Never Love An Outlaw (Deadly Pistols MC #1)(54)
What the shit? I noticed the handcuffs hanging off her plump wrist for the first time, dangling between her legs as she blushed and fought to cover up her *.
“Um, I'm really sorry, Skin. I'm not supposed to say. Joker told me we'd be okay in here, and he'd just gone out for a smoke or something...”
“Joker?”
Fuck me with a cactus. I'd heard enough. The Veep was outta control, dragging his shit through my gutter. With a growl, I grabbed her wrists and led her to the corner, where I found her half shredded panties. She got the message when I pointed, picking them up and struggling into what was left of them while I watched.
The chick's ass wasn't half bad, but she had nothing on Meg. That woman was perfect, raised to perfection because she was a damned aristocrat, rather than a blue collar baby or a farm bumpkin like most of our casual f*cks.
“Get that condom off my floor on your way out, too, woman. And if you see him, tell the Veep my room's not his personal landfill. Don't care if he's an officer or not.”
She nodded and flashed me a nervous smile one more time before she backed out, Joker's bloated condom in her hand, and closed the door behind me.
If there was ever a sign I needed to move the hell outta here and get my own place, now that we had a big paycheck coming in...
I rolled into bed and dozed. It wasn't easy after I'd ridden in the cold all day, scoping out the places in Knoxville for the Prez, all the sites where he wanted our girls to shake tail and bring the club more money.
Of course, it'd be a drop in the bucket, and not even good for laundering much money if we ever got the real cash pipeline going. But that wasn't gonna happen overnight. Dust's grand schemes meant clearing our way to the sea first, the path the Deads and other thugs were blocking through the Carolinas and Georgia.
The yanks in the Prairie Devils or the Grizzlies wouldn't even sit down with us 'til we had something to offer 'em. I dreamed like a goddamned geek, numbers and logistics, the only distraction my brain knew when I wasn't thinking about Meg's perfect little lips wrapped around every inch of me.
The heat of her mouth was still burning up my brain when my burner phone screamed to life. I jumped up and grabbed it, doing a double take when I saw her number.
Thank f*ck. It's gotta be about the cash.
“Yeah? Where should I meet you?” I growled into the receiver, the instant I heard her soft little breathing on the line.
“Wow, so much for hello.” She paused, and my dick swelled as I imagined her smiling. “You can pick me up right outside my house. Just after eleven, maybe? Will that work?”
“See you then, babe.”
I snapped the phone shut and checked the clock. I had about an hour, maybe a little more, just enough time to shower off the stink of motor oil and sweat from my * withdrawal.
I grinned, thankful I was sober. Just when I'd started missing the booze too. Good thing I'd decided to dump the whiskey off with Firefly and his whore for the night after all...
I had something better coming. And I was gonna f*ck her so hard she'd never go anywhere else again.
“It's all there,” she whispered quietly, stuffing the big duffel bag in my trunk. “Every last dollar. You can count it when we get to the clubhouse and –“
“Enough. The first thing I'm doing once we're back there's the last thing we did before I took you home. Fuck, I've missed these lips.”
Somehow, I kept it polite. I managed not to rip her clothes off right there, or tell her how bad I wanted to shove my tongue up her * 'til she cried.
But there was nothing nice about the way I threw my arms around her, pulled her into me, smashed my lips down on hers. My tongue sucked at hers hungrily, a prelude to where my hands were going. They went down, stopped on her ass cheeks, and squeezed.
The moan she hissed into my mouth told me we were on the same page. Shit, she knew my hunger too. Her nipples poked through her bra and the thin autumn sweater she was wearing, an outfit so conservative I couldn't wait to shred it to tatters.
“Let's get the hell home, babe. Plenty of drinks waiting if you're in the mood. The boys are celebrating.”
“No,” she whispered softly, staring up at me while I sat her on the bike and fixed her helmet. “All I need is right here.”
Her arms hooked around me. The embrace blew my mind, and threatened to do the same to the nuke hammering in my pants.
Christ. How the f*ck could a woman feel so perfect riding with me?
It was like she'd been made for the back of my bike, made for my bed. I'd never bought into that soul mate horseshit before, but every second with this chick was making me wonder if I'd been wrong about it for nearly thirty years.
I loved how she rode pressed up against me while we roared down the highway, taking the mountain bends beneath the moonlight, dipping up and down the valleys filled with Smoky Mountain mist.
Dew prickled at our skin. Even the land itself was wet and teasing. If this wasn't a night to lay a woman down and f*ck, then I didn't know one.
Hell, this was a night for more than that. I'd claim her, damn it, and do it good and proper. We'd have a proper reunion at this little mountain bungalow I had about twenty miles from the clubhouse, right on the edge of the big national park.
I'd never brought a girl out there before. It was the place my old man used to go to think, and sometimes he brought Mama and me along for the ride. I'd inherited it after she passed, but I kept it locked up tight, except for the times I wanted to reflect, all alone, away from the brothers and the violence.