eyes. She liked it when Ram did it—but she did not like it when this one did.

  Inside the bar, soft country music played and men in Wrecking Crew colors gathered themselves in small groups at different portions. Most of them were in the very back, far from the bar, trading stories and drinking down pitchers of beer. A red-haired bartender who looked like a viking nursed a tall shot glass full of whiskey.

  She found a table near the front of the bar, a little concerned about catching a disease. Her mother’s influence pushing in on her mind and decisions again.

  In all honesty, the bar was perfectly clean—the floors were well-swept, the counter clear of any stickiness, the chairs and tables all in good condition. Some of the tables were nicked and carved into, but it added to the charm of the place more than anything else.

  But that didn’t stop her feeling of unease. How many of these bikers even knew who she was—why she was there?

  Knowing that she was going to meet Ram’s people—and more importantly, knowing that she was going to be meeting Ram again—June took it upon herself to look good. Not just good, but good. She wore her newest tight pair of jeans, tight suede boots that wrapped up around her knees, and a thin sweater that showed a substantial portion of her cleavage.

  The way Ram had made her come, she wanted to give him as much incentive as possible to try again…and she still wanted to try her own hand at pleasing him, besides. But she had arrived before him, apparently…and through the glass reflections of the framed pictures on the wall she started to see a lot of eyes on her.