Fuck no. I pointed at Dawn. “I declare Midnight Thunder.” The bar erupted in hoots and cheers. Dawn herself looked around in confusion as she straightened her skirt.
“What’s Thunder?”
The bar rang with an explosion of sound - people banged their fists on their tables twice and shouted, “Thunder!”
It was my turn for a triumphant grin.
◙◙◙◙◙◙◙◙◙◙
Midnight Thunder was a Dust Bowl Devils tradition dating back to the forming of the club. It was nothing more than an old fashioned drinking endurance test game. The challenged picked the booze. “Thunder” was because you were supposed to slam each shot glass down twice without breaking or dropping it (though it didn’t disqualify you if you did). “Midnight” because, we assumed, the game needed a restriction. You couldn’t have bikers playing Thunder at noon and then driving around town or trying to do a job. It was mainly reserved for settling differences and answering insults.
Calls went out. Even Bill showed up, his sort-of girlfriend Veronica in tow. Irish gave Dawn a crash course on the game and the strategy (swallow booze fast, sit very still, don’t think about your stomach). She chose whiskey - an easy and obvious choice. I’m gonna wipe the floor with her.
By quarter to midnight, the bar was packed. Even Theo showed his face, though I avoided him. Now was not the time to lose my cool. “I didn’t expect this to turn into such an event,” I said to Irish, observing the crowd. The men were moving some of the tables out of the way, making space around the one Dawn and I would share so everyone could pack in and watch. Irish prepared a tray full of shots.
“After your bathtub event, no one wants a miss a minute of you and Dawn getting into trouble,” he said, flashing a grin. “Besides, how often do a couple of ladies do Thunder?”
Rarely. It wasn’t unprecedented but it was almost never.
We took our seats as the clock approached midnight. Irish lined up a set of shots in front of us - five each, "Just to get started," he said.
Bill pulled up a third chair to preside over the game. "Whoa, didn't think this was that serious," I said. The president of the club, watching over our silly antics? It seemed insane.
"The guys voted to postpone a run for this nonsense," he grumbled. "This is the end. I don't want any more pranks or any other forms of bullshit from you two after this, understand?"
"Yes, Bill," Dawn said, hanging her head. She could still barely face him after the leash incident.
"Sorry," I mumbled, though I was secretly pretty amused that the big tough biker gang would rearrange their schedule to watch a couple bitches have a drink-off. It was almost heartwarming. Even Bill, gruff as he sounded, had a glint in his eye. Well what good is a club if you can't have fun once in a while?
Irish counted down to midnight and the bikers pounded on the tables as Dawn and I lifted the first shots to our lips.
"Good luck, bitch!" she said with a sickly sweet smile.
"Fuck you, too!" I said lifting my shotglass in a salute. We threw back the amber liquid in unison. It burned a delicious path of fire down my throat, making my eyes water. Together, we slammed the glasses twice and left them upside-down on the table.
"Again!" Bill shouted, bringing his fist down on the table. Whiskey sloshed over the sides of our overfilled little glasses. This is gonna get messy.
He refereed us through the five shots. Even the kitchen staff came out to watch and to help Irish serve all the spectators. Number two went down about the same. I had to wipe my eyes clear - Dawn didn't seem to be having any such trouble. Means nothing, I assured myself.
The third shot went down smoother. I knew my body well. I could handle four shots comfortably. Five would put me squarely in drunk-land. More than seven would put me in the wasted zone. All I have to do is outlast Dawn. Minus the boobs there was no way she weighed more than me, and the boobs were fake, so they didn't even count. I've got this.
Bill directed us through the last two in rapid succession. I felt the familiar buzz in my head and in my veins, but I knew I wouldn't truly be hit by the effect unless I stood up. So don't stand up. "Next round!" I shouted as we double-slammed the fifth shot glass to the table.
Dawn's grin was crooked. "What wrong?" I asked her with mock concern, "A little drunk? Huh? Does your tummy hurt?"
"I'm just getting started," she said.
I caught Theo looking at me as the next tray was delivered and Bill lined up the shots. He shook his head, a smile twitching just at the corners of his lips. I raised my sixth shot to him. He raised his own glass right back. I tore my eyes away - now was not the time to distract myself wondering what it could mean.
The crowd around us was getting rowdy. Bets were being placed and money changed hands as we made our way down the row. I locked eyes with Dawn as we slammed back number eight. It was getting serious.
Number nine went down like water. Bill watched us both take the shots through narrowed eyes, then shouted at Irish, “Are you watering down these shots?” Irish gave a sheepish shrug. Fair enough - together our combined weight was probably less than most of the bikers, and I’d seen big men go down after nine.
But that didn’t mean we weren’t consumed way more booze than our bodies were used to or could even reasonably handle. My stomach did a little flip as I stared down at number ten. I was drunk. Dawn's face swam in my vision. She looked red in the cheeks, and when she reached for number ten, she missed. It took three tries for her to pick it up.
We did the shot and slammed our glasses. I missed the table on the second slam and sent it rolling across the bar. The men laughed.
"Betting's closed, fellas!," someone shouted, "We're in the home stretch!"
"You're done," I slurred at Dawn. Her face stayed still if I closed one eye. "I could go two more trays. I could do my shots and your shots."
"Big talk for a short little bitch," she slurred back.
"What are you, a fucking pirate?" Bill asked me. The tray arrived. This time he only lined up four in front of each of us and tossed back two himself.
"Hey, those are ours!" we both protested.
"Tips for the ref," he said, then shouted, "Eleven!"
Somewhere in my fuzzy brain, I knew this was a mistake. But I threw the liquid back without even tasting it. Dawn had taken her shot, too, but was slumped back in her chair. The guys around her prodded her and chanted, "Thunder! Thunder!" I slammed my glass twice, slowly, carefully. If she failed to do so, the win was mine.
Somehow, after swinging at the table and missing twice, she got it. Cheers erupted around her, but she was oblivious, focused only on me and the shots before her.
"Twelve!" Bill boomed, giving us no reprieve. I've got this, I don't look drunk, just keep playing cool, I thought. I didn't trust my hand's aim, so I slid it, inching across the table for my glass, thinking about how smooth and composed I was being, clueless as to why Bill was looking at me and laughing so hard. My fingers touched the cool surface. Now pick it up. It was like trying to pick up a needle while wearing mittens. I watched Dawn's identical struggle - fingers bumping uselessly against the glass. Thumb. Use your thumb. What am I, an ape? I snorted and giggled. Finally getting the glass in a sure grip, I lifted it to my lips. The smell made my stomach twist in protest, but it felt very distant. I waited as Dawn fumbled and finally lifted hers. Why does everything keep shifting sideways? I was deep into drunk vision - everything tilted and swam in front of me. Everything but Dawn's tiny glass.
"Do it," I taunted, "Bet you can't. You look done." They didn't sound like real words, they sounded like nonsense. She mumbled something back, eyes unfocused.
"Twelve!" Bill insisted. I didn't throw it back so much as poured it into my mouth and let it trickle down my throat. When I looked back down, Dawn's had was still tilted back. I wrapped both hands around my glass and slammed it down twice like I was trying to hammer through the table. "Thunder!" I announced. I'm sure it sounded more like "Thurrrr."
Dawn stare
d at the table, then stared at the glass in her hand, then back at the table. She lifted the glass, took aim, and missed completely, tumbling out of her chair and to the floor with a heavy thud.
The bar exploded in cheers. Money changed hands above my head as Bill announced, "Twelve shots! Ivy wins!" He gathered up the remaining drinks for himself and clapped a hand on my shoulder.
The bar felt like a washing machine - too hot, and spinning, and I was damp with sweat. I mumbled something and stood, using Bill's am to support myself as I rose. Mistake. I could barely register anything I saw in front of my face.
I made my stumbling way to the front door, shrugging off the shoulder claps and back slaps as best I could. The crowd let me pass through easily. Probably they thought I was about to puke.
I body-slammed the door open and teetered onto the porch. Thinking fuck the gravel, I kicked off my heels and weaved my way out into the parking lot. The night air felt glorious on my overheated skin. I threw my hands up in the air and waved them to a tune that only I could hear.
The song in my head was interrupted by a loud, echoing BANG. Gunshots? Was that a gunshot? My arms dropped to my sides and I froze. What do I do. Another shot rang out, and then another. I duck? I slowly lowered myself to the ground, right there in the open air in the middle of the path through the parking lot, and calmly placed my hands over my head. There. Safe.
Then all hell broke loose. A barrage of gunshots came from both directions. I thought I heard someone call my name, but I couldn't hear over the chaos. Booted feet went pounding past me, around me. I just lay there, ignored, figuring maybe no one could see me at all. Good. Good job. I'm not so drunk.
Strong hands grabbed my shoulders and rolled me onto my back. "Ivy! Shit, are you hurt?" The owner of the voice brushed the gravel off my face that I couldn’t even feel.
I looked up into a pair of the deepest brown eyes I'd ever seen. Wait. I've seen them. "Theo." I giggled. "You smell good." He did - like all sorts of manly things. I wanted to bury my face in his neck.
He glowered. "What were you doing out here alone?" The gunshots had stopped. Some motorcycles revved and took off into the night. He cursed again. "We've got to get you inside. Ready?" The world spun in all directions. I lost my basic sense of gravity as he lifted me over his shoulder and carried me back inside the bar.
The place was chaos. The bikes were all gone, and the rest of the patrons were ducking beneath the tables.
"All's clear," Theo said to the frightened crowd, "Give the guys another twenty minutes to chase 'em out and then head on home."
Then he carried me to his room. My heart did a little backflip of glee - but my drunk brain shorted out.
I woke up in a warm bed as the sun just started to peek over the horizon. Where am I? I felt hungover, but not nearly as bad as I should have. I turned and realized I wasn't alone - Theo was in the bed next to me, wearing only his dusty jeans.
Memories came back in bits and pieces. Theo depositing me in his bathtub with a big bottle of water and some advil, making me take them and drink while he was on his phone. He said something and rushed out.
Theo returning, tired and dirty. A little blood on his shirt. Lifting me up and making me drink more water before he would let me get in the bed. Mortified, I realized I'd tried to kiss him but only managed to fall over and bang my elbow. It still smarted.
I remembered when he finally allowed me out of the tub. By some miracle I hadn't gotten sick. Though I was still stupid drunk, the room didn't look like it was tumbling around me anymore, so he let me pass out on the bed.
Realizing what woke me up, I rushed to the toilet. Too much whiskey and too much water threatened to burst my bladder. Goddamn, I should have brought a stopwatch, this pee could break records.
Finally drained, I searched his cupboard and found some mouthwash. I couldn't remember smoking but my mouth tasted like an ashtray.
Oh wait, I did smoke. I shared a few with Irish while the rest of the club was away. When their motorcycles roared in the distance, I scrambled back into the bathtub, brushing my hair with my fingers and assuring myself that I looked sexy. No more whiskey. Ever.
I found some mouthwash and took a quick gargle before heading back to the bed. Do I just get back in? Or would he want me to leave? I felt too out of it to think about driving, still, so moving as carefully as I could, I crawled back up to the pillows. I had to flip them over - I'd left an epic drool spot that he didn't need to see. I've done enough already, poor guy.
I peered up at his face. He was awake and looking right at me. "What's wrong?" I asked.
He grunted. "You're staring at me."
My heart sped up. "So?"
"How's a man supposed to sleep with a beautiful woman lying in his bed and staring at him?"
"I could do more than stare." My heart raced.
Conflict crossed his face, but his lips twitched, trying not to smile. "Like what?"
Excitement made me tremble all over. "I could touch you," I said. I brushed his abdomen with my fingers, tracing the ink there, relishing in the feel of his warm, smooth skin, his hard muscles. "I could kiss you." Propping myself up on my other elbow, I stretched over him and kissed his collarbone. He inhaled sharply as I left a slow, wet trail up to his shoulder, savoring the taste. "I could make you feel really good," I whispered, letting my hand trail lower from his stomach, reaching the waistband of his boxer-briefs, then even lower over the material, touching the hot tip of his erection, the fabric damp.
Oh, God. I shuddered. The heat between my legs became an insistent, hungry pulse. I'd never wanted a man so badly in my life. Don't scare him off.
"No," he growled, moving fast. He gathered me in close, taking my arms and wrapping them around his back.
"No?" Did he just want to cuddle or something? "We don't have to have sex. I can use my mouth, or we-"
He pulled my leg over his hip and thrust once against me. His cock rubbed right against my pussy, and I gasped, my sentence interrupted.
"No," he said again, "All you're going to do is come for me."
"Are you serious?" The idea was disconcerting. "Why don't you just let me -"
"Stop talking." I clamped my mouth shut. I knew I talked too much. Most of the guys were happy to let me jabber away as long as they were getting off.
But that wasn't what Theo was after at all. "Relax," he said softly. He ran his hands up and down my spine, kneading and massaging my back. His fingers were so warm, his touch just perfect, but I was still tense. Being trapped so close to him, his gentle touch, it was all so much more personal than I was used to or expected.
His mouth found my neck. His lips, soft and hot, kissed their way up my jaw. I shivered. "Relax," he whispered between kisses, inching closer and closer to my mouth. But I felt stiff and frozen. What is wrong with me? I'd wanted him so badly, but it wasn't supposed to go like this.
He kissed me softly, his lips sliding against mine. He didn't go tongue-crazy like so many guys. He made a leisurely exploration, nipping, sucking, leaving me writhing and breathless.
I was panting when he broke the kiss. "We don't have to do this. We can just fuck."
"Do you want me to stop?" I shook my head. "Then shut up."
I felt so small against him. He gathered me closer again, and my breasts were crushed against the hard planes of his chest. Still he stroked my back and arms, until every nerve was hot, every touch leaving a trail of flames through my body. His erection dug into my hip but he showed no sign of wanting to use it yet. He dropped soft kisses on my face, along my cheekbones and forehead. He'd barely touched me anywhere more sensitive aside from that one thrust, but I throbbed with need anyway. He had said he wanted to make me come - I didn't take it seriously at first, but it was looking probable. And he's hardly done anything yet!
I moved my hips to press against him, but he used a leg to hold me back. "Tease," I breathed through our kiss, and his chest rumbled with a deep growl.
“This is a bad idea,�
�� he said. His voice rumbled through my body like thunder. I didn’t even care what he’d just said, I just wanted him. I moved in and kissed him again. Something in him changed; the soft and gentle Theo disappeared. With a sharp breath, he grabbed the back of my head and pulled me to him. He found my tongue with his own, dancing with it, thrusting roughly inside my mouth. With a groan, he tilted his head for a better angle. It felt like he was trying to devour me.
His hand slid down me back and pulled me tight against him. Yes, I thought as he ground his cock against my stomach, Yes, finally. Why the hell was I still in my clothes?
He broke the kiss and moved his mouth to my chin, then my neck, sucking and biting, his tongue teasing my heated skin. “Theo,” I whispered.
Abruptly, he withdrew. He pushed me up so I was kneeling. “Strip.” Moving as quickly as I could, I pulled my top up. It wasn’t fast enough for him. He was on me in a second, yanking the fabric roughly over my head and ripping at the button of my pants before the shirt even hit the floor. The pants followed immediately after.
“On your back,” he growled. Again, I couldn’t move fast enough. He grabbed my wrists and smashed them down against the pillows above my head, trapping them together in one hand. His lips crashed into mine, his tongue in my mouth in a flash, thrusting, slow, then hard and rough, a vulgar imitation of sex. My pussy throbbed in anticipation, begging for the same.
Still holding my wrists, he moved down to my breasts. His mouth clamped onto one of my hardened, pink nipples, and he bit down. I gasped, and then squirmed as he soothed away the sting with the flat of his tongue.
“Keep your arms as they are,” he said as he released them. Then he quirked an eyebrow, waiting for a response.
“Okay.” I nodded for emphasis. He moved lower, trailing wet kisses down my abdomen until he was kneeling between my legs. He exhaled a hot breath against my pussy.
I trembled with anticipation. I tried to speak, but his mouth was on me before I could formulate a word. He pulled my wet folds between his lips, one and then the other, stroking them slowly with his tongue. He was rough, the suction just hard enough to be on the right side of painful. My breath came in little gasps. He nipped and sucked until my pussy lips were swollen and throbbing, his tongue dancing across the satiny skin. My clit twitched and twinged as if begging for attention itself, but he stayed away. He seemed to want to tease and torture me until I begged.
Devil's Girl: Dust Bowl Devils MC Page 6
