Lyrics on the Wind (Lost Kings MC Book 17)

by Autumn Jones Lake

  Maybe it’s a blessing that Shelby doesn’t seem to care.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Shelby

  This is the most relaxed I’ve been in days. In fact, I want to take this moment and tuck it in my pocket to remember the next time I’m stressed out. Sitting on Rooster’s lap, the way he can’t stop touching me, the possessive way he keeps one big hand clasped on my thigh like some sort of warning to every other man—and woman—in the room is a jolt of queen energy straight to my head.

  I snuggle my head against his shoulder, stopping to kiss his cheek. He crooks his neck to peer down at me. “You all right?”

  “Perfectly content.” I stroke my hand over his beard and he dips closer to kiss the inside of my wrist. Laughter trills out of me. “That tickles.”

  He kisses his way up my arm and I twine my fingers in his hair, pulling him closer until our lips crash together in a hot, wet mashing of lips.

  The heat from before we were interrupted in Ice’s office returns with a vengeance. We’re tucked into the corner, Rooster’s arm trapped between my back and the chair’s cushions. Doesn’t slow him down. He slides his free hand from my thigh to my hip and up my side. I’m panting and really close to throwing the rest of my fucks away and begging him to relieve the pressure between my thighs here and now by any means necessary.

  He pulls away and studies me for a second. “Let’s go to our room.”

  In my eagerness to scoot off his lap and sprint down the hallway, I elbow him in the chin. “Shoot! I’m sorry.”

  “I’m fine.” He grabs my hips and sets me upright on his thighs. I slide back against his hardness and slowly twitch my hips from side to side.

  “Careful.” He groans against my ear and slides his hand over my shoulders to grip my chin and turn my face toward him for another kiss. We’re not making it to our room. Nope. I loop my arms around his neck and arch my back, twisting to get better access to his mouth. He slides his hands over my ribs and gently cups my breasts. “You don’t want to do this here, chickadee,” he whispers.

  I drag my eyelids open. What we’re doing is pretty innocent compared to the surrounding activity. At least four girls are laid out on the pool table with brothers’ heads nestled between their thighs. Across from us, a girl’s kneeling on the back of the couch straddling another brother’s face while he clutches her ass cheeks, pulling her closer to his greedy mouth.

  “Uh, your brothers sure are in a giving mood tonight.” I mean, fair is fair. Last time, it was mostly girls on their knees servicing the guys or straight up screwin’ on every piece of furniture. Who knew equality could be found in a biker clubhouse?

  Rooster groans, but not in the sexy way he did earlier.

  Shonda bounces over to us in nothing but a fabulous red satin bra and panty set with her hand outstretched. “Here, Shelby! I have a feeling you’ll need one of these!” She thrusts what looks like a small metal clamp with pink rubber grips in my hand. “Rooster, you get your card from Boots?”

  “No. It’s—”

  “Be right back!” she shouts over her shoulder, disappearing into the crowd again.

  I inspect the object in my hand. “Why am I holding a,” I peer closer, not sure I’m seeing correctly in the weak lighting, “heart-shaped hole puncher?”

  “Fuck.” He scrubs his hands over his face. The movement jostles me forward. I stand and turn to face him.

  “What’s wrong?”

  He crooks a finger. “Come here.”

  I shuffle closer and he clamps a hand around my thigh, dragging me into his lap again.

  “Here ya go!” Shonda thrusts what looks like a pink index card with a calendar printed on one side into Rooster’s hands.

  Pussy Patch 30 Day Challenge is printed above the calendar.

  “Good luck,” Shonda coos in a knowing way, patting me on the shoulder before taking off again.

  “What…what is that?”

  “Nothing.” He folds the card and tucks it in his pocket.

  “What’s a pussy patch?”

  He briefly closes his eyes. “Something stupid they came up with in church.”

  I cross my arms over my chest, waiting for some details. Around us, more shrieks, moans, and orgasm roars explode.

  “Fuck,” he groans. “Can we talk about this upstairs?”

  ROOSTER

  I could strangle Boots and T-Bone for this whole stupid pussy patch bullshit.

  My cock’s harder than a hammer, painfully confined by my jeans. I should be upstairs making love to my girl, not explaining my club’s deviance.

  Thank fuck she’s wearing jeans. The way she’s straddling my lap, if she was wearing one of her cute little dresses, I would’ve impaled her by now and had her riding my cock in front of everyone.

  I grip her ass cheeks and yank her closer. Christ, the heat from her center sears me through two layers of denim. Holding her tight, I stand and encourage her to wrap her legs around my waist.

  “Ooo.” She loops her arms around my neck. “It’s such a dang turn on that you can pick me up without breakin’ a sweat.”

  I bounce her in my arms and she squeals, holding on tighter.

  “You can’t carry me all the way upstairs,” she protests as we move through the crowded room.

  “Like fuck I can’t. I lift heavier weights than you all the time.”

  “Really?”

  I flex my biceps. “These don’t grow on their own, baby.”

  She laughs at my cockiness and leans in to brush a kiss on my cheek.

  “Actually, I’ve been slacking off. Figure once we’re on the road, I’ll set up a regular routine. Wrath’s supposed to help me do that.”

  I stop at our door, shifting her in my arms to open it. Her lips whisper over my earlobe sending a shock wave straight to my groin. “Careful, I don’t want to drop you.”

  “Mmm.” She flicks her tongue against my neck.

  I kick the door closed and press her against it. She rests her head against the door and stares up at me. “That was hot.” With her accent, it sounds more like hawt, cranking me up even more.

  “You’re hot.” Not my smoothest compliment but with all my blood rushing south, it’s the best I can do. I lean in and kiss her, sweeping my tongue over her bottom lip until she opens for me.

  She curls her fingers into my cut, pulling me closer. Somehow, I manage to tug her shirt off, tossing it over my shoulder. Her bra’s too complicated for my primitive brain to handle right now—especially when she starts tugging at my belt.

  “Want something?”

  “So, so bad,” she whispers in between kisses and fiddling with my jeans.

  The heel of one of her boots digs into my ass. After some wriggling and frustrated huffs, a boot thuds to the floor. She unwinds her legs, and hopping on one foot, tugs off the other boot.

  “Eager?” I tease while getting to work undoing my pants.

  She flicks a serious glare with a healthy dose of sexy at me. “You best buckle up. I’m about to ride you like a bull at the rodeo.”

  “Come and get it.” I shove my jeans down and put on a show of stroking my cock for her.

  She quickly sheds her jeans and panties.

  “Bra too.”

  She flashes an amused smirk and reaches behind her to unfasten it.

  As always, I’m struck stupid by her beauty. Breasts that fill my big hands perfectly. Flared hips I love grabbing onto. Strong legs that wrap around me just right. Plush thighs I want to wear as earmuffs.

  I’m so lost in admiring every inch, I don’t process that she’s checking me out just the same.

  “Damn,” she draws out the word all low and sex-kittenish, “you put those poor porno boys to shame with that monster cock.” She tilts her head. “Why aren’t you starring in those films?”

  Another reason I regret she had to sit through that scene. I don’t want her exposed to any other cocks. Ever again. I can’t help laughing, though. “This monster’s for your eyes onl
y, chickadee. Now get your hot little ass over here.”

  She doesn’t waste time. It seems we’re in sync. She places her hand on my shoulder and hikes one leg against my hip. I take over from there, slipping my arms under her thighs, palming her ass, and lifting her.

  “Hang on.”

  She grips my shoulders and leans in to kiss me. The kiss goes nuclear fast. Digging my fingers into her ass, I pull her closer. She moans and rubs herself against me. Not quite where I need her to go. Finally, I guide her onto my cock, taking it slow and easy. Flexing my hips and slowly sliding home. She’s warm and wet and fucking her bare is the best damn thing ever.

  “How’s that monster treatin’ you?” I whisper.

  She rolls her hips, adjusting to having every inch of me buried to the hilt. “Pretty dang good.”

  Damn, she’s funny. I’m half grinning like an idiot and half ready to explode while she uses her grip on my shoulders for leverage to work herself up and down my cock. I bite my lip and hang onto my control by a thread.

  Her blissed-out moans and cries increase. She stops moving, her body tightening all over, pussy squeezing me tight. My balls are ready to explode.

  She arches her back, really grinding herself against me now. I admire the hot pink flush staining her skin from chest to cheeks. My tongue’s half-wagging out of my mouth, desperate to taste her hard, plump nipples. As much as this position is satisfying all my caveman urges to show off my strength for her, it’s limiting my ability to get my hands and mouth all over her body.

  I search for something she can brace herself against. Door’s no good. I’m afraid I’ll hurt her back when I finally let loose.

  Desk. I shuffle over awkwardly. “Behind you. Arch backwards and brace yourself on the desk.”

  Still clinging to me, she turns and after a second or two gets the gist of the instructions. She bends backward, releasing my neck to reach for the smooth surface.

  “Oh, fuck yeah,” I growl. “Lock those legs around me. I got you.”

  “This is some serious Tantric bridge pose,” she huffs between panting little breaths.

  I’ve never appreciated all the yoga she does more.

  I let my hands roam over her thighs, the curves of her hips and up her sides, stopping to cup her breasts. “Needed to get my hands on more of you.”

  “Mmm.”

  “You all right?” I use my thumb against her clit in a steady rhythm. Her hips punch up even higher and I lock my arms around her thighs. Her legs kick straight out, doing that crazy shaking thing they do when I get her good. With her head tipped back I can’t see her face. Dumb move on my part. I love watching her eyes roll back when she totally loses it. She’s gripping me so tight, I see stars. Or maybe it’s the orgasm that I can’t hold back another second.

  I fuck her furiously fast, thumping into her over and over. Her arms tremble the smallest bit. I lift her higher and move closer to the desk, laying her down.

  “Phew.” She gives me a relaxed, dreamy smile. “Worried I was gonna bop my head there for a minute.”

  I grit my teeth, my hips pistoning harder and harder. “Fuck.”

  Every muscle in my body straining, I throw my head back, groaning and shouting loud enough to rattle the ceiling. It’s the roar of a lion-fucking-his-mate loud.

  I come so hard, my knees buckle. I have to release my grip on her hips and brace myself over her, arms planted on the desk. She wraps herself around my body, pulling me closer. Our lips fuse together. It’s like for a few seconds our souls merge with the universe or something. Shelby does stuff to my brain and body I can’t comprehend.

  How is it possible that every single time with her ends up being the best sex I’ve ever had in my life?

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Shelby

  We’re both dripping with sweat and plum worn out but Rooster still takes his time lovingly soaping me up in the shower. After a quick scrub-a-dub, we spend a lot of time playfully drying each other off. Really, more like groping and exploring each other if I’m honest.

  I squeeze the rock-solid muscles of his arm. “I think you made up for any missed workouts.”

  He lets out a low, satisfied growl.

  I’m still tingling all over. I turn toward the sink, intent on brushing my teeth. Rooster presses his big, warm body against my back and wraps on arm around me, resting his hand on my stomach. He stretches forward to clear the fog off the mirror and I can’t help staring at our reflection. In the mirror, he meets my eyes.

  “You look so tiny next to me.” He strokes his knuckles over my cheek then hugs me tight, pressing a kiss to my temple. “But you’re so damn strong.”

  “I’m little but mighty,” I quip.

  “Yes. You are,” he says in a more serious tone than I expected.

  I wiggle my butt against the towel wrapped around his lower half. “And I can take one hell of a pounding.”

  He rumbles with laughter. “Yes, you can.”

  I lean over and start brushing my teeth. Rooster stays close, tracing his fingers along my spine, like he’s too fascinated with me to look away.

  “I’m not sure how I feel about ya watchin’ me brush my teeth,” I mumble around a mouth full of minty foam.

  “To be fair, I’m staring at your juicy peach of an ass.”

  I wrinkle my nose at him in the mirror. His serious expression lifts. He reaches for the heavy rings he usually wears that are resting on the counter. One-by-one, he slips them on his fingers. I turn, and clasp his right hand, bringing it closer to kiss his scarred knuckles. Drawing away, I study the heavy bands of silver encircling his ring and index fingers.

  He taps his fists together in front of him. “They serve as biker brass knuckles. Legal in all fifty states.”

  “They’re certainly heavy enough.” I stroke my fingers over one ring, studying the intricate detail of the two crossed pistols in front. One side of the thick band depicts a skull and on the other side the metal has been blackened to spell out the word outlaw in tattoo-like lettering.

  “A lot of meaning there,” I say.

  He glances at it as if noticing it for the first time in a long time. “The gentleman outlaw’s guide to justice.” His lips quirk into a smile full of fond memories. “My uncle left it to me.”

  “Was he in the club too?”

  “No, but he was friends with lots of different bikers.” He shrugs. “Spent a lot of time around them.”

  I move to the one on his index finger. A crowned skull engraved into the flat front. On one side, an hourglass, on the other what looks like an artist’s representation of wind. I tap the skull. “Club ring, right?” That’s what I’ve always assumed.

  “Sort of. Jigsaw and I bought them when we patched-in.”

  “Aw, like those half-a-heart best friends necklaces?”

  He huffs out a quick laugh. “I guess.” He traces his fingers from the skull to the wind. “Brothers to the end.” He taps the hourglass. “Life is finite.”

  “Oh,” I breathe out, feeling a little dumb for making a joke about it now. “No wonder you can interpret my tarot cards better than I can.”

  The faint smile on his face flattens. “I wouldn’t say that. You haven’t touched them since…leaving the hospital. You want me to get them for you?”

  While I appreciate the offer, a foolish feeling invades my chest at the thought. “I think I’m done doing readings. They couldn’t help me figure out someone was after me, so obviously it’s stupid.”

  He strokes his thumb over my cheek. “That’s not true. You couldn’t have known. Don’t let this ruin something you like.”

  I shrug and look away.

  “Maybe do a reading for the girls if you don’t want to do one for yourself. Trinity would probably be into it.”

  “Maybe.” Uncomfortable talking about it anymore, I grab his left hand to inspect his final ring. A large oval turquoise set in an elaborate band of woven silver. “Turquoise is supposed to be the protective talisman for king
s and warriors. Some people thought it could protect riders from falls. I see why a biker would want that.”

  He stares at it with a blank expression as if it’s the first time he’s heard any of that. “Shit, an old girlfriend gave it to me.”

  Well, doesn’t that suck all the oxygen out of the room.

  I don’t want to be the girl who gets annoyed about stuff like that, but hoo-boy, the fact that he regularly wears a ring some ex gave him is not landing well.

  “Fuck.” He tugs the ring off. “I just like the design. I totally forgot where it came from.” He stalks into the bedroom, opens the nightstand drawer, and drops the ring inside. It lands with a harsh clink. He slides the drawer closed.

  Huh.

  I didn’t even have to ask.

  I’m not even sure I would have.

  “You don’t have to,” I protest as he returns to the bathroom. “It’s just a piece of jewelry.”

  He cups the back of my head and drags me closer for a quick kiss. “Nah, it’s fine.”

  Thank you doesn’t seem quite right but I’m so stunned, I’m not sure what else to say.

  I give him another quick peck on the lips and scurry into the bedroom. After finding a clean tank top and pair of panties to sleep in, I pick up our scattered clothes. I set everything on the desk and stop to touch Rooster’s cut that he left draped over the chair before we took our shower.

  Besides the three-piece patch on the back, his vice president patch, and his Lost Kings MC patch, he has a few others. A worn “Route 66” patch that I’m a little jealous of. I’ve always wanted to drive Route 66 and the few times we were close on the tour, there was no time for detours. Blood Makes You Related, Loyalty Makes You Family. I’ve seen similar phrases on the patches worn by other Lost Kings. I’m pretty sure Jigsaw has one exactly like it. A couple pairs of angel wings, ΜΟΛΩΝ ΛΑΒΕ—ah, the classic slogan of defiance, not really a surprise there—a rooster with a crown, a rising phoenix, a broken heart, an hourglass with a skull and scythe, and a few others.