by Chiah Wilder
Kimber went to her locker and took out her tote, then slammed it shut. With the overstuffed bag on her shoulder, she passed by the front counter on her way out. Patrick was the only one left, and he was stacking the receipts for Hawk to go over in the morning. “See you,” she said, waving at him.
“You going to the clubhouse party tonight? I heard Hawk and a couple of the members talking about it this afternoon. It sounds like it’s gonna be a big one. From what I heard, a lot of members from the other Insurgents’ chapters are staying at the club for a few days. It sounds like it’d be fun.”
“I wasn’t invited. Are you going?”
His eyes widened. “No, but I’d love to. If I went, my mom would kill me first and my uncle Banger would do it all over again.” He slumped against the back wall. “When I turn eighteen, I wanna prospect for the Insurgents. I know I still got two years to go, but I’ve wanted it ever since I can remember.”
“I’m sure your mom’s not too crazy about that plan.”
He shook his head. “She’s not, but my uncle’s thrilled and told me he’d work on her so she’ll let me make the decision. He said I may even change my mind once I turn eighteen, but I know I won’t.”
“Prospecting isn’t an easy job, and you could end up doing it for two or three years, so I’m with your mom on that one.”
He shrugged. “So, are you gonna go tonight?”
“I’ve been to club parties before back in my hometown, and they can be pretty damn wild, especially for a woman who isn’t patched or with one of the members. I don’t think it’d be a good idea for me to go.”
“You don’t have to worry. You’re with Throttle.”
Pink streaks painted her face as she stared wide-eyed at Patrick. Damn. I didn’t expect that. “I’m not with anyone.”
“Really? That’s not the word around the shop. All the guys refer to you as Throttle’s woman.”
“Oh, do they?” That fucking asshole. He’s gone and told every man to keep their distance from me. No wonder all the guys have been acting like I had the damn plague for the last week. “Well, I’m setting the record straight—I’m no one’s woman. I’m my own person.”
Patrick lifted one of his shoulders, then went back to stacking the receipts. In that moment, Kimber decided to go to the party. Hawk would be there, and he’d make sure nothing happened to her. She’d show Throttle that she’d go and be anywhere the fuck she wanted. She’d bet he wasn’t playing the chaste card at the clubhouse. When she walked in later that night, she’d gamble her Harley that he’d have a few women wrapped around him. He was such a biker stereotype, and she couldn’t wait to rub his hypocritical bullshit in his face.
After a long warm shower, she dried her hair and put on her makeup. A while later, she stood before the mirror, assessing her outfit: a short, sleeveless black spandex dress with a low-scoop neck that showed some decent cleavage thanks to a cute push-up bra; three-inch biker boots with gunmetal studs; neon pink polish on the nails and toes that matched the tips in her hair; smoky charcoal eyes; pink lemonade lipstick and gloss; and large silver hoop earrings. Not bad at all.
She pulled down on her dress again. She didn’t normally dress so provocatively, but she was in the mood for it. Restlessness coursed through her body, and she wanted to have a good time. She could’ve called her friends and suggested going to a club, but, whether she liked it or not, the biker world was her familiar stomping ground. It’d been a part of her world for a very long time. It would be nice to be back amid all the leather and denim and eavesdrop on some good Harley discussions. She’d missed that ever since she’d left home.
She engaged the security system, hiked up her dress a bit, started her Harley, and headed to the clubhouse, loving the way the wind whipped around her hair. The sun had just set and the street lights had clicked on, dusting the sidewalks and roads in a warm golden glow. The night came to life: the melodious trill of the crickets hidden in the trees, the moths’ frenzied flapping against the beam of porch lights, and the fireflies dancing, electrifying the darkness. The heat of the day had been replaced by a cool breeze, and riding at a good clip made goose bumps appear on Kimber’s arms.
When she arrived at the clubhouse, several groups of men stood around, thick clouds of smoke encasing them, and the sweet smell of weed hung thickly in the air. A few of the men looked surprised to see a woman on a Harley, and when she walked past them they whistled and called out to her.
“Hey, sweet butt. Come over here and show us what you got,” an older man with a long brown beard called out.
“I want you to ride me like you did that Harley,” a young biker said. She noticed his cut had “Utah” on the bottom rocker.
Kimber ignored them and walked with her head held high. From nowhere, a man pinched her butt, and she whirled around and clobbered him with her fist. “Don’t fuckin’ touch me unless I tell you to.”
For a couple seconds, there was complete silence, only the hum from inside the clubhouse and the rush of the Colorado River that snaked behind the club penetrating the quietness. Then the bearded older man burst out laughing, the others joining in as the victim of Kimber’s ire rubbed his face, glowering at her. Keeping the guys in her peripheral view, she walked through the doors, loud rock music greeting her.
It took her eyes a moment to adjust to the dark; the large room was lit by red bulbs and the bar had a greenish glow from the tube lights around it. The place was packed with people, a sea of black—T-shirts and cuts. Several of the men and scantily clad women grabbed at each other and tottered around in drunken revelry. The club’s insignia—a skull wearing a menacing grin with two smoking pistols on either side of its head—covered the length of the back wall, popping out at her as the eyes glowed red. In the far corner, pool tables looked ominous under black lights. She noticed a woman on her knees on one of the pool tables giving a member a blow job while another banged her hard from behind; several hands squeezed and tugged at her swaying tits. Kimber swallowed hard, kept her chin up, and pushed her way to the bar.
She squeezed in and propped her elbow on the wooden surface. Several men stared at a large monitor to the left of the bar, which flashed grainy footage from the security cameras positioned all around the clubhouse. They seemed mesmerized by it, and she was thankful it provided a distraction from her. She recognized the bartender—he was the prospect Throttle had sent to watch over her. She couldn’t believe he’d done that. He was an enigma—sweet and thoughtful on one hand, but brutish and too possessive on the other. She knew bikers could be that way, but even her asshole ex waited to show his controlling properties after they dated for a while. And was she even dating Throttle?
Blade came over and she smiled broadly at him. “Hi, Blade. Do you have Coors on tap?”
He acted as though he’d never seen her before, turning around without a word. A few seconds later, a frothy mug of beer stood in front of her. Before she could thank him he was gone, serving up more drinks for the members. She scanned the room for Throttle and noticed several pairs of hungry eyes boldly assessing her. Looking around again, she hoped she could see Hawk, but it was too dim and all the guys blended together. She swiveled back around on the barstool and reached for her beer. She took a drink, then jumped when an arm encircled her waist. Kimber turned her head and met the leering eyes of a blond man in his thirties.
“You looking for some fun?” He was so close that his whiskey-scented breath fanned over her face.
“Not really. Just having a drink. From the looks of it, there are plenty of women who are up to having fun with you. I’m just not one of them.”
His glassy, unfocused eyes ran over her chest. “You’re pretty.” He lifted his hand and motioned for Blade to bring him another drink.
She turned away from him, deciding to ignore him, when another man sidled up next to her and pressed real close against her, his excitement obvious against her hip.
Pushing him away as best she could, she shook her head, meetin
Again, she pushed at him. “Do you mind? I’m trying to drink my beer. Move back a little.”
“You a regular?” the man asked thickly.
She shook her head, glancing at his cut. One of his patches said “Itchy” and another spelled out that he was vice president of his chapter. “You?”
He laughed and took out a joint. “Want one?” He handed it to her. The man who had his arm around her waist must have grown bored—or he may have passed out, she wasn’t sure—because, much to her relief, he was gone. Itchy lit her joint and his, then inhaled and blew out slowly. “Fuck, that’s good stuff.” She had to agree with him. “You hitched with someone?”
“Why do you ask that?”
“You’re not looking like you wanna fuck.” He inhaled again.
She laughed. “I don’t. Just having a drink.”
He stared at her then shuffled back a step. “Are you fuckin’ with me? You came to the party just to drink? Woman, you need a good fuck to set you straight.” He came back and rubbed against her. “After your drink, let’s go to one of the rooms.”
“I don’t think so. I’m good right where I am.”
“I’m cool with you sucking me off right here.” He put his hand on her thigh and squeezed it. “I’ll show you a good time.” Kimber tried to push his hand away, but it was like a clamp. “You like fun, don’t you? I’d like your pink lips around my cock.”
“The only cock that’s going in her mouth is mine, Itchy. She’s with me.” Throttle’s voice was steely.
All of a sudden he pulled away from her, his hands up in the air. “Fuck, brother, I didn’t know she was your woman.”
“Now you do.” His voice was sharp like broken glass.
She craned her neck and saw him; with his long hair pulled back, his scowling dark brows over his flashing ebony eyes, and his strong jaw tightened, he looked fierce. Her breath caught in her throat, her panties dampened, and the ache between her legs told her she couldn’t count on her body to be rational around him.
Lowering his head, he hissed in her ear, “What the fuck are you doing here?”
She smiled sweetly at him. “I heard you were having a party.”
“Why didn’t you find me? Or did you want another variety of biker cock?”
Without thinking, she slapped him—it was a knee-jerk reaction. “Don’t ever talk to me that way.”
Rubbing the side of his face, he gritted his teeth. “Don’t ever let me find you in here again without me by your side.” She nodded, then stroked the cheek she’d just smacked.
He grasped her hand and kissed it. “You look pretty,” he breathed, his lips grazing her earlobe; she shivered despite the oppressive heat in the great room.
“Thanks. I thought I’d run into you or Hawk. Is Hawk here?”
“He was here just for an hour, then left. He’s got an old lady, so he rarely stays that late anymore. Did you come to see me? You should’ve just called me. I’d have picked you up.”
“I was just feeling restless. I needed to get out, and I wanted to be back in the club. I used to hang out at the Demon Riders’ parties a lot.” She took another sip of beer.
“Were you a hoodrat?” His voice was tight.
“No, not at all. I was with my ex. Being here reminds me of the good times we shared.
You know, it wasn’t all bad. I guess I forgot that.”
“What he did to you crosses out all the good shit you’re remembering.”
“I know, but all I’m saying is that things were good for us for a while.”
He grunted, then put his arm around her. “You’re showing off some fuckin’ nice cleavage.” He trailed his finger from her throat down to the hollow between her tits, his touch sending sparks of arousal sizzling through her.
She gazed up into his lustful eyes. “Are you happy I came?” She slowly licked her bottom lip.
His gaze lingered on her mouth. “Yeah, but I’m damn surprised you’re here. I never would’ve thought I’d see you tonight.” He leaned in and nipped her bottom lip. “But I’m glad you came.”
She pulled away. “Do you guys have any food or do you just drink your dinner?”
Still watching her mouth, he smiled. “We got food. Let’s go out back and get some.” He hooked his arm around her waist and lifted her off the stool. Then, with her securely tucked close to him, they walked to the yard.
A long table housed mounds of ribs, corn on the cob, mashed potatoes, and the biggest bowl of coleslaw she’d ever seen. Her stomach grumbled. “Looks good. Did the old ladies prepare it?”
“I think so. That’s usually how it works. I was working all day, so by the time I got back the food was done. Let’s grab some food and find a place to sit.”
Carrying a plate filled with steaming ribs and the fixings, Kimber followed Throttle through the maze of people, tables and chairs, sitting down next to him on the aluminum picnic bench. Anthrax’s “Madhouse” crashed through the outside speakers which surrounded the yard.
A burst of tangy, smoky goodness exploded in her mouth as she sank her teeth into the juicy beef ribs. “Yum.” She shook her shoulders and danced in her seat while Throttle watched her through heated eyes. She glanced around and saw a couple of the women sizing her up. “I hope I didn’t spoil your plans to have fun with some of these women.”
He rubbed his shoulder against hers. “You didn’t ruin anything.”
She licked her fingers, and he watched her every move. “It must be nice to have women at your disposal twenty-four-seven.”
“It can be.” He bumped into her. “Don’t make a face at me. Everyone here knows the score. The club girls like fuckin’ just as much as the brothers. It’s the lifestyle everyone craves.”
“Is it the one you crave?”
His gaze skimmed over her, landing on her cleavage before moving to her eyes. “I used to, but lately not so much.” He slinked his hand around her waist and tugged her close. “I crave you.”
She swallowed and curled her fingers around her beer bottle, taking a long pull. His touch was like the spark of a match, igniting all her nerve endings, and she had to cool down. Isn’t this what you wanted? Why else would you have come? She could kid herself that she wanted a night out, but going to an outlaw biker party was so much more than a night out; it was sheer lunacy if a woman went alone. And she knew she wouldn’t be alone. She came for him because she’d missed and wanted him, and she hated her body like hell for its hunger for him.
“Can you get me another beer?” She had every intention of getting sloshed before the night ended. Just looking at his rugged jaw and his black, piercing eyes made her sex throb madly. What was it about this man that had all her best-laid plans all fucked up?
She watched him swagger over to a makeshift bar perpendicular to the buffet table, his firm ass moving oh so right. The minute he stopped at the bar, two women—one of them was the bitchy blonde from the last time she’d been there—wrapped their bony hands around each of his arms, leaning in close and saying something in his ear. Kimber wanted to leap out of her seat and rip the skanks away from him by their hair. He pulled away from them, picked up three bottles of beer, and strode back to the table, setting the beer in front of her.
She looked up at him and that was nearly her undoing; the heated lust in his coal-black eyes nearly melted her panties. She gasped and, in one fluid movement, his fingers were tangled in her hair, pulling her head back. Then he slammed his lips on hers, almost knocking all the breath from her, his tongue pushing into her mouth. She kissed him back, her mouth as hard and demanding as his, and she put her hand on his back, jerking him closer to her. They were a tangle of arms and lips, and each yank of her hair, squeeze on her thigh, and nibble on her lips sent sparks of sensation zinging through her.
“I’ve missed you, babe,” he rasped in her ear as his fingers burned into her tingling skin. “I need to be with you, and you need it too. Are you wet for me?”
“You fucking know I am.” She threw her head back, and he showered airy kisses down her throat to the creamy swells that her dress’s neckline exposed. Her hardened nipples strained against the thin fabric of her dress and she rubbed them against his muscled chest, burying her moans against his shoulder. Everything about him sent her reeling: his scent, his look, his touch. Her vow not to become involved with him shattered; she wanted him to take her rough and hard and do things to her she’d only dreamed about.
He pulled away slightly and locked his gaze on hers. “You do know what you’re doing to me, don’t you?” Roughly, he took her hand and placed it on his hard denim-clad dick. It pulsed under her fingertips. “That’s right, babe. You did that, and it’s all yours.”
“What are we waiting for?” She palmed his hard-on and smiled at him, a wicked twinkle in her eyes.
He grabbed her wrist and sprang to his feet, taking her with him. “Let’s go,” he said huskily, and then he dragged her through the sea of people to the stairway. “My room’s on the third floor.”
She followed him up the concrete stairs.
Chapter Eighteen
Before he kicked his door closed, he had her up against the wall, his face buried in her cleavage while his hands slid up her legs. He had a feral, almost dangerous air about him, and she couldn’t get enough of him. She bit him on his shoulder and neck, her nails scratching his back. He jerked her head up and covered her mouth with his, his tongue dipping in. She closed her lips over it, sucking it in and out of her mouth, his deep groan setting her on fire. Releasing it, their tongues writhed and twined together as their hands roamed over each other’s bodies.
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