Biker Chicks: An Anthology of Hot MC Romance (3 page)

They stood like that for a moment, and then he tilted his head and held out a hand. Not overtly, so everyone would notice, only slightly extending his arm, tilting his palm toward her. “Wanna talk some more?” At the invitation, she reached out, slipping her hand into his, letting his large hand engulf hers, and following him as he pulled her toward the shadows by the van. He opened the door and they settled side by side in the opening, Mela shifting back far enough to bring her legs up while Hurley retained possession of her hand.

“I’ve never seen you around the clubhouses.” He spoke quietly, threading his fingers between hers. The non-question didn’t surprise her because only a few people knew what her affiliations were. She shook her head. He continued, “If you aren’t club, then why are you here?”

Lifting her gaze to him, she answered his question with one of her own. “Do you know the story of how Slate came to the Rebels, and how he got his name?” At his headshake, she drew a breath, and then said, “It’s one hell of a story, and you should ask him about it sometime. How he came by his name, granted by his president on the day he first wore his own prospect patch. I factor into it in a small way,
muy poco
, very small. Everything happened so long ago, it seems nearly a dream sometimes. A nightmare, but so long ago the edges are all worn and it can no longer hurt me.”

He made a noise and tugged at her hand until she turned to look at him, waiting. “You know Slate well?” he asked, and she nodded.

“He saved me,” she said quietly.

They sat there in silence for a minute, his thumb stroking slowly back and forth across her knuckles, then he asked, “From what?”

Shifting sideways, she tugged, gently pulling her hand from his grasp. “From the time I was small, my father and uncle disagreed on many things about me. Over the years, their argument escalated until I wound up in a dangerous place, surrounded by dangerous men. Men who were there for business, of which I was a part. Slate, who I still call Uncle Andy, rode to the rescue of a frightened and impressionable young Mexican girl, forced too quickly into adulthood. That is how I know these women” –she folded her hands in her lap– “because while my association with the Rebels may have started with Slate, it continues through my friendship with his woman and with Mason. He and my father have worked together often in the past few years, and I hold a Rebel challenge coin, giving me free passage into or through any territories your club claims.”

Digging into the front pocket of her jeans, she pulled out a coin larger than a silver dollar, handing it to him. She watched as he turned it back and forth, looking at both sides of the heavy metal disc, then held out her hand to retrieve it. He placed it in her palm, his fingers trailing along hers sensuously. “Tell me how you came to be here?” Affected by his touch, she had to firm her voice as she asked the question, pushing the Rebel token back into her pocket. She wasn’t sure if she would receive a real answer because some men came to the club through paths they preferred not to disclose.
Hurley is not one of those men
, she thought, as she listened to him.

“Mom left me and Dad when I was about five,” he began. “My dad’s best friend was a Rebel. Well, he didn’t start out a Rebel, but the president of their club folded it in years ago, so he got grandfathered in. Dad and Diablo, his friend, and Winger, the president, worked on bikes in Dad’s garage until the Rebels bought it to run their own show. By then, I was working in the shop every day after school. Just wrenching, nothing fancy. Nothing at all like Bear can do. That man is amazing.”

She murmured, “I’ve seen some of his work. Very nice.” Bear and Diablo were names with which she was familiar, and Winger, married to DeeDee at the time, was a man she had known well. Lockee, their daughter, was only a little older than she was, so the two girls were thrown together whenever there was a meeting involving family. Winger and Lockee died several years ago in a car wreck, and it still startled her to think that bright, vibrant Lockee would never grow older. Lockee would never meet and marry a man she loved, never bear his children. All the things any girl hoped to experience, now an impossibility.

“Yeah, nice is an understatement. Being around the guys made me realize that the club, being a member, was something I wanted. More than anything, I wanted it. Mason made me wait until I was legal to officially prospect in, but now I’m nearly at the nine-month mark, still going strong.” In the darkness, she saw him move and then saw the glint of his teeth as he smiled.

“So you’re twenty-one?” Mela was surprised at her disappointment, he looked older and acted more mature than most of the boys her own age.

“Twenty-two now,” he said, that glint of smile shining at her again. “My birthday was yesterday.”

“Seriously?” She sat up straight and he reached out and placed his palm on her back, supporting her confidently. “Your birthday was yesterday? That deserves some cake or something. Some kind of celebration.” She placed her hand on his forearm and leaned forward, intending to brush her lips across his cheek, “Happy birth—“ she began, interrupted when he turned his head and pressed his lips to hers. Her eyes dipped closed of their own volition, and her small gasp of surprise must have seemed like an invitation because his mouth opened, his tongue boldly trailing across her bottom lip. The kiss ended slowly, Hurley pressing his lips to hers twice, gently working her mouth before putting his cheek to hers.
Bad idea
, she thought,
bad idea. Terrible idea.
Breathlessly she finished, “—day.”

She felt the supporting arm slide further around her back as his other hand came up, sweeping the hair off her neck so he could dust kisses up the column of her throat. “Mmmm.” The noise he made in the back of his throat was low and sexy, and she couldn’t help shivering again. “Thank you,” he murmured, kissing her jaw– “for the” –moving back to nip her earlobe– “birthday” –lips back to her jaw, he kissed up to her mouth– “wishes.”

The heat from his hands traveled up and down her arms, the sensation trailing the path of his palms moving over her skin. Her neck arched and he accepted the silent invitation, pressing hard, openmouthed kisses along her jaw and back up to her mouth. This time when his tongue teased along her lips, she opened to him, feeling that same shiver work its way up her spine as he swept into her mouth, possessing her. Lips working, he tangled his tongue with hers and she felt his hands shifting her closer as the kiss deepened.

Her hands were twisted, one in his shirt, winding helplessly, trying to pull him closer, and the other twined in his hair, threading through and cupping the back of his head demandingly. Plucking at the piece of leather that tied his hair back, she released it and his hair fell around them, creating a silky curtain that swayed with their movements.

She felt the muscles of her stomach jolt and lurch as one of his hands slipped underneath her shirt, the backs of his knuckles brushing along her ribs. He broke the kiss and pressed his lips to the side of her head, his breathing as ragged as hers when he said, “Mela, don’t tell me to stop, please God.” His hand rose along her ribs, thumb stroking the side of her breast and then across her already hard nipple over the fabric of her bra. “Want you,” he muttered, palming her breast and plumping it, slipping his fingers inside her bra to tease her bare skin.

“Yes,” she breathed and he made an eager noise in response, easing her back onto the mattress, propping himself over her on an arm as he reached down, bringing her legs into the van. With one hand, he grasped the handle, and she watched the wedge of light from the fire grow smaller, narrowing and then finally winking out of existence as the door closed. Eyes stretched wide, she found there was just enough light filtering in through the windows to see his silhouette where he knelt between her feet. From the tilt of his head, she knew he was looking down at her, so when she felt his hands on her ankles, she didn’t jump.

Wordlessly he tugged her boots from her feet, slipping the socks off and tucking them into each boot, setting the paired footwear aside. Stretching his hands out, his fingers found and worked the fastening at the waistband of her jeans, pulling them open and sliding them down her legs. He bent her knees to remove them, taking her panties at the same time and laid her clothing next to her boots. Reaching out, he grabbed one of her hands and tugged, pulling her into a sitting position. Reaching around her and under her shirt, he worked the fastener on her bra, and then took her shirt and bra off, laying them next to the rest of her clothes.

Totally nude, bathed in the limited light shining through the windows, she sat in front of him, waiting, feeling her eagerness begin to retreat as the moments ticked past without him touching her. She crossed her arms and was startled when he said, voice low and forceful, “Don’t cover yourself. Let me look at you.” Dropping her arms, she fought the urge to bring her knees up, but she wanted him so badly by now that she was afraid of doing anything that would cause him to stop. In the end, desire won out over inhibition and she waited in silence, legs bent in front of her, arms at her sides. “Fucking gorgeous,” he said in that same low, possessive tone. “Blinding me, you’re so beautiful.”

Moving slowly, he took off his cut, folding it carefully. Then with quick movements, he stripped off his boots and jeans, tossing his own clothing thoughtlessly aside. Reaching up, he swept his hair from his face and back with one hand, tilting his head and reaching out, seeming to take forever until he touched her. He cupped one hand over the top of each foot, tugging them open and pulling her toward him. “Lie down, honey,” he said softly, running his hands up the inside of her legs and back down, his thumb stroking up along the arch of each foot. “Lay back; let me make you feel good. Let me make it good for you, honey.”

His reverent tone and the contact, the soothing trace of his hands across her skin gave her the courage to do as he asked. His hands stroked higher across her ankles, then the inside of her knees, sweeping down then up farther, then frustratingly back down. She lost the heat from his hands for a moment and then trembled as his thumbs, palms, and fingertips again trailed up and down her skin. Delicious torture, because she longed for his touch but couldn’t predict the path his hands would take, so her quivering anticipation was constant and kept her on edge.

Rising on his knees, he bent over, lowering his torso and then his mouth was on her inner thigh. She sensed his breath ghosting across her skin and gasped at the first bold swipe of his tongue across her pussy. With a groan, she lifted her hips, chasing the sensation; he chuckled, deliberately sliding his fingers up and down the folds and she felt the smooth glide, the touch of his work-roughened hands soft as spun silk against her skin. “God, honey,” he muttered, lips brushing across her flesh as he spoke. “You’re fucking drenched for me.” With a shift in position, he lapped at her, teasing her clit out of its hood and sucking that bundle of nerves into his mouth.

“Mmmm.” He made that noise in the back of his throat again and she shivered. “Fucking drenched. Love it, love the way you taste.” His hands were touching and stroking, then one of his fingers was sliding inside her. Moving slowly, steadily, he pushed deep and his other fingers spread across her ass as he thrust in, then stroked out just as slowly; plunging back inside with two fingers, spreading and stretching her. “Gonna make you feel good.” He fell into a rhythm, and when she lost her grip on the sheet with one hand, threading it through his hair he laughed, the vibration against her pussy drew her knees up and out, opening for him.

“God,” he muttered, pressing his mouth against her, the movement and speed of his tongue and fingers increasing. “Fucking gorgeous,” words nearly inaudible over the sounds of him eating her, the noise her body made as it accepted every stroke, and she realized she was making incoherent, constant entreaties of desire and arousal. “Come for me, baby. Come on,” he coaxed, “let me hear you.”

“Nearly,” she breathed, trying not to fist her hand in his hair. “So good.” Capturing her top lip in her teeth, she chased the sensation gathering low in her belly, tightening around his fingers, her hand falling away to grasp the sheet. “So good,” she encouraged him and suddenly she was filled, three fingers curving up inside her as he ground the heel of his palm into her clit. He nipped at the inside of her thigh, his weight holding her leg still and she shattered, cocooned in the darkness behind her closed lids, ears deaf to anything except the rapid pounding of her heart.

“Fuck, honey,” she heard him say and realized his mouth was beside her head; he had moved up her body and was stretched over her. “You’re fucking gorgeous.” She felt his hand working between them and lifted her hips, seeking…and then he was there, thrusting his cock deep with one long glide and holding, rotating his hips, grinding his pelvic bone into her clit while his breath came fast and hard in her ear.

“Come again, honey, come on,” he gritted the words out, forehead to his arm, shoved in the mattress. Rolling his hips, he shifted side to side and then slipped a hand between them. His thumb unerringly found her clit and pressed hard as he withdrew and then thrust inside, hard and deep, holding there as she rolled over that edge again.Lifting her pussy up to meet his movements, head pressing backward. “Yeah, gorgeous, fuck me back.”

He took the arch of her neck as an invitation and trailed hard, hot kisses along the column of her throat, working her skin with teeth and tongue. She was on the downward glide from the orgasm when he began to move with purpose; hips working between her thighs, he fucked her with passion and finesse, sliding his belly up and down hers, pressing deep to shift his weight. Putting a leg outside hers, he created a different angle and pressure that caused her to suck in a hard breath because it was
so
good. Fingers plucking at her nipples, palms lifting a breast to his mouth, hands stroking across her skin, teeth and lips nibbling on her jaw…it was as if he were everywhere at once, and she recognized that same growing tension low in her belly with some surprise. “Hurley,” she breathed, “nearly there.”