Lyrics on the Wind (Lost Kings MC Book 17)

by Autumn Jones Lake

  “Why aren’t you naked?” Rooster’s low, smoldering question interrupts my inspection.

  “I’ve never really studied all your patches before.” I peer at him over my shoulder. “Am I allowed to ask about them?”

  One corner of his mouth curls up. “Ask away, chickadee. I’ll answer what I can.”

  That’s not ominous or anything.

  I notice a pink square on the floor and bend down to grab it.

  Pussy Patch 30 Day Challenge. Right. We were supposed to talk about this before getting carried away.

  I hold up the card. “You were going to tell me about this?”

  He sighs, runs his fingers through his hair, then levels me with one of his panty-melting smiles. “Come naked-cuddle with me and I’ll give you all the details.”

  Twenty minutes later, I’m howling with laughter and clutching my stomach. “Your club’s giving out cunnilingus achievement awards?”

  Rooster grumble-laughs along with me. “Not my club. This charter of my club.” He stops for a second. “Ah, shit. Sway probably did something similar when he was president. Christ, I hope Z doesn’t get any bright ideas when he hears about it.”

  “So,” I tap the card with my finger, “I take it you’re allowed to participate since they gave you a scoreboard.”

  “Yup.” He lets out a devious chuckle. “I’m not ashamed to admit, I encouraged Murphy to partake in the challenge just because I know it’ll annoy the shit out of Heidi’s brother every time he sees that patch.”

  “You’re terrible.”

  “I know.” He grins. “I’m okay with it.”

  I grab the card and study it again. “The calendar runs for thirty-five days not thirty.”

  I swear he almost blushes. “There was some lengthy debate about adding five free days, uh, for the monogamous brothers…just in case.”

  After a second or two, his meaning sinks in and now my cheeks warm. “Oh, well, my time of the month is usually light and short thanks to the IUD. My cranky days and food-cravings not so much—like I warned you about earlier.”

  He chuckles. “Is that what you were trying to get at with the steak and ice cream thing?”

  “Yes,” I huff. Why is this so weird and embarrassing to talk about when the man’s inspected me inside and out every which way?

  While I might be embarrassed, Rooster’s clearly aroused by the discussion. He shoves the sheet away from my body and slides his hand over my ribs, down into the dip of my waist and over the curve of my hip and back. The whole time staring at my body like he’s the big, bad wolf about to gobble me up.

  After a few seconds, he meets my eyes. “That wasn’t why I said what I did in Ice’s office. Just so you know.”

  While I mentally replay all the things we talked about earlier, he wedges his hands between my thighs and strokes his middle finger through my slit.

  At his touch, my heart flutters and my thoughts scatter. “W—what was that?”

  “That I wanted to lay you out on the desk—”

  “Oh, right.”

  He strokes harder, using more pressure each time he nears my clit.

  His voice is low and hypnotic as he continues. “I wouldn’t use you like that…disrespect you by not telling you if I was trying to earn that patch.”

  That honest admission drags me from the lust fog I’m slowly spiraling into. The club is so important to him, such a big part of his life and identity. And from other bikers I’ve known, not many put the comfort or opinions of women above the club. Not even the women they’ve exchanged vows with.

  I don’t know what to say.

  Me, the queen of lyrics and words. Speechless.

  So, I cup his cheek and say the only words I can think of. “I love you.”

  Rooster

  Love that soft look in Shelby’s eyes and the reverent way she touches my face. I press a kiss to her wrist, so fuckin’ happy she’s not thoroughly disgusted by the club’s patch challenge.

  I’m still lazily stroking her pussy, enjoying the way she’s struggling to keep her eyes open. I shift closer, twisting my wrist, and slowly push my middle finger inside. She’s so warm and wet. Tight and hot. I rest my forehead on her chest. “Lie on your back for me.”

  She turns, shifting closer to me, and I use the opportunity to slip my other arm under her body. “That’s it.” I pump my finger in and out, eventually adding another one and use the heel of my hand to keep pressure on her clit.

  “L-Logan, I’m close. So close,” she whispers.

  “I know.” I kiss her cheek. “I can tell. I want you to come.” I stare into her dazed eyes. “Can you do that for me?”

  “Oh God. Right there.” Her hips jerk up, chasing my hand. I stop teasing and use my fingers to fuck her with hard, firm strokes. She trembles, squeezes, and shudders through her orgasm.

  “I hope you’re not done because I need to taste you now,” I warn as I slide down her body.

  She curls her fingers in my hair, which I take as a sign she wants me to continue. She’s still fired up, writhing and twisting under me, so I waste no time shoving my face against her, licking and sucking, wiggling my tongue against her clit until she lifts her hips, mashing my face against her pussy. I groan with approval. There are no other sounds in the room besides her heavy breathing, cries of happiness, and lots of delicious, wet sucking. Her thighs tremble as she explodes with pleasure. I bring her down slowly with soft kisses and petting until she finally opens her eyes.

  “Dear God,” she whispers. She lifts up on her elbows and stares at me. “You are so earning that patch.”

  I rumble with laughter and kiss my way up her body.

  “You know I’d do that every day, multiple times a day, patch or no patch, right?” I settle myself between her legs, pushing my cock inside her slippery heat.

  She lifts her legs, locking them around me. “I think so.”

  I thump into her with more force. “You think?”

  “Yes. Oh my. Do that again.”

  I nail her with short, hard strokes and she still can’t seem to get enough. Lifting her hips, grinding against me just as eager as I am. I grab a pillow and try to stuff it under her without losing my rhythm. She notices and whimpers. “Don’t stop. Please.”

  “Not gonna happen.”

  We both come hard and loud. “Fuck,” I groan as I keep pumping into her. I could happily die right this second without a single regret.

  My arms give out and I land on the mattress next to her.

  She reaches over and curls her fingers around mine and whispers, “Forget stars. You make me see galaxies.”

  That’s a beat-on-my chest statement if ever I’ve heard one.

  I turn my head—the only body part I’m capable of moving at the moment. “Good, ’cause you’re my whole universe.”

  She squeezes my hand.

  After a few seconds, my heart rate’s back to normal. I thought she’d drifted off to sleep, but she pops up, eager gaze bouncing around the room.

  “Where’s that hole punch?” She scampers to the end of the bed while I tuck my arms behind my head and enjoy the view of her naked ass while she searches through our pile of clothes.

  She holds the little silver device up in triumph and saunters back to bed. “Gimmie that card.”

  Amused, I turn over and search for it. Somehow it ended up under our sweaty bodies and it’s a little mashed and wrinkled. Biting her bottom lip, she happily punches a hole in the first box.

  The smile on her face falters as she hands the card back. She stops halfway.

  “One thing.” Her gaze flicks toward my cut. “Uh, none of those patches are from sexcapades you’ve had with other girls, right? ’Cause, I’d rather you wear that ring,” she wiggles her fingers toward the nightstand where I’d dropped the ring an ex had given me about a million years ago, “than some patch on your cut proclaiming you ate some random girl’s pussy for a month straight.”

  The idea’s so absurd to me that I end up
roaring with laughter for a solid minute. “No. None of them are pussy patches.”

  Maybe that was too specific of an answer. She frowns. “No blow job patches? No doggy style—”

  “No carnal patches of any kind on my cut,” I assure her. “Each one has some meaning behind it but not like that. You can ask Jiggy to confirm tomorrow, if you want.”

  That finally seems to erase the concern lingering in her eyes.

  She hands me the card.

  “No need. I trust you.”

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Rooster

  Before we can get back on the road, Dawson invites us to join his new security team for a presentation, meeting, workshop, class, whatever you want to call it. Selling it to Jigsaw isn’t easy. He hated school and isn’t exactly eager to return to anything resembling being told what to do.

  Shelby’s coming with us so she can work on some songs with her band.

  Feels good to have her on the back of my bike again.

  She squeezes me tight and I’m thrown back to the first time she took that spot. The Texas heat. Her soaked sundress. I reach back and run my hand over her jeans-covered legs. Definitely more appropriate riding gear than that first ride.

  “You all right?” I shout.

  “Wonderful!”

  Feels good to hear that. Every day since she left the hospital, she seems a little more like herself.

  At the hotel, I walk her downstairs to where her band’s rehearsing.

  “I’ll be right upstairs if you need me.” I take both of Shelby’s hands in mine. “If you want to leave early or something comes up, just send me a text.”

  She leans on tiptoes and kisses my cheek. “I’ll be fine. Thank you for doing this.” She reaches out and touches Jiggy’s arm. “You too. You didn’t have to—”

  “No worries, songbird.”

  After one more kiss, I reluctantly let Shelby go, waiting until she meets up with Trent before searching for the stairs.

  “I hate you,” Jigsaw mutters.

  “What happened to ‘no worries’?”

  He jerks his shoulders up and down a few times. “I didn’t want to make Shelby feel bad.”

  I hold in my laughter and slap him on the back. “I appreciate you being here. Don’t think I could do this on my own without punching someone.”

  He growls a few choice words and impatiently motions for me to hurry up the stairs.

  The next floor’s crawling with guys in dress pants, tucked-in shirts and sports coats that are probably concealing weapons in holsters.

  “Stop.” One meathead holds his hands out in front of him.

  “We’re Dawson’s guests.” I barely manage to hide my irritation.

  “Sure. Yeah.” He wiggles his fingers at me. “Hands up.”

  Jigsaw and I reluctantly put our hands in the air. Another guy joins our party to feel up Jiggy. This situation feels a little too similar to the night Shelby was kidnapped. I guess I should be happy Dawson’s hired halfway competent people, but I’d kinda rather punch these guys instead.

  “Easy, fucker,” I growl when he explores my crotch for too long.

  “Cut it out! What the fuck?” Dawson shouts, jogging toward us. The two molesters pause.

  The guy who stopped us glances over his shoulder. “Everyone gets searched, Mr. Roads.”

  Dawson holds his hands out. “Not these two, okay? They’re with Shelby. They’re here for the training. My guests. They’re cool.” Poor Dawson must be afraid I’m gonna hold him responsible for being molested.

  The security guys glance at each other and shrug.

  “Sorry,” Dawson says, motioning us forward.

  “Thanks for the inappropriate touching.” Jigsaw salutes the guy who’d felt him up. “It was delightful.” He grins and I swear the bodyguard shivers. “I’ll repay the favor later.”

  “They’re here to watch everything. Learn the ropes before we go back out on the road. My fault,” Dawson explains, walking us inside a smaller room. “I want everyone who comes backstage searched from now on. I thought I’d get to introduce you before—”

  “It’s fine.” I wave my hand in front of me. “After what happened, I’d rather be safe.”

  “I’m cool,” Jigsaw adds in an impossibly helpful tone. “Don’t sweat it. I’m totally fine with a dude I don’t know fondling my balls. Should I tip him or you, Dawson?”

  I elbow Jigsaw and he grins at me. “Dawson knows I’m joking.”

  “Didn’t even piss my pants,” Dawson agrees.

  “Aw, I must be losing my touch.” Jigsaw slaps Dawson’s shoulder and nudges him forward.

  The day can only improve, right?

  SHELBY

  The club hosts a big breakfast for us the morning we’re leaving to meet up with the rest of the tour.

  We’re finally ready to roll out of Virginia.

  The guys work out the formation they’re going to ride in out in the parking lot. Rooster and I will be in the truck following behind. I’m a little excited and a little nervous about adding the pack of bikers to my entourage. Rooster said the meeting with Dawson and his security team had gone well.

  I’m waiting off to the side for Rooster to finish talking to the guys. My phone buzzes and I check the texts Trent sent me—a few goofy pictures of him on the van. He’s more than eager to hit the road too.

  “Hey, Shelby.”

  Ice’s smooth, deep voice pulls my attention away from my phone and I stuff it in my pocket. “Mornin’.”

  “You gonna be all right out there?”

  “I think so.” I wave my hand toward the guys. “Thank you for loaning Pants to us.” A more sobering thought hits me. From what I’ve gathered, Ice was there when the guys found me in Martin’s house. He’d helped Rooster locate me in that damn…box. A shiver races over my skin. “Thank you for helping Rooster…find me. I don’t know—”

  “It’s okay, sweetheart. I’m just thankful we found you in time.” He strokes his fingers over his chin in a thoughtful way. “I already told Rooster but I want you to know, anytime you need to come back to Virginia, you always have a place to stay here.”

  I have the feeling this isn’t an invitation extended to everyone who passes through. “Thank you. I really appreciate that. Thank you for giving me a safe place to…recover,” I finish awkwardly, not sure he wants to hear any of the emotional stuff bubbling up inside me.

  “It was nice having you around.” A few more beats of silence pass between us. “Thanks for being a friend to Anya.” He lifts his chin toward the clubhouse. “Not all the ol’ ladies are always nice to her. Club girls either.”

  Yeah, I guess it might be intimidating to hang out with a porn star. But Anya’s so sweet, I can’t imagine acting nasty toward her for no damn reason. “She’s a sweetheart. I’m gonna miss her.”

  “Thank you. She’s important to me…to the club. You didn’t know that but you still showed her respect. That’s serious ’round here.”

  “Well, my momma would tan my hide otherwise,” I say lightly. What kind of women do the brothers usually bring around? Nothing I did was that out of the ordinary.

  “Prez, thank you for everything.” Rooster walks over with his hand outstretched. Ice pulls him in and pats his back a few times.

  “Thank you, brother. I was just telling Shelby she’s welcome here anytime you guys are passing through.”

  “Appreciate that. We’ll definitely be back at some point.”

  “Good deal.” He points a finger at Rooster. “Don’t forget what I said about Mississippi. She’ll do fine with Priest. No worries.”

  Rooster’s face slips into a neutral expression. “Thank you.”

  “All right.” Ice slaps Rooster’s shoulder and gives me a quick handshake. “Shiny side up!” he shouts to everyone.

  That seems to be the cue for the guys to fire up their bikes. The deafening rumble fills the parking lot. Heidi whoops and waves to us from her spot on the back of Murphy’s bike. Trini
ty also turns to wave. Murphy and Steer ended up at the front of the pack, followed by Wrath and Pants, Dex and Jigsaw, and finally Griff and Remy. The guys had teased Griff and Remy about making them ride behind the RV but ultimately decided that wouldn’t be safe and allowed them to ride in the last position of the pack. I assume the choice of formation has to do with their positions in the club but don’t ask for details.

  “Ready?” Rooster asks.

  “Heck, yeah.” I hurry over to my side but Rooster’s right behind me to open my door and give me a boost into the cab of the truck.

  As I gaze out the window, taking in the peacefulness of the mountains behind the clubhouse, I feel like a newborn baby bird leaving my nest of safety. Older, wiser, and more jaded than when I started the tour. But the few days I spent here holed up at the clubhouse helped me regain some of my confidence.

  Look out world, Shelby Morgan’s back, surrounded by bikers, and taking no shit!

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Shelby

  We’ve missed so many dates—most of the Southeastern Coast leg of the tour, to be exact—but Dawson was able to reschedule the one in Atlanta, so that’s where my triumphant return to the stage ends up.

  It’s a sultry night. Everyone’s excited. Backstage is bursting with people—new security people, Dawson’s regular road crew, Rooster’s club brothers.

  Still, I’m shaking in my boots when the time comes to make my entrance.

  Deep breath.

  Walk out with your head held high.

  Trent nods as I pass him and my lips quiver into something that I doubt looked all that reassuring.

  I should be excited to be back on stage, right?

  All my armor’s in place—makeup, hair, dress, boots, microphone—but as I stare out into the crowd, I can’t open my mouth. What if another wacko is out there waiting to attack?

  I open my mouth but can’t follow through.