The Bare Bones (The Bare Bones MC) (9 page)

I did grab his hands now. I sat on the edge of my chair and brushed my cool, dry hand against his pitted jaw—he had haphazardly tried to cover up the burned skin with a sort of permanent heavy stubble and goatee that made him look even more handsome. Yes, such a thing was possible. “Your mother? I thought she was some…” I tried to be tactful, as I’d learned after years of nursing. I was going to say “club old lady who went down the wrong path” or some such crap, but Ford beat me to it.

“Fucked-up drug addict, yeah, you can say it, Maddy. I found out a lot more about her. Some brother in our Flagstaff chapter alerted me to her situation. Well, you know she vanished when I was like three so I barely remembered her.”

“Right.” I knew from the ICU nurse’s chatter that Rebekah Quail was in a terminal condition. She had no insurance but because she was of the White Mountain Apache tribe, she was being taken care of by the Indian Health Service. She seemed to have no one visiting her aside from a handsome son who had the nurses all atwitter. I had been longing to cast eyes on this devastating charmer. Now I knew why.

But I hadn’t known Ford was part Apache.

Apparently he hadn’t known that, either.

“Well, it wasn’t her drug addiction that made Cropper kick her to the curb. You’ve seen my brothers, Maddy. They’re no strangers to substance abuse, that’s for sure. I was only spared from addiction because I’m so allergic to most of the substances. And you’ve seen the sweetbutts who give my brothers wine enemas. No, I don’t think drug addiction broke up my parents.”

I could be frank with Ford. “Was it…the fact that she was Apache?”

Ford looked at me grimly. “You noticed that? Are you an ICU nurse?”

“No, I’m attached to Cardiology. But I know the ICU nurses.”

“Yeah, that might’ve been part of it. I didn’t always accept that I was so dark-skinned due to Cropper’s Italian heritage. You know how most club members frown upon the ‘browns.’ Come to find out I’m one-fourth brown myself. But that’s not all.”

What could be worse? I knew the club wasn’t too amenable toward people of color. It was just the way of biker clubs. They’d had a brother, Russ Gollywow, who they mostly just called Gollywow. He was undoubtedly white but he had a fascination with the Philly Soul group, The Stylistics. He often went on the road performing as a backup singer for a Stylistics-type group, wearing various shades of powdery suits and spinning in sync with the actual backup singers he worked with. Gollywow earned no end of disrespect for this hobby, even though he was quite good. I had seen him once performing in Mesa. He would mercilessly beat the shit out of anyone who heckled him, waiting until after the show because he was a professional.

“Last week my mother told me something. The reason Cropper kicked her to the curb is she hadn’t told him she’s a carrier of the Tay-Sachs gene. He must be, too. I turned out okay, although I might be a carrier.” He took a deep breath and couldn’t look at me anymore. He looked back at the floor. “But she had another kid after me, a son. He was affected. That’s when Cropper booted her with nothing, no money, no nothing.”

“You have…a brother?”

“Had. He died when he was four, living in some shithole over at Fort Apache. Was in a wheelchair, blind and deaf, could barely move. It was a blessing that he kicked, according to my sainted mother. She knew she had the gene, just didn’t know Cropper had it, too, so she kept popping them out until she got a lemon.”

Tears flooded my eyes. Being a nurse, you see a lot. I’ve had to deal with irate shrieking relatives who either want to kill the patient, say for leaving them out of a will, or for some deathbed confession. You get people storming down the hallways with machetes, lamp bases, hammers, I mean, you wouldn’t believe. Nurses do so much more than give people drugs. There’s the entire tolerating-a-buttload-of-shit that most people don’t think about when they think “nurses.”

I’ve seen many people just ripped apart when someone they love has died. Dealing with death is a whole facet of nursing unto itself. Truth is, we get kind of blasé about it. I was only twenty-eight and I felt I’d seen it all.

Until now. This week had been hell on Ford, the man I loved, the man I was falling in love with all over again. I slid my cool fingers around the back of his hot neck, stimulated to feel his thick, silken hair again. I scooted as close to him as was possible, our thighs pressed together. Not only had he discovered who and where his birth mother was, she had just died, and he already had a dead brother. Oh, and he may be a carrier of the Tay-Sachs gene. And his girlfriend had just left him. He was in dire need of some serious loving. I sat so close, the shelf of my boobs pressed against his upper arm. It was in the forties outside, and he wore a hoodie under his cut—the same cut that was now emblazoned with a “V. PRESIDENT” patch over his right pec.

“I can’t begin to know what you’re going through,” I started off lamely. It was always a lie to pretend you could commiserate with some of the most massive clusterfucks people had to deal with in hospitals. I really couldn’t commiserate. I’d never had anyone close to me die before. “You can be tested, find out if you’re a carrier. It’s a simple blood test.”

I stroked his stubbled jaw with my other hand. I had a full view of his magnificent profile—that stupendous aquiline nose, those full, cherubic lips, like a Roman statue come to life.

I had never been able to hold out against him. And when he turned his face to mine, I just lost it. His beautiful rich root beer eyes were shimmering with unshed tears, too. My great big tough guy needed someone. My giant brawny, rugged love of my life needed comfort.

“I need you, Maddy,” he said quietly.

I kissed him.

What was supposed to be a sweet, tender kiss immediately turned into a no-holds-barred mackfest. The second I parted my mouth over his juicy lower lip, Ford grabbed me and vaulted me into his lap. He slammed me down over his fat, erect penis, and I instantly began gyrating like a pole dancer. We went at it like maniacs, twelve endless years of pent-up lust just gripping us in a massive clinch.

Within seconds my pussy had soaked through to my scrub pants, and I could smell myself. I knew the scent would probably set Ford off on some primordial, basic level—pheromones driving him over the edge.

He twisted a handful of my carefully coiffed bun in one hand. The other big, wide hand held me up by my ribcage as he licked my lips, my tongue, the roof of my mouth. My pussy quivered with arousal, fluttering and clenching like it had a mind of its own, wanting cock.

I had been fucked a lot in the past twelve years. I let Moe do it every night just for letting me stay with him while I finished nursing school. Then when I got my first nursing job I got my own condo, but I still had that emptiness that needed filling. It was still more of an existential loneliness that made me seek out other nurses, interns, doctors.

Men in the medical field were some of the most twisted bastards on the planet. I fucked an oncologist for a few months once who would only screw if I had inserted a urethral sound into his penis. His favorite was a “trailer hitch” with a ball that went up his ass, the pointy silver part up his urethra. Whatever worked, but I was ready for something a bit more vanilla. Dr. Dubois and I currently only engaged in a bit of mild BDSM, a little spanking here and there.

Sucking on Ford’s swollen lower lip, my sighs brought out the beast in him. He gave a couple of little hops and unfolded my legs so I straddled him completely. My sopping pussy was now plastered directly over his throbbing dick, and with both feet on the ground I could gyrate in any direction I wanted, bringing the most sensual growls from deep within his chest.

He pressed down on my shoulder to leverage my pussy against his erection. My two layers of flimsy cotton were so soaked I could actually feel the corona’s ridge of his fat cock against my slick lips. I released his lower lip so I could moan.

“Ford. I can’t.”

“Yes you can.” He slanted his mouth against mine and nibbled, effectively shutting me up.

“No, I mean…” I wrenched myself from his lap and staggered like a juiced football player on a bender.

“Maddy, don’t.” It was a cross between a plea and an order.

I don’t know how much sterner he would’ve gotten, but he saw I was only locking the door. People could do that if they wanted utter solitude, although security cameras ensured they weren’t doing anything untoward, like with dead bodies.

I didn’t care. I stumbled back to where Ford sat low in the chair, one long muscular arm swinging at his side, his knuckles brushing the floor. Over his jeans, his other hand squeezed what looked like the thickest prick I’d ever had the pleasure to deal with, almost like another limb. I fell to my knees between his thighs, my fingers making quick work of his Bare Bones belt buckle.

He pressed a palm against my forehead. “No.”

No?
Why no? What sort of man
didn’t
want a blowjob? What sort of man didn’t want
a hundred blowjobs
?

Sliding his hands under my arms, Ford picked me up as though I were a kitten and placed me in the chair I’d been sitting in.
What the fuck? Am I not good enough?

Encircling my thighs in his hands, Ford pinned me down with his fiery eyes. “I don’t want you to think of me like every other guy. I’ve never
been
every other guy, Maddy. Wearing this VP’s cut, everyone knows who I am. I stand out, just like I stood out in my SEAL gear. Different uniform, but still a uniform. And it gives me
pride
, Maddy. Pride. You talked Speed out of patching into Bare Bones, like we were some kind of scumsucking douches.”

“No!” I cried. “I didn’t want him to patch in because I didn’t want him to be…” I had to stop there.

Ford didn’t wait for me. His words tumbled out of him in an avalanche. “I’ve loved you since I first laid eyes on you, Maddy. When I kissed you in that pool I wanted just to throw you down and fuck you till jism seeped out your eyeballs. That’s how hot I was for you. I used to jack off in that garage thinking of licking your perfect, juicy tits. And it hasn’t gone away over the years. I still jack off thinking about you, no matter how many whores are in my house, if you can fucking believe that. And I want to do it right, not like every other asshole doctor who demands a fucking blowjob in some supply room.”

How did Ford know about Dr. Kinsey? Had I accidentally told Speed?

Now
he
got onto his knees in front of me. For a split second I was afraid he was going to ask me to marry him. Then I laughed at myself for such a whacked idea. As he talked so earnestly, he untied the bowtie beneath my belly button and urgently yanked my scrubs down. “Madison Shellmound. I’ve dreamed of tasting you for over a decade now. Give me the honor of burying my fucking face in your sweet trim. I will lick your delicious box until you cry for fucking mercy.”

Any one of those words—tasting, face, trim, mercy, hell, even decade—was enough to bring me off. Ford hadn’t even touched my cunt yet and it was fluttering in a mini-orgasm. The entire walls of my inner pussy, up to and including my womb and ovaries, were clutching at an invisible cock. I speared my fingers through his glossy hair. He’d let it grow longer since the military and the lovely curls and waves just spilled over my fingers in shiny locks.

I fiddled with his hoodie zipper, wanting desperately to see his beautiful chest again, but he’d yanked my pants and panties below my knees. He just dove in open-mouthed, his deep groans resonating so far into my innards I actually felt my uterus shudder.

Crying out as though it hurt, I squeezed a handful of his hair. I lifted one bare leg and brought it over Ford’s shoulder.
Oh God. Oh God. Oh God.
He was a cunnilingus expert—an unexpected talent in an unbreakable, tough-as-nails biker. One simply didn’t go down on whores, and nobody cared about pleasuring sweetbutts. Where in hell had he learned this skill?

I couldn’t tell him his talent was being wasted. I was frigid.

Incapable of orgasming with another man.

That was probably why I gave so many blowjobs. Men
never
turned down a blowjob, and it took the focus off my own dysfunction.

So few men tried that I hadn’t even noticed I was incapable of it until several years ago, maybe when I was twenty-four. I had a boyfriend who tried and tried, bless his heart, and nothing happened. I could still accomplish the feat alone, in the shower, or with my BOB—battery-operated boyfriend.

I was simply incapable of letting loose and allowing another man to get me off.

I didn’t want to tire Ford out, piss him off by allowing him to go on and on. But he was
so
damned talented, his tongue a fat, rapid blur against my stiff clit. Jjust
watching
him, his exquisite face planted between my thighs, knowing he was tasting me, breathing in the scent of me, that
that
stunning aquiline nose was buried against my pubic mound, well, I got higher than I ever had before.

I even felt myself squirt, that little gush of female juice that usually warns of a full-on orgasm. Ford didn’t seem repelled by any of it. His moans continued jacking me higher as he enthusiastically lapped away, his broad shoulders hiking up my thighs until it seemed my mound wanted to kiss the ceiling.

Then something happened. It was like Ford’s greedy tongue just hit the exact right spot.

I went off like a rocket.

It was so unexpected that I practically shrieked. The shockwave of intense ecstasy that tore through my pussy and innards had me bucking back in the chair, banging my head against the wall, practically ripping locks from Ford’s skull.

But he persevered. He knew he’d hit the sweet spot, and he lapped away doggedly, snorting hot breaths against my slit. He thrust a couple of fingers in and out of my slit, unafraid of the snuffling, groaning animal sounds he made. He was a pig for my pussy and he made no bones about it.

The orgasm washed over me. My entire body from the roots of my hair to my curling toes was one orgasmic roller coaster. My uterus clenched so violently I was afraid something would break.