Biker Blues: Morgan (Biker Blues Book 1)

by Dale Mayer

  Letting her pull her foot away from his tickling ministrations, he immediately focused on her other leg. Just as strong. Just as lean. Just as gorgeous and as he found out, just as ticklish. Letting her feet rest down on the sheet, he stroked his hands up the outside of her thighs until they reached the cotton panties she still wore.

  She never wore the fancy underwear some women favored, and to him that showed the gorgeous sexy woman that needed no trappings to enjoy and understand her own sexuality. He wanted to tear away the offending material that blocked her nest of curls from sight. She was a blonde. A natural blonde, and he wanted to see her again. But not yet. Prolonging the delicious torture was part of this for her. For him.

  He smoothed his hands up and down her body, letting her get used to his touch but always avoiding the inside of her thighs.

  He nearly lost it when he saw the wet spot forming in the white cotton at the apex to her thighs. That was his girl.

  So responsive. So honest in her reaction. God, he’d missed her. Missed this.

  No longer.

  Unable to help himself, he lowered his head and placed a kiss right on the circle. She gasped, her hips lifting in response, and the circle widened. He chuckled.

  Stroking his hands upwards, he gently widened her legs and made a place for himself where he had full access. She slipped her fingers under the elastic of her panties, trying to shove them off her legs, but he stilled her movements. Instead, he licked the top edge of the panties and her fingers, then slowly moved down to stroke the elastic around her thighs.

  She whimpered, her hips instinctively lifting toward him.

  He gently kissed the inside of her thigh. He wasn’t willing to forego one inch of her beautiful body. Not this time. The cotton strip was now drenched, and he nudged the front of the material with his nose. Her breath caught, and he slid one slow long slide of his tongue just inside the one edge of the elastic on her inner thigh. Inside enough to taste, to tease. Not enough to satisfy either of them.

  He repeated the action on the other thigh, then in a surprise move, he licked the wet spot in front of him.

  She groaned, her hands urging him closer while pushing him away at the same time. “Morgan,” she pleaded.

  “I’m here. Lay back, enjoy.”

  She tried to grab his hair and pull him up.

  In response, he lowered his mouth and covered the sopping panties and suckled hard.

  Chapter 13

  Jazz cried out, her hands in Morgan’s hair. “Jesus Christ, Morgan.”

  She tried to pull him up to her, but he wouldn’t be moved. At the same time, she tried to lift her pelvis up against his mouth and grind her way to the climax just sitting out of reach.

  “Please.” But she could hardly talk. The words were more of a jumbled prayer.

  His dark laugh floated up to her as he found her nub and latched on. Her hips hammered upward.

  But he was ready for her, his fingers holding her firm on the bed as he tormented her with his mouth and tongue, then his fingers.

  Oh God, those magical fingers.

  He slid one inside her weeping entrance and that was it.

  She exploded, her body arching, his hand unable to hold her down, and she cried out. Pain, joy, love, and such a wave of pleasure it was almost unbearable.

  With the sensations running through her in unending undulations of pleasure, she lay there trembling, open, vulnerable. His.

  Damn if he didn’t go down and rip off her panties and lick her clean. By the time he was done, she was pleading again and again, but he held her back this time, waiting for her to build up to that point of no return. He rose up on his arm and in one sure stroke seated himself deep inside.

  Her world exploded again in a fiery rainbow. She lay shuddering beneath him, but still he didn’t move. Wasn’t moving, but she could feel him hard, filling her so full she didn’t know how he could possibly fit.

  Then he moved and rode right through the spasms still rocking her body. She tightened her inner muscles, trying to keep him inside of her when he lost it and drove into her four, three, two, and finally, he gave a long guttural groan and arched his back.

  His seed spurted inside, sending more shockwaves through her. It hit her at her core and brought tears to her eyes.

  She wanted to hit him for having left her. Left this.

  Instead, she held him close, grateful he’d returned.

  With tears drying on her cheeks, her emotions on overload, she closed her eyes and dropped into a deep healing sleep.

  *

  Morgan adjusted his weight so he could look down on her face and realized she was almost asleep. He didn’t want to disturb her. Neither did he want to leave her.

  She’d always been everything to him. He rolled on to the side and tucked her gently, mindful of her shoulder, up against him.

  He had no idea what time it was. They hadn’t eaten and the day appeared to be gone from the looks of the sky outside. She’d need a nap, then food. And maybe he could finally wash the bloodstained clothing she’d been wearing. He’d love to go to her house and grab several outfits but had no intention of leaving her alone. Especially not after the second shooting incident. He knew if she wasn’t hurt, she’d have pointed out that his house was no safer than hers was now. However, considering she was sleeping on the second floor at the back of his house, it was safer. At least from random flying bullets. Not from an intruder though as it was harder to escape from the second floor.

  They had to find out what the hell was going on so he could focus on making Jazz a permanent part of his life again.

  “What are you thinking?” she murmured against his chest. He checked his clock to realize she’d caught a ten-minute nap, but that was all.

  “Go back to sleep,” he whispered.

  “No, I’m just resting.”

  He smiled down at her. She might be just resting, but with her eyes closed and body lying like it was, she’d be out like a light in no time. He just had to hold her until then.

  “I’m not going back to sleep,” she murmured, snuggling closer. “Talk to me.”

  Chapter 14

  She smiled, her fingers twirling lazily at the chest hair in front of her as she waited for him to answer.

  “About what?”

  “Whatever is running around your mind in circles,” she said. “I can hear the hamster on the wheel, and he won’t calm down until you share whatever is going on in that brilliant mind of yours.”

  He laughed, the deep rumble under her ear making her smile. She rolled over and carefully draped herself across his chest. She waited until he was through, then said in a quiet voice, “I’m serious.”

  “I know you are. I’m just not sure what to tell you. There’s a reason the hamster is running around in there. There’s no way for him to get off.”

  “Sure there is. Share and we’ll work it out together.”

  “Ha,” but he complied. “I’m thinking about the shooter. I’m thinking about what his next move might be. I’m thinking about a motive as to why he’d have done what he did in the first place. I’m thinking about my brother. I’m worried that he might be the man in the morgue. And if he isn’t, well, I’m worried about where he is, too.”

  “Why? Billy was always the kind to land on his feet.”

  He looked at her, his gaze intent. She winced. “Sorry, that didn’t come out very charitably.” But it was true. Still, he didn’t need to know that.

  “I thought you and my brother were special friends,” he said.

  At the careful note – the too-careful tone – she reared back slightly. “Why would you think that?”

  He frowned and lowered his gaze. Almost as if he were trying to avoid her gaze. Worried and definitely getting irritated, she shifted until she was sitting cross-legged on the bed, her body still snuggled up against him but the sheet wrapped around her waist. “Morgan, where did you get that idea?”

  “From Billy.”

  She snort
ed. “Well, that figures. He was nothing if not a con artist and a sleaze with women.”

  Morgan stared at her in astonishment. “What? You didn’t love him?”

  What the hell was going on here? “He was your brother so I was prepared to love him but after you left, there was no way I wanted anything to do with him. Like, hell no. I was hurt and angry. I got over it eventually, but we were never more than friends.”

  He groaned and threw his arm across his face. “Damn bastard.”

  “Who?”

  “Billy.”

  “What does Billy have to do with this? With us?” She stared at him in bewilderment. “We rarely saw him when we were together, so why the hell would he be involved now?”

  “Well for one, he’s supposed to be dead,” Morgan snapped. “And that’s why I came back looking for you. To help me identify him. When I saw the tattoo, I realized you two were lovers – as he’d said all along – and…”

  “He said what?” She couldn’t believe it. Well, she did of course. Billy had been that kind of sleazebag. He’d have said anything to the guys if he got brownie points for it. She laughed, the sound hard and bitter. “Of course he did. He said the same thing about Roxy at one point, too. She was really upset over his boasts, but I told her to forget about him. He was a loser. I’m sorry he’s dead for your sake, but he wasn’t a great person to have around. I never trusted him.”

  “Trusted him.” This time Morgan sat up, so casual and comfortable in his skin he didn’t grab for the sheet like she had. Of course not. Then again, his body was dynamite. Like, oh my God, she was going to drool on the sheet if he didn’t cover up. At the same time, she hoped he didn’t. She really didn’t want to lose the gorgeous model in front of her.

  He picked up the sheet and she groaned inwardly. Then tossed it to one side. And she gave a big happy sigh.

  She wasn’t going to lose the best view she’d had in a year. So why the hell were they wasting time talking about his asshole of a brother? She shuddered inwardly. Better any topic but him. She was sorry he might be dead. He wasn’t a great guy, but that didn’t mean she wished him ill. She just wished him away from her. That wasn’t so hard to understand, was it? Roxy understood. She said he gave her the creeps.

  Morgan looked like he wanted to argue, and she had no intention of hearing it. She rolled over and walked to the bathroom. “I’m going to have a shower. Is there any food in the house or should we order pizza?”

  “Anchovy and pepperoni by any chance?” he asked dryly.

  She cast him a backward saucy glance. “You know me so well. Better make it two. Then maybe you’ll get some.”

  He laughed. She heard him pick up the phone and call someone. As long as they came soon, she might survive. There was nothing like lolling about in bed – alone or with him – to build up an appetite.

  And she hadn’t eaten much in the last twenty-four hours.

  She found shampoo on the small ledge beside her and with great difficulty managed to start a lather in her thick hair. Every movement caused the bandage to tug on her shoulder, and it was making her sore.

  Just as she was determined to give up, she heard sounds of the glass door opening and strong fingers working the shampoo deep into her scalp. She could have cried out in relief as he worked his magic. By the time he added conditioner, she was starting to feel the heat. He worked the conditioner through the long strands and back again like he’d done many times for her before. When she reached for the soap, it was to find his hand snatching it up before her. He was as thorough at washing every inch of her body as he was with her hair.

  She’d forgotten that part of him. The ability to care for her like a baby. He’d make a great father. And didn’t that trigger all her earlier thoughts?

  Not the time. Quickly, she stuffed them back inside and enjoyed being cosseted. He was good. So damn good.

  “Easy. You’re weaving on your feet.” He reached around her and turned off the water. He opened the shower door, and a draft of cool air wafted over her warm, wet skin. She was instantly engulfed in a huge towel and scooped off her feet.

  “I can walk,” she protested.

  “You can. And I can also carry you.” He sat her down on the bed and tugged the towel down to check out her bandage. “You probably shouldn’t have had a shower in the first place with this on.”

  “Is it soaked?”

  “Yes, it is.”

  “Maybe we should take it off.”

  “I’m actually supposed to change it,” Morgan admitted. “It was either that or take you back to the hospital to have them take a look.” He smiled down at her. “I figured you’d prefer this way.”

  “You think?” But she was happy she wasn’t at the hospital. “Do you have the stuff?”

  “I do. Hold on.”

  And he disappeared out the bedroom door.

  She shifted enough to use the corner of the towel to rub her hair dry. The heat from the shower plus the exertion of trying to clean her hair had worn her out. Not to mention the earlier activity in bed. She yawned.

  “Food then bed.” Morgan walked back into the room carrying a small plastic bag. “Now let’s fix that shoulder up.”

  She turned to give him more access, waiting while he pulled back the bandage. She heard his gasp and twisted to see the damage for herself. But outside of the black and blue and blood and puffiness, it was hard to actually see a hole.

  The whole look of the wound made her tummy roil. She turned her gaze away then closed her eyes, whimpering slightly as he cleaned and redressed it.

  A soft kiss landed on her cheek. “All done.”

  Her shoulders sagged. “Thank heavens for that.”

  The doorbell rang. She froze, her heart stuttering to a stop before picking up and racing forward.

  “Easy,” Morgan said. At her blank look, he reminded her, “You asked for pizza, remember?”

  She lifted a trembling hand. “Sorry. I forgot.”

  He patted her on the shoulder and said, “I’ll be right back.”

  Watching him leave, she tried to pull her lack of control back into line. That a simple doorbell could send her off balance so fast wasn’t good. Sure, she didn’t like them. Had actually disconnected the one in her own house as it resonated at a level that made her want to cry, but surely she wasn’t that freaked out.

  An inner voice said, “If you aren’t, then maybe you should be.”

  Given the two shooting incidents, she shouldn’t be making light of it.

  She didn’t hear Morgan’s voice. Getting up, she pulled his t-shirt over her head again and stepped back into her slightly torn panties, wincing at the cool wetness before making her way to the top of the stairs. She looked over the railing to see the delivery guy walking out the front door, several bills in hand. Morgan locked the door behind him and carried the boxes upstairs. She waited at the top for him.

  “Everything all right?”

  He nodded. “Everything is good. Now back into bed for you.”

  “We need napkins.”

  He nodded to the bedroom. “Go and sit and I’ll get the napkins.”

  Taking the pizza boxes to the bedroom, she curled up in the center of the bed and opened the first one. The aroma hit her nose and she almost moaned in joy. “Oh, that smells good.”

  He walked back in, tossed the napkins on the bed, and sat down beside her. That’s when she realized he had jeans on.

  “When did you get dressed?”

  “Just before going to look for the bandages to change your dressing.”

  She picked up the largest piece out of the top box and bit into the pointed end. Then pulled back hurriedly. “Damn, that’s hot.”

  “Of course.” He picked up one piece and took a big bite. He didn’t have a problem with the heat and after blowing on hers for a few moments, she polished it off, too.

  “Is the second one the same flavor?”

  He nodded.

  “Take a look.”

  She
was willing. She shifted the boxes and pulled out the second one. And opened it. There was a piece of paper on top. She flipped it over, expecting to see a flyer coupon to coax them into ordering again.

  It was a printed photo of the same tattoo she’d put on her lover’s butts.

  She dropped her pizza and scooted back to the headboard, wrapping her arms around her knees.

  “What it is?” he reached over and snatched up the paper. “Shit,” he said in a low, dangerous voice. “Don’t touch anything,” he said as he got up and searched the mess in his room for his phone.

  “I won’t.” she said in a small voice. “I was hungry, but now…”

  “I know.” Phone in hand, Morgan walked over to the window and peered out.

  *

  Morgan studied the empty street below. The pizza delivery car was long gone and he couldn’t even describe what kind of vehicle it had been. Nor could he say if the guy who’d delivered the food was the same one who put the message in the box. It was a message, but he wasn’t sure what information he was supposed to get from it. Or why.

  The cop finally answered his cell phone. Morgan hated to disturb him, but the last thing he wanted was for his shooter to make a third attempt and succeed this time.

  They knew where he lived. They could come back any time.

  “I’ll be right there.” The constable hung up. Morgan closed his phone and stared out the window. He wondered at the photo. Was it the same tattoo? He turned back to Jazz. She was still scrunched in the same position against his headboard.