by Nicole James
She whimpers again, and I don’t need her to tell me she’s close. I’ve learned to read her body, and right now it’s quivering, stretched taught on the razor edge. I know I can make her come for me right now, but I want to drag it out. I slow my motions, and withdraw my touch from her clit; instead, turning her and thrusting two fingers inside her, finding that little button that I know will give her a bigger, longer orgasm. I press her against the wall so she can’t control the pressure she receives. Her curves are caught between the slick tile and my hard muscled body.
“Stroke my dick,” I order, my voice rough with need.
She takes it in her gentle hands and squeezes from base to tip twisting at the end, and I groan.
I keep at her, my fingers stroking until her head bangs back against the tile, and she loses focus on what she’s supposed to be doing.
“You want to come?”
“Yes, please.”
I don’t have the heart to deny her, so I add my thumb to the mix, swirling the soapy digit in lazy circles around her clit in tighter and tighter circles until she’s bucking against me, her breasts bouncing.
When she orgasms, I heft her up and bring her down on my shaft, pressing her back to the wall, and pinning her there. I hold her as she shudders, spasms of ecstasy quivering through her. Then I get my forearms under her thighs and push them up and back, holding her weight, and giving her nowhere to escape as I plunge deep, again and again.
She screams as she orgasms a second time, and I explode, filling her, my forehead pressing to hers.
When I regain my breathing, I lower her shakily to her feet and wash her tenderly all over again. Then I rinse her, towel her dry, and carry her limp body to bed.
I give her a short reprieve, and then climb on top of her, and fuck her all over again. Finally, I collapse on top of her, after another mind-blowing orgasm.
I brush the hair back from her face, and stare into her unguarded eyes.
“Beautiful, princess. Fucking beautiful.”
She smiles, an exhausted, serene look on her face, too tired to speak.
I sprinkle kisses around her jaw. “The way you’ve been with me, first the tough girl, hiding her tears, denying them, then the smiles and laughter when you let your guard down, and dragging me to that carnival, showing me how to have fun like a child… you’re not like any girl I’ve met before.”
I kiss her forehead, and move off her, tucking her to my front and spooning her, my arm tight around her waist. I fucking love the feel of her skin pressed against mine. I take a deep breath, exhaustion from hours of sex and the endless miles we logged today, all catching up with me. I fall into a deep slumber with the scent of her skin and the rise and fall of her breathing lulling me under.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Lola—
The next day is warm and sunny, and we’re making good time. It’s late afternoon, and we’ll be home by tonight. God, I dread going back. Not because I don’t want to go home, but because it will mean my time with Memphis will be over.
He told me he may pass through Durango again sometime, but I know we’ll never again spend days together, just the two of us like this.
We’re in the foothills of the Sangre de Cristo Mountains just north of Cuba, New Mexico. We crest a rise. It’s greener here as we climb higher in elevation. Tall pines tower on both sides of the highway.
It’s a beautifully scenic ride, and being with Memphis on his bike, I’m enjoying every minute of it.
Suddenly I feel him shift, his boot hitting his foot brake, and his hand squeezing the hand brake. The sudden slowing of the bike has my weight pushing against his back, and I tighten my hold, peering around him. Up ahead, a deer darts across the road causing the vehicle in front of us to swerve, lose control, and veer across the oncoming lanes, nearly missing a guardrail before disappearing down a slope.
Memphis pulls quickly to the shoulder, and we both scramble off, tearing our helmets off.
A tractor-trailer crests the hill, and barrels past, blaring its horn, unaware of the accident. As soon as it passes, we dash across the lanes to peer in the ravine.
The sedan has plowed through brush, and is wrapped against a tree, turned on its side, its wheels still spinning, and chemical dust from the deployed airbags filling the interior.
Memphis rushes down the slope, yelling back to me, “Call 911, Lola.”
I pull my phone out of my jacket, and frantically make the call.
The operator asks what the emergency is, and I spot a mile-marker, and give her our location, requesting an ambulance. She asks about the injuries, but I have no information for her. I don’t even know how many occupants there are. I suddenly hear the cries of a baby.
I peer down.
The engine is smoking, and flames lick out from under the hood.
Memphis wrenches the driver door open, and yanks a woman up and out. Her leg looks broken, and as he sets her carefully on the ground, she begins screaming for her baby, lifting her arms toward the car.
Memphis dashes back, and battles to free the back door. The flames are growing higher when he finally gets it open. He struggles with the straps of the car seat, all the while the baby’s cries grow louder, and black smoke blows over him.
Finally, Memphis lifts the infant from the car, and staggers back to the mother. I hear him asking loudly as the flames grow, “Are there any more children in there?”
The mother shakes her head, clutching her infant.
Memphis grabs her under the arms, and drags her back from the vehicle just as the gas tank explodes.
He dives; covering them both, and I duck down behind the guardrail.
By now the black smoke is billowing to the sky, and other cars are stopping.
A woman runs to my side. “I’m a nurse.” She peers down the ravine. “Oh, my God.”
I point. “That woman and her baby were in the car, but he pulled them out in time.”
She slides down the embankment to check the victims. I see her turn to take in the MC cut that Memphis wears, and yell, “Did you and your motorcycle run this poor woman off the road?”
Memphis takes a step back, his expression stunned. Then he wipes his jaw with the back of his hand, and lifts his chin to the woman and baby. “Are they okay?”
“I can’t be sure, but her leg looks broken.”
I can hear sirens from a distance, drawing closer. People are peering over the guardrails now. Finally, paramedics and a fire engine arrive, and men scramble down the hill with a backboard. Two of them strap the woman to it, and carry her up, while another brings the infant.
Memphis comes to stand next to me. “Let’s get out of here.”
I nod, and follow him to the bike. “They’ll be okay,” I say as he straps his helmet on.
“Yeah,” he replies with a jerk of a nod.
“She didn’t mean it—that woman.”
“Yeah, she did. They always do.”
“You saved that mother and child. No one else did. You did that.”
“Let’s go.” He climbs on the bike, firing it up, and I can tell he’s still pissed off.
I scramble on behind him, and press my cheek to his back as we roar off.
Memphis was amazing, the way he took charge of the situation, and pulled that woman and her baby from the wreckage—the way he got them back from the car as it caught fire and exploded.
That nurse saw nothing but a low-life criminal who must be to blame, but I see the real man. Memphis is a true leader, and could be so much more than a Nomad. He could rise in the ranks of a Chapter of his own, someday maybe even hold the gavel. If only he could see what I see, and if only it mattered to him.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Lola—
We arrive back at the clubhouse around 9pm that night. Memphis called Rock at the last gas station we filled up at, and told him we were only a couple hours out. I know when I walk in my father is going to be pissed at me. Somehow, I don’t care. Somehow, I’m more upset
at the thought of my time with Memphis being one step closer to being over.
Loud music and raucous laughter spill out from inside the building. The lot is full of dark motorcycles, their chrome glinting in the moonlight.
I stand by the bike, running my hand over the seat of the Memphis’ Harley. I stare at it; committing its every line to memory until I know I’ll recognize it the next time I see it, if there is such a time. I pray there will be.
“Lola.”
I lift my eyes to Memphis. He’s standing near the porch, one boot on the first step, looking back at me with a strange expression.
“You okay?”
My hand slips from the warm leather as the cooling engine pings. I nod. “Fine. Let’s go inside.” I brush past him, chin held high, not wanting him to think I can’t face my father.
He snags my hand, and pulls me around to face him. His eyes are the pale green of an island ocean as they search mine. He cups my chin, and tilts my face up, that gaze dropping to my mouth.
He hesitates, and I want him to kiss me so badly, but for some reason I don’t want to be the one to close the distance. I want it to be him. I want to know he wants me that much.
His thumb strokes my lips in a gentle caress, and then he finally dips his head those last few inches. When he pulls back, he whispers gruffly, “It was a fun trip. No regrets, right?”
I nod. What else can I do? Tell him my heart is breaking? The one I forgot to guard? I pull back, and turn to the door, hauling it open. I stop inside, and feel his presence at my back. It’s reassuring, that warm heat of his big body standing right behind me. It’s like we’re in this together, which is absurd.
I survey the crowded smoke-filled room. There’s a happy birthday banner across one wall, and I remember that its Baha’s birthday. I spot him across the room getting a lap dance from some girl I’ve never seen around before.
My eyes rove over to the bar, and I spot my father and Darko at the end, their heads together in deep discussion. I don’t even think they noticed us walk in.
“Let’s get this over with, Princess,” Memphis whispers in my ear, taking my hand, and moving around me to lead me toward the bar and my father.
Memphis shoulders through the crowd, easily parting a path. Guys in the club twist to see me, and smile, lifting their chins.
“Hey, Lola. See you made it back,” Wildman says, giving me a chuck on the chin.
“See the Nomad did his job,” Critter replies.
“Hey, Memphis, how are you brother?” T-Bone asks. “Hope our little princess didn’t give you a hard time.”
Memphis, God love him, ignores the remark with a lift of his chin, and keeps moving, and then I’m standing before my father.
“Hey, Daddy.”
He’s hunched over his drink, Darko on the stool next to him. They both swivel to look at me.
My father’s eyes sweep over me, then he stands and clasps Memphis’s hand in one of those maneuvers that looks like they’re arm wrestling. Rock slaps his shoulder. “Thanks for bringing my daughter home.” Then Rock’s eyes cut to me, and he lifts his chin. “My office. Now.”
I hold my father’s gaze, but I can feel Memphis watching me. I lift my chin, refusing to be cowed.
Rock moves past Memphis, but looks over his shoulder at the prospect tending bar. “Get this man anything he wants, kid. It’s on the house.”
“Yes, sir.”
I turn, and follow my father to his office, but I can’t help myself from glancing back once to look at Memphis. He hasn’t moved, and his eyes are on me. I try to read his expression, but I’m swallowed up by the crowd, and lose sight of him. I turn, and follow Rock.
We walk down the hall to his office. The door closes behind me, and immediately it’s much quieter. I stand in the center of the room, and Rock moves around to his chair.
“Sit down.”
I sit, naturally following his orders. It’s ingrained in me. To do otherwise would be unthinkable.
“What the hell were you thinking? Running off like that without a Goddamn word.” He pulls a cigar out of a box and lights it, probably because he knows how much I hate the smelly things.
I wave my hand at the smoke. “Do you have to do that?”
“You didn’t ask my permission to take off to New Orleans, but you think I need your permission to smoke a damn cigar?”
I roll my eyes. “It’s hardly the same thing.”
“No, it’s not.” He takes another puff, then leans forward to tamp out the disgusting thing. His eyes connect with mine. “What you did was worse.”
“I’m a grown woman,” I remind him. “I hardly need my father’s permission anymore.”
“You do as long as you live in my house, Lola. Hell, you could have at least given me a heads up; let me know you were okay. I tore the fucking club apart looking for you; roused every brother from his bed.”
I arc a brow. “You thought I was in one of their beds?”
“Don’t look so fucking shocked. It’s not like you haven’t given me reason.”
I shift my gaze away, steeling myself to not be ashamed of any of it. I’ve acted out, more than I should have. But this is the most attention he’s given me in months. That’s what’s really shocking. “Why do you care all of a sudden?”
His fist pounds on the desk. “Quit. Don’t even go there, girl.” He points a finger at me. “I’ve cut you more slack than I ever should have.”
“I’m sorry, Daddy.”
He runs a hand through his hair, and slumps back in his chair. “Baby girl, I know I haven’t given you the structure you’ve needed, haven’t been there for you emotionally, and all the rest. I’m sorry for that. It’s just been fucking hard.”
I look at my lap, not wanting him to see my eyes glazing with tears. “I know,” I whisper.
His chair creaks as he leans forward.
“Lola.”
I lift my eyes to see him with his elbows on the desk, and his hands folded in front of his face, his rough fingers laced, the big silver club ring on his right hand. I focus in on that, not the gold band he still wears on his left, proclaiming to all that he’s still not over my mother.
He dips his head, pressing his forehead to his hands.
In all my grief, I needed him. But I never once considered that maybe he needed me, too.
I stand and come around the desk to lay my palms gently on his shoulders. “It’s okay, Daddy.” I squeeze my hands.
I see his head nod once, and his hand comes up to cover mine, returning the squeeze. Then he surprises me by changing the subject.
“Was Memphis good to you?”
Suddenly there’s a lump in my throat, and I struggle to swallow past it to answer him. “Yes, of course.”
His head turns, and he looks at me over his shoulder out of the corner of his eye. “If he pulled any shit with you, I’ll kill him.”
I lean down, and loop my arms around his neck to press my cheek to his. “I love you, Daddy. Someday there’ll be a man for me, and I hope he’s as wonderful as you.”
“Now you’re just trying to blow smoke up my ass, girl.”
I kiss his cheek and straighten. “Come on. It’s Baja’s birthday. Let’s go harass him.”
He huffs out a laugh. “Just like your mother, always good at distraction and changin’ the subject.”
“Nope. I learned that from you.”
He stands, and pulls me against him for a hug. “If I ever lost you, too, Lola, I’d put a gun to my head.”
“You won’t lose me, Daddy. I’ll always be your girl,” I say, my cheek pressed to his leather vest.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Memphis—
I stand at the bar, sipping on a drink. I stare into the amber liquid, swirling it in my glass, but I can’t help darting my gaze to the hallway where Lola disappeared.
Darko tries to make conversation, but I hardly do more than grunt out my answers. I glance around the clubhouse, taking in the warm golden log str
ucture. I’ve been to a lot of Royal Bastards clubhouses, but none quite like this one with its tall raftered ceiling and exposed logs. There’s the usual club paraphernalia on the walls to be sure, flags with the club emblem, framed photos of brothers at Sturgis, the Grand Canyon, Joshua Tree, and places all over the west, even some police mug-shots tacked up, and the requisite bras and panties even.
I feel a hand slide up my back, and twist to see some chick smiling at me.
“Hi. I’m Marie, but everyone calls me Bunny.”
I catch Darko’s shoulders shaking with his silent laughter.
“Bunny, huh? Why do they call you that?” I ask.
Darko turns his grinning face at me. “Cause she breeds like a fucking rabbit.”
Bunny’s smile turns ugly, and she withdraws with a huff.
I watch her strut off, before arcing a brow at Darko. “I get the feeling you just saved my ass. Thanks, man.”
“No problem. That one will talk your ear off.”
I feel another hand on my shoulder, and wonder if the same girl is back again, but when I turn my head, half coming off my stool to tell Bunny to get lost, I find Lola instead. “Oh. Hey, doll.”
Lola’s eyes dart to Darko.
I almost cringe at letting the endearment slip out of my mouth in front of him. From the look he gives us, I know he didn’t miss it, either.
“What’s up?” Lola asks.
“Nothing. Just having a drink. Want one?”
“Sure. I’ll have a Tequila Sunrise.”
I snap my fingers at the prospect, and order her drink. “Everything okay between you and Rock?”
“Yes, fine.”
“I lift my gaze past her to see her father now across the room, leaning against the wall by one of the pool tables. I half expect him to come read me the Riot Act. I study Lola, wondering how much she told him, but she won’t meet my eyes. Apparently nothing, because he’s not over here with his fists in my cut, pinning me to the wall, and ready to tear my head off.
The prospect sets Lola’s drink down, and Darko slides over one stool, making room.
