by Chiah Wilder
Hawk held her, swaying from side to side. Bending down, he peppered kisses along her neck, taking her earlobe into his mouth and licking it while moving his teeth against its softness. She tried stifling her gasp; the last thing she wanted was for this stranger to know the effect he was having on her. She tilted her head back and looked into his eyes. A sheen of lust met her startled gaze. Once more, Hawk lowered his head and brought his mouth toward hers. Turning her head, Cara stiffened in his arms. He tried to kiss her again, but she resisted, murmuring her protests into his chest.
“What’s wrong, baby? A mouth as luscious as yours needs to be kissed,” he whispered in her ear.
His words shimmied down her neck and landed right in the pit of her fluttering stomach. Looking at him, she answered honestly, “I don’t know you.”
“Well, that’s the point, isn’t it? To get to know each other better? You’re one hot babe, and you have the prettiest green eyes I’ve ever seen.” He brushed his lips against her cheek. “Aren’t you going to let me in?” His mouth was dangerously close.
Before Cara could respond, Hawk’s mouth was on hers, gently sucking her lips. His tongue pushed against the seam, demanding it to open. She froze, her leg muscles tightened, and an overpowering urge to flee consumed her. Her clammy hands pushed against Hawk’s chest in a desperate attempt to put some distance between them. Things were moving too fast. Dancing and holding each other was okay—safe—but kissing? No, that was dangerous.
Certain she would be nothing but a one-night stand, she couldn’t risk being hurt. Even though her body was betraying her, her mind was acutely aware of the danger the sexy biker posed for her. Hawk was bad news, and she couldn’t let herself falter. The earlier fluttering in her stomach turned to heaviness.
“What’s going on, baby?” Hawk brought his lips to hers again.
“I don’t want to. Please, I really don’t.” As Cara struggled, Hawk held her tighter.
“Come on, baby, I know you want this. I sure do.” Running his nose against her jaw, his stubble scratched her face.
“I don’t.” Panic seized her and her heart raced, nearly exploding. Twisting away, she gasped, “Please, stop. I don’t appreciate being mauled by you.”
Anger shone in his eyes and he stiffened like a wooden board. It was as if she had thrown a bucket of ice water on him. “Baby, I don’t maul women. It’s usually the other way around.”
“I only meant I don’t like pushy guys. We’re having a nice dance. Let’s leave it at that, okay?”
“Whatever….” He put his arms around her waist again, but rigidity replaced the ease with which he’d held her before. This time, Hawk didn’t place her head against his heart. She couldn’t wait until the song was over so she could get away from this brooding man who made her body respond to his touch.
At last, the song ended and Cara quickly disengaged from Hawk. “Thanks, it was nice,” she mumbled as she made her way toward her seat. Hawk gripped her arm and swung her into his hard chest. His mouth crushed hers. As she opened her mouth to object, his tongue slipped in, getting lost in her heat. Her body naturally leaned into his. Crap! Why doesn’t my body stop acting like this? Willing herself to push him away, she broke free of him.
“You taste good, baby.” Smiling, he licked his lips.
Before she could answer, Sherrie slammed into Cara. “Sorry, Car. I don’t feel so good. I just puked. We gotta go.”
Grateful for an excuse to get away from this mesmerizing man, Cara took Sherrie by the hand. “Sure, let’s go.” She glanced at Hawk.
“Do you need any help? How are you girls gonna get home?”
“I drove. We’re good, thanks.” Cara put her arm around her friend and walked toward the door. Sherrie leaned against her. Realizing it was impossible to help Sherrie and walk in four-inch heels, Cara glanced back at Hawk. Looking amused, a half-smile dancing on his lips, he came over and put his arm around Sherrie. Cara’s jaw stiffened; she hated having to rely on him for help.
“Let me get your friend in your car.”
With a pinched expression, she sighed. “Thanks.”
Hawk, holding a not-so-steady Sherrie in his arms, followed Cara to her black Mercedes-Benz. He whistled. “Nice set of wheels. You got a sugar daddy?”
Ignoring his remarks, Cara said, “You can put Sherrie over here.” She opened the passenger door.
When Sherrie was safely in the car, Cara started to open the driver’s door, but Hawk tugged her around. She was shocked once again when Hawk took her mouth and kissed her deeply. Tremors shook her body when the kiss ended, and he brought a handful of her hair to his lips, kissed it, then rubbed its silkiness against his cheek. He leaned into her, his hardness pressing against her stomach.
“I have to go. I don’t want Sherrie to puke all over my car,” Cara said with a laugh. She had to get away from him before she did something she’d regret.
“Can you come back? I can follow you and help you with your friend, and then we can get to know each other even better.” He nuzzled into her hair.
“No, no, that won’t work. I have to go.”
“Fuck, baby, don’t leave me wanting you. Let’s have a little fun before you take off.”
“I have to go. Thanks for helping me with Sherrie.”
“If you have to go, then go.” Hawk’s jaw clenched.
“I do have to go.”
Silence followed. Cara opened her car door, but she paused when Hawk gripped her arm, saying, “What’s your number? Maybe we could hook up sometime.”
Cara wanted to get far away from Hawk. Being with him was like riding on a runaway train. Not in the mood to argue, and certain that Hawk would not walk away empty-handed, she took out a tissue from her purse, scribbled a phone number, and put it in his hands. Closing her car door, Cara waved to him as she drove away.
* * *
The red tail lights disappeared into the night. Back in the bar once more, Hawk ordered another beer. A blonde with a tight t-shirt and denim Daisy Dukes came up to him. He recognized her as a hoodrat—the girls who came to the clubhouse to party with the brothers. He couldn’t remember her name, but he remembered she liked it rough.
The bimbo placed her elbow on the bar. “Did you lose your girlfriend?”
“What the fuck?”
“I saw you and that stuck-up bitch. You were really into her. Where’d she go?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Hawk yanked her toward him. Cara had given him a major hard-on, and he had to fuck some pussy real bad. “What’s your name again?”
“Hawk, I can’t believe you don’t remember my name. It’s Crystal.” She pushed out her lower lip.
“Yeah, yeah. Let’s go to the back room.”
Crystal put her arms around him and tugged his face toward hers. She tried to kiss him, but he pushed back. “No kissing, just fucking.”
“What the fuck? You sure were kissing Miss Bitch.”
Hawk glared at her. “Listen, slut. If you wanna fuck, let’s do it. If you don’t, then fuckin’ get away from me. I don’t give a shit.”
Hawk started to leave when Crystal grabbed his arm. “Let’s go, handsome.”
He walked with Crystal toward the back room, wishing she had long, chestnut hair, green eyes, and big, soft tits.
Chapter Two
Walking into the Insurgents’ clubhouse, it took Hawk a minute to adjust his eyes to the low light. The smell of whiskey, tobacco, pot, and pussy washed over him. He loved the feeling of belonging, which hit him every time he came back after being gone for a few days. He loved all his brothers—well, almost all of them. A few he could do without, but they were still family.
“Hey, Hawk, where you been?” Jax patted him on the back.
Jax was one of the younger members. He grew up with the club, since his dad was a die-hard brother. Hawk remembered when Jax was a gangly teen who hung out at the club, asking him a ton of questions about Afghanistan, women, and guns. He smiled to h
imself. Jax had come a long way since then. Being a patched member and the Sergeant-At-Arms, he didn’t put up with bullshit. He was tough and never faltered, even when his dad was gunned down a few years before by a lone biker at Sturgis. Shit, Hawk couldn’t even imagine how hard that must’ve been for Jax. The guy had been attached at the hip to his dad, especially after Jax’s mother left him and his dad for another biker. Why are women such bitches? The title of Queen Bitch belonged to Hawk’s mother.
“So, what have you been up to?” Jax invaded Hawk’s thoughts.
“Not much, just working and customizing some bikes. How have things been around here?”
“The same.”
Hawk looked around and saw several of the members in various stages of fucking. A few mamas and club whores were sucking some members’ cocks, while a couple others were sucking dick while getting fucked at the same time. Yeah, everything was pretty much the same.
The Insurgents MC had different types of women: the old ladies, the mamas, the club whores, and the hoodrats. The old ladies were the women who held the club’s respect; they belonged to the members who claimed them, and they proudly wore their man’s property patch. The old ladies were envied by the mamas and the club whores.
The Insurgents had four old ladies. Banger’s old lady, Grace, had been the matriarch before she died. Now Doris, Ruben’s old lady, held the spot. Bernie was PJ’s old lady and Marlena was Billy’s, but she was usually pissed at him because he couldn’t keep his dick in his pants around the club whores and mamas; and the newest was Sofia. She was twenty-three years old, quiet, and madly in love with Tigger. Tigger was doing a stint in state prison in Canyon City for beating a man nearly to death in a barroom fight. When the guy disrespected Sofia, Tigger charged into him like a bull and received a five-year sentence in the state pen. In eighteen months, he’d be up for parole and Sofia marked each day off on her calendar, holding her breath that Tigger’s temper wouldn’t screw things up.
Mamas belonged to the club at large, and they wore the patch “Property of Insurgents” on their jackets. Mamas were the sexual equivalent of a public well—they were available whenever a member wanted pussy. They belonged to every member and were expected to consent to the sexual desires of any member, or visiting member, at any time. Because they were club property, they were protected by the club, and they lived in the small rooms in the clubhouse’s attic.
The Insurgents had three mamas, and they all wanted to be old ladies. Kristy desperately wanted to be Hawk’s. Most of the women who came through the clubhouse wanted to hook up with one of the brothers and be a girlfriend or an old lady.
The club whores didn’t live at the club, but hung around a lot, and were also available for any kind of sex whenever they were at the clubhouse. The whores didn’t wear the patch and could be thrown out or banned from the club at any time, and they were also expected to give pussy whenever a brother or two wanted it. No arguments. Lola and Brandi were the newest whores in the club.
Hoodrats were the party girls who came for four or five parties and then moved on. They came to the clubhouse to fuck, drink, and do drugs, but if they were caught with anything other than weed, their asses would be tossed out and they’d be banned from coming to the clubhouse again. Most hoodrats loved the excitement of free sex, dangerous biker men, and the “anything goes” attitude.
There was never a shortage of women. They were drawn to the bikes, the chrome, and the lifestyle. It was like having a bunch of groupies. It was the life—pussy and cock-sucking any time a brother wanted it.
Kristy, a tall, striking woman with auburn hair and clear blue eyes, came over to Hawk. She put her arms around him and crushed her big tits into his chest. “Hi, honey. Haven’t seen you around lately. I’ve missed you.”
“Hi, Kristy. Been busy, that’s all.”
She whispered in his ear, “I’ve missed our good fucking. You’ve got the best cock for my pussy.” She kissed him on his jaw line.
Hawk pushed her back gently. “Not today. I’m here to talk with the prez.”
“Come on, Hawk, give the lady what she wants. We all have time for a bit of fuckin’.” Jax laughed.
“Nah, I gotta talk with Banger. Another time, okay?”
Kristy pursed her lips into a pout and grabbed Hawk’s face. “You promise?”
“Sure, why not?”
As he left, Hawk felt Jax and Kristy staring at him. He heard Jax whistle and say, “Shit, I never thought I’d see the day Hawk would turn down some prime pussy.”
“Me neither. Now I’m hot and have no relief.”
“I’ll fix that. Come over here and let me fuck you good.” Kristy laughed and wrapped her arms around Jax’s neck.
Hawk turned back to see Kristy on her knees, pulling down Jax’s pants. He shook his head. When a bitch is horny, she’s gotta get her pussy filled.
Hawk opened Banger’s office door. President of the MC, Banger was a good ten years older than Hawk’s thirty-five, but he and Banger were as close as blood brothers. He respected and admired Banger. The dude had been through a lot with the death of his old lady, and raising his daughter, Kylie, all on his own. He deserved a lot of credit. It’d been hard on him watching his wife, Grace, succumb to ovarian cancer and still be there a hundred percent for the brothers. Shit, life sucked sometimes. Grace was the nicest old lady Hawk had ever known. Hell, she was the nicest woman he’d ever known, and she was six feet under, dying way too young and leaving a thirteen-year-old daughter motherless. He knew mean, nasty bitches who were going real strong. Life just didn’t make sense sometimes.
“Hawk, good to see you. Takin’ a break, or did you get hold of some great pussy?”
“Not that lucky yet. I met this hottie a few nights ago at Rusty’s, and fuck, did she have a body that moved so right.”
“Did you fuck her?”
“Nah, thought we were gonna, but her friend got drunk and kept puking her brains out. Kinda put an end to any pussy, you know?”
Banger laughed. “You’re getting old. There was a time you would have fucked that bitch with her friend’s puking as background music.”
Hawk smiled. That night at Rusty’s, he’d noticed Cara the minute he’d stepped into the bar. He was a tit man, all kinds of tits, but big tits always held a hot spot for him. And that sweet, sexy lady had his favorite kind. He could see his mouth kissing her breasts, his tongue circling her areola, then licking her nipples to stiffness. Fuck, he loved a soft, curvy woman with big breasts. He could get lost in them. If it was up to him, he’d have had his throbbing cock between those precious boobs before they even left the bar.
That night, Hawk caught her checking him out many times, and when he looked at her, she had acted embarrassed. He hadn’t had a woman act shy when he stared in a long time. Not since Afghanistan, anyway, but that didn’t count because most of the women cast their glances downward over there. He was used to the whores around the clubhouse who threw themselves at him. But he wasn’t complaining, of course—a few of the mama sluts gave real good pussy and head, and it fucking kicked ass that he could have it whenever he wanted some. He just thought her embarrassment was cute. It was nice.
Shit, what the fuck was he thinking? He didn’t do nice.
Hawk had wanted to fuck Cara real bad that night. Damn, her body shimmied every time she moved. He was getting a hard-on just thinking about her and remembering her soft, full lips. Those lips, wrapped around his cock, sucking him loud and wet…Yep, he definitely would’ve liked to have ridden that sweet one. He’d been thinking about her ever since Rusty’s. She did something to him. Aw, hell…
“So, what’s on your mind?” Banger asked, breaking Hawk’s thoughts.
“I don’t like the way the badges are focusing on us. Have you noticed it? I mean, they’ve been to my shop a few times looking for shit. I don’t like it. Something doesn’t feel right.”
“Did they find anything?”
“Not a damn thing. I’m not stupid. I kn
ow my probation ends in two months. Maybe they just want me to screw up so they can throw my ass back in the slammer. The motherfuckin’ pricks.”
“It’s not just you. They’ve hassled Tiny, Helm, Axe, and some others. Jax stopped them twice from coming in here and searching for drugs and guns. He called that lawyer we have on retainer, Anderson, and he came down and told the badges their warrants were full of shit. The next warrant they come with will be a good one, that I’ll fuckin’ guarantee.”
“So, what the shit’s goin’ on?”
“I dunno, but I agree, they’re trying to fuck with us. There’s probably a crackdown on one-percenters ’cause of some political junk. They’ve done this shit every few years or so…motherfuckin’ assholes.”
“Maybe…it doesn’t feel like that. It’s like the MC is being targeted.”
Banger slowly nodded. “We gotta address this at church next week. We need to be fuckin’ altar boys until we get this shit straightened out.”
“Okay, sounds good.”
“I heard the mamas are gonna put some steaks on the grill. You stayin’ for chow?”
“Yeah, I’ll be around.”
Hawk made his way back to the great room, the main place the members congregated to play some pool, watch football, shoot the shit, and drink. Couches around the perimeter, tables and chairs, bar stools, two pool tables, a jukebox, and a dartboard gave the room a casual feel. Hawk leaned against the wraparound bar. One of the prospects, Jerry, approached him.
“Get me a shot of Jack.”
Jerry placed the shot glass down on the bar. Hawk took it and threw it back. With the whiskey’s bite scorching his throat, he motioned Jerry for another.
He looked around the room as he swigged the second shot. He saw one of the old brothers, Rob, with one of the mamas. His wrinkled ass jiggled as he banged the whore. Hawk wondered if he’d be like Rob in thirty years: a wrinkled ass, no old lady, just club whores to fuck on worn-out sofas. He motioned Jerry for a third shot.
