“Down & Dirty: Dawg. It’s the seventh in the Dirty Angel MC series.” She huffs out the information as though she’s reluctant to share.
“Phil had a beard?”
“Lost!” Her eyes go wide, then in a small voice she replies, “No.”
I file two facts away. One, she’s turned on by books about clubs like mine, and second, well… I continue to read on.
She was pink, hot, and slick. He barely paid attention to her loud moans and encouragement. Her fingers dug painfully into his hair and she shoved his face deeper into her pussy, grinding her hips against his face until her juices coated his lips and beard.
Raising an eyebrow and glancing down, I smirk at her, pointedly moving my hand to the hair covering my chin. She swallows and her flush deepens. Then I raise my eyes once again.
“Lost. You give me that, now.”
“I was just getting into it,” I protest. “Maybe getting myself some ideas.”
She stops trying to physically take it from me, instead stepping back, placing her hands on her hips. “Conan Holmes. You give my e-reader back right now.”
“Uh oh.” I grin. “Mom’s voice.” I lower my hands and give it to her, but the damage has already been done. I now know the kind of stuff she reads and presumably enjoys.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Patsy
While Lost disappears to yet another meeting, I’m drawn into a conversation with Eva, moving it out of the kitchen and into the clubroom when she starts to talk about Smoker’s sad declaration at dinner. When Pennywise walks past, he taps her on the shoulder. As she turns, he jerks his head.
Eva smiles at him, then nods. Then to me offers an apology and suggests that we’ll pick this conversation back up another time. My eyes, for want of something better to do, follow her as she enthusiastically trails after the biker as he crosses the room. I can see why she’s so eager. Pennywise is a handsome man, aquiline features, shoulder-length almost jet-black hair, and dark brown eyes who could easily be a model on the cover of any of the biker romance stories I read. He fills out his jeans to perfection, and the t-shirt he wears struggles to contain his well-defined muscles. I suspect shirtless he’d be hot as sin. He pulls her down on his lap, her back toward his front, then, without wasting a moment, one of his hands finds her breast, the other has expertly unzipped her shorts and disappears inside.
Oh my.
I swing around feeling my face burning red. But in that direction things aren’t looking much better. Scribe is fondling Cindy’s ass and pushing her back toward a couch. To my right, Pearl is swinging herself around the pole which would have been fine, except the top half of her is naked, and her modesty only covered by a thong so tiny, nothing is left to the imagination. From the hungry looks on the faces of the men watching her, even that wasn’t going to stay on long.
Moving stiffly, worried about being a voyeur, I make my way as nonchalantly as I can over to the stairs, resisting the urge to run up them once I get there. I suspect if anyone wanted to describe me at that moment, I’d have looked like a dog running away with its tail between its legs.
Reaching my room, I see by the clock radio next to the bed that it’s only half past nine. Far too early to go to bed. Wishing I’d had the foresight to bring a glass of wine—or a bottle—up with me, I decide to watch television, only to find the remote doesn’t work, and I’m not venturing downstairs in search of new batteries.
Instead, I decide to read.
Damn, this book is hot. I find myself lost in a world eerily similar to the one I’m in, but different as well. Wow, that biker. Oh, is he going to…? My fingers flick the page, my whole concentration on the words forming images in my brain as I find, yes, he really is.
Rap Rappity rap.
I almost squeal as I’m interrupted at the good part. I glare at the door, wondering who it is. Dan is more of a knock-knock man, and a ‘Mom, are you decent in there?’.
Remembering the free-living style these bikers have, I decide to open the door with care. As I do, I’m surprised to see Lost standing there. His smirk and opening words show me he’s interpreted the reason I’m hanging onto the door.
I’m fifty-three, not over the hill, and when I take the time I think I scrub up pretty well. I thought I knew Lost was attracted to me, but perhaps I was wrong. He takes the winds completely out of my sails when he tells me I wouldn’t be mistaken for a club girl. Not that I’d ever want to be, but hey, it’s not nice to have it pointed out that you’re not attractive anymore.
“Of course, they’re not,” I agree, scorn showing on my face. No, none of his men would look twice at me.
I wonder what I should do, find out what he wants in case he’s brought news, or shut the door and go back to my fictional hero who knows exactly the right thing to say. It only takes an instant for those considerations to cross my mind, as equally quickly, Lost’s hand is around the back of my neck, holding me captive.
When he explains how I’d misinterpreted his words, my hopes rise again. This time, it’s me that dashes them, pointing out all the reasons I could never compare with the club girls.
Then, I can barely get breath into my lungs as Lost starts to spout all those dirty words. Words that painted a picture of things I could expect if I could only be brave enough to say yes.
A kiss? His lips on mine again, I’d like that for sure.
His mouth? There? What would that be like?
His fingers? Touching me there. Oh God, yes.
It’s all too much. I feel myself growing wetter with every word. I get scared and do what I immediately know I’ll never forgive myself for. I mention his wife.
But even that doesn’t deter him. I make my protests, surely I shouldn’t want this? For a moment I think I’ve fallen asleep and have mistaken my dreams for real. Then he pushes past me and damn it, he picks up my e-reader, the inked text on the fake page open at the section he’d interrupted me at. That section. The one I was reading that had already made me hot and bothered, primed to hear the exact offers he’d just made.
“Lost. You give me that now.”
“I was just getting into it. Maybe getting myself some ideas.” He touches his beard.
Oh no. That’s the part I just read. Like the girl in the book, I wasn’t particularly enamoured of whiskers on a man’s chin, but what would it feel like if it were Lost’s face, there, in between my thighs?
Utterly mortified he’s found my secret pleasure, I want the ground to open up and swallow me. Unable to physically wrest my e-reader from him, I take my best mom stance and resort to using his full name, just as I would admonish Dan or Beth.
This time it works, he hands me the device, but instead of letting go, his large hands cover mine as I reach to take it.
“Patsy.” He breathes the word in that sexy tone. “Why don’t you take that leap? You can trust me. You dictate how far we’ll go.”
The warmth from his calloused skin is playing havoc with my emotions. Tingles shoot to my core.
As if he knows, he presses his advantage. “Come to my room, Patsy.” His voice is deep, almost commanding.
“Why don’t we stay here?” This room isn’t particularly inviting, but it’s my temporary home. Something I can control.
He looks around with disdain. “Whether this will end up with you in my bed Patsy, I’m going to at least take my time with your lips on mine. Want to be in more comfortable surroundings.”
I can’t argue with that. I bite my lip, noticing he shifts from one foot to the other as I do so. I glance up at him through my eyelashes, noticing his expression. If he was still cockily smirking, if he looked sure of himself, of me, I may have said no. But he looks uncertain, as if maybe he’s pressed too hard and rather than reeling me in, has pushed me away.
Maybe it is time. Maybe I should step back from the responsible middle-aged woman I usually am. Whether there’s any future or not, maybe I should just let go and take something for me for once. If Lost can back up even h
alf of what he’s said, I’m in for a very enjoyable time.
I take a breath and leap. “Have you got wine?”
“Wine?” he repeats, looking confused. Then he grins. “Sure, I can get a prospect to bring up a bottle. I think there’s some behind the bar.” He unwraps his hands, puts my e-reader down, and reaches for me again.
Feeling as nervous as a teenager about to have her first time, heaven help me, I come to a decision with one last objection. “Just let me get changed.”
His eyes rake me from head to toe. I’m dressed in what I normally wear to bed, sleep shorts and a tank top, no bra. He lazily raises an eyebrow. “Don’t bother on my account, babe.”
He’s not going to let me put on my armour. But truth be told, I’m covered in more than I’d wear at the beach. While there’s no doubt my lack of clothing might provide easy access to wandering hands, I’m certain Lost is speaking the truth, and if I withhold my consent, those appendages of his will behave.
My last delaying tactic having failed, I let him take my hand. For some reason, it’s trembling.
His room is at the end of the corridor. As he opens the door, I step inside. Immediately I’m taken aback.
“Wow, you weren’t kidding.” His is much nicer than mine. Twice the size at least, divided into a bedroom space and a comfortable seating area with a television and music system. There’s a turntable and a shelf taken up with old-fashioned LPs. A desk with a laptop and papers spread out over the top is off to one side. Because of its size there are two windows, being at the end of the block it’s double aspect, offering two different views. One, out across the front of the compound, and the other looking down over the city and I can see the ocean in the distance. “This is nice,” I tell him.
He gives a dismissive shrug. “I’m comfortable here.” Taking out his phone, he places my request for wine, then grimaces, and turns to me. “No wine. But Wrangler can rustle up a jug of margaritas if you want that?”
Sounds good to me. I nod, then cross to the window, looking out at the view. Within moments, I feel a heat at my back, then I’m surrounded by his arms.
“You can see for miles.”
“Uh-huh,” he remarks, nuzzling my neck, making me tilt my head to the side, his gentle touch sending sensations flooding through me as he finds the pulse point and sucks gently.
Before my legs go completely weak, suddenly wanting to take the initiative, I pull out of his grasp and swing around, placing my palms against his cheeks, applying pressure so he understands what I want and brings down his mouth to meet mine.
His kiss is sinful, full of promise. First his arms hold me to him, both around my waist, then one slips down, palming my ass and holding me against him.
My God. He’s hard. And if that bulge is anything to go by, his cock is large, like the rest of him.
His tongue demands entry and invades, mine meets his. I love his taste, can’t get enough of him. This close I can smell a lemony scent tinged with the aroma of leather. Rising on tiptoe, I try to get closer though there’s not much distance between us.
When the knock sounds on the door, Lost curses, and steps back. “Stay right here,” he warns, before crossing the room. Without opening the door fully, he takes something then closes it, then settles the jug of margaritas down, before coming back and taking me again into his arms. “Now, where were we?”
I feel emboldened, and point to his lips, then touch mine. “I believe we were kissing.”
“Hmm mmm.” He rubs his beard against my face. “We were, weren’t we?” The surprisingly soft beard tickles rather than scratches. “That book you were reading? Reckon that fella’s got a beard like mine?”
Jesus. I hope he has. And that the effect he had on that woman’s pussy is the same effect Lost will have on mine. Mine? I’m rushing things here even though they’re only in my head.
Or, perhaps, Lost is on the same wavelength. “Want to find out, Patsy?”
I haven’t touched a drink yet tonight, so it’s him I must be drunk on. Because heaven help me, here in his room, so close to his bed, there’s nothing else I want more. Taking things slow be damned. For once in my life, I want sex as it’s written about in books, to see if any of that could be real. If I leave here tomorrow, I’d rather know what it could be like, than think forever that I might have lost my one chance to find out.
I raise my hand, smooth it down his cheek, then brazenly tug at his beard. “Why don’t you show me?”
His eyes darken as his pupils dilate. “You sure, babe?”
I swallow hard once, then twice. “I’m sure.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
Patsy
I’m sure. I might have had plans to take this slowly, but hell, life’s for living, isn’t it? Even if this is just the once, I should reach out and take what he’s offering.
When his hands move, his fingers closing around the bottom hem of my tank, any remaining uncertainty flees. Only one insecurity remains. I’d prefer to leave my clothes on and turn off the light.
He’s moving too fast. Slow, I need slow. I’m turned on, but not enough to bare my not-as-young-as-it-was body to him. But it’s as if he knows. All he’s doing is pulling it away from my skin, so his hands, not his eyes, can explore.
Cautiously, his hands roam higher until he cups my breasts in his hands. Feeling him fondling and weighing them, I blush once more, knowing they’re not perky or as firm as they once were.
But his sigh of appreciation is reassuring, as are his words. “Fuckin’ perfect babe. Are you sensitive?”
I’m just about to reply, I’m not sure. I was once, but I’ve had two kids and after my nipples were used for the purpose nature intended, I don’t regard them as sexual anymore. But the light fluttering almost not-there touch by the back of his hands, has those tight nubs hardening. My back imperceptibly straightens, pushing my breasts into his hold, providing the signal he seems to have been waiting for.
He closes his fingers and thumbs around my nipples, gently rolling them, his question answered by my moan as a shooting sensation goes straight to my groin.
“Want my mouth on these, Patsy.” He pauses, giving me time to offer some objection.
Stopping him now is the furthest thought from my mind. When I utter no complaint, he raises my t-shirt and drops his mouth down.
Oh my. His hands were one thing, his mouth another. He’s gentle, not rough, his soft tongue almost a teasing touch, as though he’s read my mind, and knows exactly what I like.
I roll my head back as he moves his attention from one nipple to the other, his hands continuing to massage and plump. He nips gently with his teeth, and once again I moan. I’m only vaguely aware that he’s taking my top off until I feel the material brushing over my face.
Automatically, my arms cross over my chest.
My eyes, which had closed without me being aware, flick open to find him staring at me. His chest is rising and falling, and the tick in his jaw shows he’s holding himself back tightly. Slowly, my hands once again drop away, the reaction being him licking his lips, and his mouth curving.
This is one-sided.
Boldly, I step forward. My hands find the bottom of his shirt and I begin tugging it up. He bends, and raises his arms, allowing me to slide it off.
I get the first sight of Lost’s naked chest.
He’s a man, not a boy. He has a mass of chest hair which like that on his head is greying. His skin, while not the shiny smoothness of youth, is pulled tight over a spectacular array of muscles. He even has that delicious V I’ve seen in pictures and have read about, but never have had an example of in front of me. My eyes follow it down to the bulge I’d felt but not yet feasted my eyes on. My hands itch to reach out, undo his button and zipper and expose it to me, but my brain prevents me taking such a liberty.
“Jeez, woman,” Lost hisses through his teeth. “Babe, I can feel your eyes burning into me. Not showing you the goods, not yet. I’m likely to go off like a fuckin’ rocket once
you put your hands on me, and I’m not that young anymore. If I’m gonna come tonight, it’s going to be in your sweet pussy.”
Oh, please, yes. It’s my turn to lick my lips.
“Jesus.” Smirking, he places his hands on my biceps, and gently turns me and pushes me backward to the bed. When the back of my knees hit it, he uses that sexy growl of his and says, “Get on, Patsy.”
I hoist myself up, then shuffle on my butt until I’m in the middle of the comforter. He climbs on, then stalks me on his knees. He hooks his thumbs into the waistband of my sleep shorts and focuses his eyes on me.
“Tell me you want this, Patsy. Tell me you want to feel what my beard can do to your pussy.”
Oh hell to the yes.
“Words, Patsy.”
“Yes.”
Needing no further encouragement, he pulls down my shorts, baring my pussy to his eyes. Turning my head to the side, I avoid looking at his face. My stomach isn’t anything to write home about, I hadn’t lied about cellulite. I could do with losing a few pounds, but hey, I like my food. My muscles aren’t as firm as I’d like…
“Stop cataloguing your faults, babe. You look fuckin’ perfect to me.”
Bravely I turn in time to see him lower his head, his face growing pinched as his nostrils flare. He’s smelling me?
“Fuck, babe. You smell like heaven.”
I feel awkward as he spreads my knees, baring me to him, uncomfortable as he sits back and stares in an intense way I’ve only experienced in gynaecological examinations.
“You promised me the beard,” I remind him, embarrassed at how he’s looking at me.
“I did, didn’t I?” He continues to feast his eyes on my pussy. “You really never had anyone go down on you before?” When I shake my head, he continues, “So, you haven’t got a point of comparison, have you?”
I suppose I haven’t. I decide to toy with him. “Should I try it with a beardless man first?”
Being Lost: Satan's Devils MC San Diego #1 Page 24
