Losing Me, Finding You (14 page)

I leave Mireya asleep on my bed and head out in search of Kent. I figure the dumb fuck is probably down at the bike show looking for ways to piss off Walker. I'd be surprised to find him anywhere else.

“Stupid son of a bitch,” I growl as I stalk through the lobby and out the front doors. Thing is, I'm not really sure if I'm referring to the Pres or myself. I don't feel right. Can't say what it is, but I'll have to figure it out later. My first priority right now is keeping my life together and my friends out of Triple M's shadows. I've lived in 'em long enough to know how to handle myself; this is my job now.

I step out into the sunshine and shield my eyes with my hand, searching the crowd and the rows of gleaming metal for Kent's dark hair and pale skin. I can't believe how white the damn man is. It isn't right, not for a biker. He's the only person I've ever met who lives on the back of a motorcycle and doesn't darken under the sun. Makes me think the asshole's a vampire or some shit.

“If you're looking for the Pres, he ain't here.” I pause and turn to look at Gaine who's sitting on a bench nearby, arms slung over the back and dangling loosely. He looks like he's had the chance to shower and change, but it hasn't sweetened his expression any.

“No?”

“No. He left a little while ago.”

“Where?” Gaine shrugs, but his eyes glitter dangerously like maybe he knows something I don't. I tuck my hands in my pockets and watch him carefully. “What's the matter with you?”

“You're a good man, Austin,” he says, slipping a cigarette into his mouth. “But you're fucking dense as shit.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” I ask him, but Gaine's doin' that thing where he stares off into the distance like he's waiting for someone. I look at him real close, zoning in on the metal ring in his eyebrow and the muscle that's twitching in his forehead, like maybe I can figure out what he's thinking if I stare at him long enough.

“Hey,” he says, breaking my concentration. “Isn't that your friend over there? Hot damn, that is one, ugly, fucking dress.” My head snaps up and I see her right off the bat. How could I miss her? Amy Cross stands out like a thumb on a handful of fingers.

She pauses like she can feel my eyes on her, but she doesn't look this way. Instead, she rushes forward and flings open the door to the grocer like she can't wait to get inside. I watch her go and I try to ignore the phantom feelings of Mireya's lips on my neck and her hands around my cock. Can't say I didn't enjoy myself last night. Mireya was just as good as she always is, but … Shit. I think Amy Cross's tight, little pussy has spoiled me rotten. My mouth waters at the thought of another taste of her. And then the guilt takes over, and I can't figure out where it's fuckin' coming from.

“Better hurry before she scampers off,” Gaine says, wiggling his fingers and rolling his eyes. He stands up suddenly, groaning and letting his head fall back like the pain in his body is too much to take. “I'll distract Mireya.” Gaine opens his eyes and nods his chin towards me. One glance over my shoulder tells me all I need to know. Sawyer is coming out the front doors of the hotel dressed in leather pants with a pair of big, round sunglasses on her face. I don't know what it is, but the thought of talking to her right now doesn't seem all that appealing.

I look back down the block and my heart starts to pump at the thought of seeing Amy again. I don't like the way we parted last. I may not owe her shit, but I said I'd talk to Kent, and I'm a man that keeps his word. If she wants to join Triple M, who am I to stop her, right? Then I think about all the shit that's going down, and I start to get conflicted. Fuck. My head feels messed up, and I don't like it.

“Thanks, Gaine,” I say as I move past him, patting the broken heart tattoo on his shoulder. “I owe you one.”

And then I'm jogging down the damn sidewalk, weaving in and out of the crowd, moving past bikes that would normally give me a raging hard-on, ignoring them the same way I'm ignoring the street signs and the park benches and the trash cans. I don't stop until I hit the entrance to the grocer's and wrap my hand around the hot metal of the door handle.

Breathe, you stupid motherfucker, I tell myself as I stand panting there in the shadows of the white and red awning. Folks are staring, but I can't blame 'em. I don't even know what the hell I'm doing here. I pause and take a step back, putting my hands on my hips and turning away, so I can close my eyes and let the hot smell of pavement and oil trickle into my nostrils, soothing away some of this … frenzy that I've got goin' on. Didn't you just get finished fucking, Austin? I ask myself, feeling a burning down below.

The door opens behind me, but I ignore it, too focused on trying to cool myself down.

“Austin?”

Ah, shit.

“Amy.”

I turn around and come face to face with those round eyes, glossy lips, and curvy body. Even her ugly, purple dress can't hide the swell of hips and the long, lean thighs beneath. The burning turns into an blaze that makes my hands squeeze into fists by my sides. I feel like a friggin' volcano that's about to explode. Long as I can explode inside of Amy, I'll be happy.

“What are you … what are you doing here?” she asks, mouth trembling, little brown bag clutched up against her chest. See, that's what I like about little Miss Amy, what drew me to her in the first place when I saw her bent over that Road King, ass out like she was waiting for it. She looks like she's afraid, like she's nervous or shy or demure or some shit, but she's not. That tremble, that shake, those watery eyes. Amy's feeling the same way I do, like she's got fire bottled up inside and it's all waiting to come out.

“Why, I'm here to see you, sugar.”

My hand comes out real fast and wraps Amy's wrist, dragging her forward so that the bag gets crushed between our chests.

“Oh my,” she gasps as I press my mouth against hers and breathe in her scent. She's soft as shit, warm and pliable. Goddamn, I wish she was mine. I slide my hand up her back, tangle my fingers in her crunchy hair and wonder what idiot was stupid enough to spray crap onto that beautiful silk. I grab at it and pull, even as she yelps into my mouth and squirms, struggles to pull away. I tear the metal pins out and throw them to the ground at our feet. “Austin, stop,” she whimpers as I reach between us and grab her paper bag. A quick look inside tells me there ain't nothing worth saving there, just a pair of panty hose and some pills.

“Don't worry, beautiful. I'll buy you some new ones.” I toss the bag into the nearby trash can and drag Amy into the alleyway between the grocery store and the brick apartment complex that stands next to it.

She doesn't resist, scurrying along behind me in her ugly shoes and breathing hard through her nose.

“I can't, Austin. There's a … a wedding … I … ”

I ain't about to do a pretty girl like Amy against the side of the dumpster, so I drag her further down the alley until I see a small, fenced in patio that comes off the back of the bottom floor apartment. There's a little gate and a nice, sturdy lookin' table and chairs.

Ah, that'll do. That'll do just fine.

I follow Austin down an alleyway and much as I'd like to pretend that I don't know what I'm doing, I do. I really, really do.
He's going to fuck me again.
My body starts to tingle, to heat up where Austin's hand is wrapped around my wrist.

“My … my wedding,” I gasp out as Austin shoves his way through a gate and kicks aside what's actually a very nice chair. I can't imagine that the people whose patio this is are going to be very happy if they walk out and find me and Austin … engaged with one another.

He spins me around quick and grabs me by the hips, sliding me onto the tabletop and stepping between my legs like he belongs there. My hands run up his chest and tangle in the fabric of his T-shirt.

“I have to get back to the wedding,” I say weakly, watching the shimmer of sunlight on Austin's sandy hair, moving my questing fingers from his chest to his arms, touching the tattoos there with reverence. I'd like to have a tattoo someday.
That's the first thing I'm going to do when I get out of here,
I think as Austin's eyes darken and a growl slips out from between his scarred lips.

“Weddin'?” I look into his face and suddenly I'm filled with the urge to explain, to tell him everything about my life, but he doesn't give me the chance. Austin grabs me by the back of my neck and thrusts his tongue into my mouth, biting and tasting and nipping at me with his teeth while he manipulates the fabric that separates us and slides into me, bursting me apart at the seams. Austin's cock burns my aching soreness with hard strokes while his fingers dig into my flesh so rough they bruise. He rams me against the table which grinds across the pavement and slams into the fence of the patio with a crash.

I close my eyes tight, and I try not to look at Austin's face or down below where our bodies meet.

What are you doing, Amy?
I wonder, thinking about my family and what they're going to do when I don't show up for the ceremony.

“Fuck 'im,” Austin says, grabbing me under the chin and turning my face up to his. I keep my eyes locked shut.

“Excuse me?” I whimper, holding back a chorus of moans that are clawing at the back of my throat. There's already a pretty damn good chance we're going to get seen back here. If I start letting it all out, calling Austin's name and groaning like one of the characters in my books, then they're for sure going to catch us. I bite my lip to keep quiet.

“Fuck the guy who did this,” Austin growls and all I can think is,
I couldn't agree more.

I spread my legs as wide as I can and welcome Austin in, clutching his sweaty biceps with my hands and wishing we had all day to play together. I'd like to get a look at what he's got under his shirt, taste the muscles there with my tongue, let him push his dick inside my mouth, so I can watch the expression on his face. I think, perhaps, that maybe I'm a bit addicted to this whole sex thing, never wondering if there's just something about Austin Sparks that's catching my interest. Then again, I just met the man yesterday, so how am I supposed to know that?

Snatches of voices come to me then, the sound of a door opening and the creak of wood. My eyes snap open and my head drops back. There's somebody on the balcony above us.

“Austin,” I whisper, but he cuts me off by pressing his mouth to mine, drowning me in the experience. My second time having sex is even better than my first, not as painful, twice as pleasurable. The sweaty, warm grinding that's going on down below is making me shudder, making me wish I'd tried it a whole lot sooner. I'm so wet, moist and slick, ready for Austin's violent thrusts.
Pull my hair again,
I think, wishing he'd wrap it in his fist and jerk me back, hold me hostage while he ravaged me between the thighs.

Oh yes,
I think.
So much better than Crandle Rogers.

I lock my ankles around his waist, thanking God above for giving me long, lean calves that can actually manage (barely) to make it around Austin's muscular midsection. I grab the upper edge of Austin's jeans and slide my fingers under, feeling hot, sweaty flesh and contracting muscles.
Kidnap me and take me away. Throw me across the back of your bike and show me what it feels like to have the wind in your face and the sun on your skin, day in and day out. If it's anything at all like this then it must be heaven on earth.

I gather my thoughts carefully and mimic a move I've read about but never had the chance to try, putting my hand between us, so I can rub my clit with my fingers. The pleasure that hits me is indescribable, taking the slippery, sliding rush of agony between my thighs and turning it on its head, making me bite back a scream and forcing me to let go.

I fall back, caught only by Austin's arms as I orgasm right there on a stranger's well kept patio set.

Panting, Austin and I separate, and he slides out of me with a groan, picking off his condom and flicking it into a nearby dumpster without a word. I watch him as he zips up his pants and puts his hands on his hips, shaking his head like he doesn't know what to think.

“What am I gonna do with you, sugar?” he asks me, but I don't respond. Instead, I stand up and adjust my panties, surprised at the amount of moistness that gets on my fingers.
Is that all mine?

“I've gotta go.” My voice comes out in a whisper that barely cuts across the noise of the afternoon. Austin turns to look at me, running a hand through his sandy hair.

“To your weddin'?” he asks in his mysterious Southern accent, one that sounds like it's made up from bits and pieces of different states, different counties, different towns. It's real pretty though, a voice that could lull you to sleep at night and wake you up bright and early in the morning.
I love it.

“Pardon me?” I ask, wishing I had my purse, so I could clutch it to my chest like a shield. I feel naked standing there in my strapless dress with my underwear soaking wet and my body pulsing with heat and fire. Austin rubs his stubbly chin for a moment.

“You said you had to get back to a wedding.”