by Aiden Bates
I felt suddenly overdressed in my jeans and hoodie.
“Hey.”
Gunnar started and turned around. Then he curled his lips into a smirk as he gave me a slow, open once-over. “Hey. You found me.”
“Were you hiding?”
“No,” he said. “But I hoped you’d show up.”
I stepped closer and leaned against the workbench. “Ready for tomorrow?”
Gunnar ran his hand over the leather of his bike seat. “More than. Are you?”
“I’m not usually on the road crews,” I said.
“This is a different situation.”
“That’s a very diplomatic response, sergeant.”
Gunnar chuckled. He tossed the socket wrench overhand, spinning it in the air then catching it, drawing my gaze to his hands again. Something deep in my gut flared hot. I wanted those hands on me everywhere. Standing here waiting for it, hoping for it, made it even more enthralling.
“I know you want to be there. And you should be,” Gunnar said. “This is all happening because of the work you did.”
“Blade didn’t want me to go, did he?”
“He really fuckin’ didn’t,” Gunnar said with another low laugh.
“You convinced him?”
“No,” Gunnar said. “I wouldn’t say convinced. I just reminded him of the truth: that this is your investigation first and foremost. And that sheltering club members is not the same as defending them.”
“And he didn’t smack you?” I tried to keep my tone light, but my voice came out quiet. This didn’t sound like the Gunnar I thought I knew. If someone had asked me just a few weeks ago, I would’ve said that Gunnar would lock me in my room like a princess in a tower before he’d let me join tonight’s road crew.
He just kept surprising me.
“He knows when I’m talking sense. And, same as me, he knows you’re an important asset to the club.” Gunnar tucked the socket wrench into the pocket of his jumpsuit and wiped his hands on a rag. “How about your bike? Ready to go? Coop didn’t slash the tires?”
Warmth spread through me. An asset? “Coop’s still mad I ditched him?”
“No,” Gunnar said. “But you know he likes to have something to guilt trip you about. Just in case.”
I hummed thoughtfully, stuffing my hands into my hoodie pocket.
Gunnar approached me, slowly closing the distance between us. He stood with his feet bracketing mine and his hands on the workbench at my sides. I was boxed in with the hard edge of the table behind me and Gunnar’s body solid as a cliff-face in front of me.
“So why’d you drop in?” Gunnar tucked his face very close to my ear. Nowhere did our bodies touch, only his hot breath that gusted over my ear when he spoke, the words a low vibration. The inches of space between us were electric with possibility.
I tilted my head to the side minutely to offer my neck. Gunnar nosed at the vulnerable place beneath my ear and released another hot exhale. This close, he smelled intoxicatingly of sweat and motor oil. I couldn’t repress a shudder—it took effort just to remain standing, when all I wanted to do was drop to my knees and let him take control.
I’d spent so much time during this investigation—and this developing relationship—trying to prove to myself, and to others, that I was strong. Capable. Independent. And now I was fucking tired, and I wanted a break from decisions. I wanted Gunnar to take control.
“I wanted to see you,” I said.
“Yeah?” Gunnar suddenly combed one strong hand hard through my hair, sending a shock through my nerves. His palm was hot against my scalp, and the dull pressure of his grip in my hair was a direct line to my cock. “What else do you want?”
“God, you smell good.” I grabbed him by the belt loops and pulled him closer so our hips collided. I couldn’t help but grind against him.
“Not what I asked,” Gunnar said teasingly. He kissed my jawline, and then followed it with a soft bite.
I shifted my grip to his hips and squeezed. “Want you to fuck me.”
“That can be arranged.” He kissed me on the mouth, finally, a heavy, sloppy press of lips that sucked the breath from my lungs. He wrapped his free arm around my back and pulled me flush against him.
“I can’t stop thinking about you,” he murmured against my lips. “Should be focused on the job. But whenever I have a moment to breathe, you’re all I think about.”
I opened my eyes and found Gunnar’s gaze piercing into me. “What do you think about me?”
“Your mouth.” He kissed me. “Your voice.” He kissed my neck. “The dimples on your lower back.” He squeezed my ass. “Your dick.” He cupped my hard cock.
I squirmed in his arms. “Tease.”
“You asked,” Gunnar retorted. He released me just long enough to tug my hoodie and shirt over my head. He sucked his lower lip in between his teeth, his gaze darting hungrily over my body. “Come here.”
He led me to his bike.
“Really? On the bike, really?”
“Indulge me,” Gunnar said, totally unembarrassed.
I didn’t tell him that he was indulging me, in his skin-tight undershirt smelling of leather and oil. I threw my legs over his bike, straddling it, and leaned on the handlebars. “What do you think?”
Gunnar’s gaze darkened. He stepped closer to the bike then tripped his hand down my bare spine, over my denim-covered ass, and then onto the leather of the seat. “Looks good.”
“That’s all?”
Gunnar’s face did something strange, twisting into a pained, open expression I hadn’t ever seen. “The things you fucking do to me.”
I swung my legs to one side of the bike, sitting on it like a lady riding side-saddle. Gunnar stood between my legs and kissed me hard again. He wrenched off his undershirt and tossed it aside, revealing all of that tanned, muscular skin. I slid my hands over his chest, feeling his pleased hum reverberate through my fingers.
It was so easy to untie the arms of the jumpsuit from his bare waist. He wasn’t wearing anything under the jumpsuit, which sent a sharp, unexpected thrill through me—I suddenly imagined myself working in the same garage, changing into that same canvas jumpsuit, knowing Gunnar’s bare cock had rubbed against the fabric. I shoved the jumpsuit down around his hips and wrapped my hand tight around his cock without preamble.
Gunnar hissed my name into an open-mouthed kiss. I stroked him roughly.
“I’m gonna take you apart,” he said in a voice more like a growl. Then he grabbed me by hips and maneuvered me, positioning me so I was bent over his bike, my legs spread. I couldn’t deny how good it felt to be manhandled a little. To be reminded of exactly how strong Gunnar was.
He bent over me, his chest pressed to my bare back, his heart beating rabbit-fast, fast enough to rival my own. “That okay?” he asked gently.
“Fucking amazing.” I rested my cheek on my crossed forearms. The smell of the leather seat flooded my senses.
Gunnar dropped kisses on my nape, a few with a teasing edge of teeth. The hard line of his cock pressed against my ass. The denim between us dulled the sensation enough to make me squirm, desperate for more.
“Quit teasing.” I pushed back against him.
“I’m enjoying it,” Gunnar countered, but he reached around to the button of my jeans and wrenched it open. He shoved my jeans down so they pooled at my ankles, exposing me, but still keeping my movement restricted.
“Don’t move,” Gunnar said. He stepped away, and the loss of his body against mine was so acute I actually—to my embarrassment—whined.
Moments later, he returned and smoothed his hands over my back. “Be patient.” His calluses from riding, from shooting, from all the various physical tasks of his job, were rough on my skin, adding a sharp edge to the sweet sensation.
Then his hands moved to my ass, cupping my cheeks hard and squeezing.
From behind me, I heard the tell-tale click of a bottle of lube, and then he dragged a cool, wet finger down the full len
gth of my crack, from my tailbone to my balls. I shuddered hard. Gunnar reached around and stroked me teasingly. His grip was deliciously wet with lube.
Then he leaned down and kissed square between my shoulder blades as he pressed one finger inside.
God, it felt good. I exhaled hard into my arms, breathing through the stretch as Gunnar began to move his hands. It didn’t take long until he had three fingers sliding easily in and out of my hole as lube dripped down my legs.
“Come on,” I begged. “Come on, Gunnar.”
At the sound of his name, Gunnar growled, fucking his fingers into me once more before pulling them out. Immediately I felt painfully empty. My body craved his, my cock hanging heavy and ridiculously hard.
Gunnar spread his hands across my lower back and I tipped my hips up towards him, a silent physical request. He slid his cock in between my ass cheeks, thrusting slowly. “God, you’re gorgeous.”
“You better get on with it.” I turned my head enough to glower at him over my shoulder.
Gunnar grinned then leaned over me and kissed me hard on the mouth even though the angle was a little off. “Since you asked so nicely.”
The head of his cock nudged at my hole. He didn’t move.
But before he could thrust in, I pushed my hips backwards, taking his cock into my body. I exhaled hard into my arms, and Gunnar gasped in surprise, gripping my hips as he sunk deeper.
He leaned over me and dropped kisses over my back and neck, setting his teeth gently on my shoulder, and murmuring my name in my ear. Like he was just as overwhelmed as I was. And then he began to move.
He fucked me in deep, long strokes, his breath hot against my ear. My knees shook with the effort of holding me up, and he seemed to know, because he wrapped his arms around my middle to support me. I melted in his hold, supported by the bike and his raw strength. He grasped my cock, stroking me in time with his thrusts.
God, I was putty in his hands.
“I want to hear you come,” he growled in my ear. “I want to feel you come on me.”
He changed the angle of his thrusts slightly, going deeper, faster, and each stroke brushed against that sweet spot inside me that sent a jolt of pleasure through me.
“Close,” I managed to say as I gripped the leather seat, gasping for breath as my orgasm built.
“Good,” Gunnar said. “Let go.”
It wasn’t on command. But having him tell me to come did help push me over the edge. I came hard, hard enough to tense the muscles in my legs, lifting me onto my toes and writhing against the bike. It felt so fucking good, good like a strong drink or a fast ride. Pure, delicious relief.
Gunnar groaned my name. He pulled out and I felt his release land in hot, thick stripes across my lower back.
We stayed like that for a long few moments, breathing heavily. Gunnar’s hands traveled over my back—the parts of it that weren’t cum-stained, at least—tracing idle patterns.
“Don’t move,” he said. He disappeared again, and then I felt a rough rag cleaning me up.
“Oh,” I said. “Thank you.”
My brain felt slowed-down, foggy, like I was trying to emerge from a dream. Exhaustion weighed heavily on me, but it wasn’t purely stress exhaustion now. I felt sanded down, smoothed out around the edges. I slowly lifted myself up to standing.
“Oof. Dizzy.” I all but fell into Gunnar’s arms.
He grinned. “Hold on to me, then.”
He knelt down. I rested my hand on his shoulder for balance as he pulled my jeans back up around my hips. “There. You’re decent.”
“Your bike’s not.” I nodded at the bike. The opaque streams of my cum stood out against the matte black detailing.
“What?” Gunnar asked. “You don’t like it? I think it’s a nice addition.”
“You’re gross.” I kissed him.
“I’ll clean it before we leave tomorrow,” Gunnar said.
Right. Reality came rushing back in. Tomorrow we had a long ride to Nevada. I leaned against Gunnar and tucked my face into the crook of his neck. What would happen after tomorrow? If we made it to Nevada with no trouble, captured Bane, and got justice for Ankh—what would happen afterwards?
Without the investigation keeping us together, would Gunnar have any reason to stay with me? We’d had to spend time together when he was my protective duty, and now, if this was the end of the investigation, would it be the end of whatever was going on between us? Sure, he didn’t want to share me while he had me, but how long would he really want me for?
Once this job was finished, and everything was back to normal, could Gunnar really be happy in a regular, boring-ass relationship? Would he still want to spend time with me without the added excitement and responsibility of the investigation? Or would he get antsy, and start missing his freedom?
Now that I’d had this with Gunnar, I couldn’t imagine my life without it. There was something between us, something more than just the sexual tension I remembered from my youth. We had a connection I couldn’t have predicted. He didn’t even realize the power he held over me. If he ended things with me now, my heart would be shattered. How could I ever go back to how things were now that I’d experienced this closeness?
I needed him to tell me exactly what we were doing—but I didn’t know how to ask for it. And part of me, the petulant, needy part, didn’t want to ask. I just wanted him to tell me he wanted me and only me. All of me. And if he wasn’t going to do that, I needed to slow down. Just to ensure I’d survive the blow if everything dissolved.
But now wasn’t the time for any of that. Now was the time to focus, to get justice for Dad and for Hell’s Ankhor. All the rest would have to wait, and I’d have to push it out of my mind as best as possible.
“You all right?” Gunnar combed his fingers through my hair again, gently this time.
I closed my eyes, burning this moment into my memory. “Yeah,” I said. “Tired. But good.”
22
Gunnar
Twenty minutes south of Darlin’s Brothel stood a small, empty cabin on a large plot of untamed land. The dominant club in western Nevada, the Desert Warriors, couldn’t stop Bane and his crew from patronizing Darlin’s. They hated the Vipers as much as we did, largely because the Vipers were often the source of the drugs that ripped like a tornado through the towns they ran, but they didn’t have the manpower to do anything about it. Hell’s Ankhor had a cordial relationship with the Warriors, and when I’d reached out to a contact to ask about a facility to use, they’d offered their property without hesitation.
Enemy of my enemy is my friend, and all that.
My phone lit up with a notification. “Coop and Siren have eyes on the Bane. He’s got four Vipers with him as backup.”
“Four’s not so bad,” Tex said.
Maverick nodded in agreement. “And the rest of the Vipers are still upstate?”
“According to Rebel, yes,” Blade said. “If we’re lucky, we can grab Bane without alerting the other Vipers present.”
Raven was silent, lingering at the edge of the group. His pale face was pinched with nerves. Not fear, though. A rush of pride bloomed in my chest. He’d never been on a ride like this, but he was stoic, unafraid, and attentive: ready to do whatever the job required.
I only hoped it wouldn’t require too much from him. Raven didn’t need any blood on his hands. That was my job.
“All right, everyone knows their roles?” Blade asked. “Tex and Heath, you’re in the truck. Tex, Heath, Mav, you’ll join Siren watching the front door. Coop will join Gunnar, Priest, Raven, and me at the back door. If necessary we’ll get Siren in there to try to urge him out, but ideally it won’t be. Darlin’s has private quarters behind the main building, and according to Rebel, Bane often partakes in those facilities.”
Blade grimaced at the thought. “If our timing is right, we shouldn’t have a problem. We need to be here. And we need to do this. But goddamn, I wish we didn’t have to. I’d give anything to not be standi
ng here in front of you now. I’m doing my best as your president, but we all know it wasn’t my time. Ankh was taken from us.”
The muscle in his jaw jumped as his clenched his teeth hard. “We can’t change the past. But we can get Ankh the justice he deserves. Priest?” Blade ceded the floor.
“I got nothing to add,” Priest said. “Except… Thank you. Thank you all.”
“Let’s get this fucker,” Tex barked. “For Ankh.”
“For Ankh,” everyone repeated.
Raven’s voice did not rise over the din. He nodded at me, a look of determination hardening his expressive features into a stony mask. Raven respected Blade as much as I did. Priest had chosen Ankh’s successor well. Raven was flush with potential paths, but the club presidency was not one of them—at least not anytime soon. He hadn’t wanted the position, and when Priest had offered it to Blade, Blade had balked at first, but immediately stepped up to the responsibility. With Priest as his vice president and me as his sergeant, we were doing as well as we could’ve hoped in the wake of a tragedy that had rocked the club to its foundation.
I hoped bringing Raven into this job wasn’t a mistake. Raven wasn’t naïve—he knew the reality of club life as well as I did—but he’d never delved into the violence of it. I knew he could handle himself. I just didn’t want it to come to that.
Or maybe it was worse than that. Maybe I was rubbing off on him and had somehow been encouraging him to leave the smart-guy shit behind and get more and more embroiled in the violence of the club life.
If I’d learned anything in the military, it was this: For reasons good or bad, taking a life changed you irreversibly. It made you unfit for regular society. After what I’d done, I couldn’t walk around in civilian life, grocery shop, chat to people at bars, and pretend to be normal. There was something inside me that regular citizens could feel emanating from me like an aura. In Hell’s Ankhor, I didn’t have to hide that part of myself.
But I didn’t want this experience to change Raven. I didn’t want him to feel cut off from a normal life. What if he changed his mind one day and wanted to leave this all behind? What if this experience—and his relationship with me—ended up being the thing that haunted him at night? The thing he wished he could undo?
