Forbidden Beauty

by Abriella Blake

  “Carter,” I whispered into the darkness. “I feel like I know you. From a long, long time ago.” I studied his face, waiting for the inevitable laughter, or tease—but this didn't come. The biker just stared at me, though I think something about his gaze urged me on.

  “I was little,” I continued, fumbling around the dusty corners of my brain as I spoke. I'd never had a great memory—trivia was really more Tati's department. But Tati—yes, wait, Tati had been there, too. Some dream was materializing. Something from long, long ago.

  “That night,” I repeated. Behind his face, a cloud drifted briefly over the moon. Darkness: another clue to the past. “The night my father died. You were in my room then. I just saw it on your face. When me and my sister were little—it was you who saved us, wasn't it? From the Knights of Styx raid? Were you our mystery savior?”

  He still didn't say anything, but the corners of his mouth twitched a little. The moon slid away from its cloud coverage, and I saw the full of his face again. At the same moment that I understood the truth, we came towards one another. We came together on the bed.

  Chapter Eighteen

  * * *

  Carter

  I guess I was waiting for her to look at me like that. To remember who I was, and realize we've been connected for so much longer than these past few weeks.

  I move towards the parts of her I can see, the pieces of her bright, pale skin that are illuminated by moon. And she looks like an angel. The first part of her I put my mouth on is the smooth place where her long neck curves into her shoulders. I feel a kind of ripple moving across her at my touch, a pulse drifting just below her skin.

  I work my way up her neck, and pull her face towards mine so I can finally get a taste of those sweet lips. There's an echo of sugar and salt in her mouth. When I push my tongue inside, begin hunting for that perfect make-out motion, she puts her hands on my hips and pulls me toward her. I feel my cock stiffen in my pants. Her pretty fingers slip further down, so they've come to rest on the flat of my ass; she pulls me towards her again. I open my eyes for a moment to see her face in the moonlight, and yes, she's glowing, pale and perfect. I kiss her eyelids.

  I press my hands against her cheeks, I push my fingers through the hair at the nape of her neck, and in that moment I enjoy the feel of her head in my grip, cradled between my palms.

  “Carter,” she murmurs into my ear, breaking away from our kiss. “Carter—I think I'm falling in love with you.” My erection pushes harder against the taut fabric of my riding pants. What would the Knights of Styx say, if they saw me now? Look at this softie, maybe. All hung up on a piece of ass. Fuck 'em, if they say so. I don't want to tell her now, but I love her, too.

  I kiss my old lady, instead. I kiss her, and I move my hands down so they're resting on her perfect, round tits. How magnificent that I own this woman. She is my property, as beloved as my bike. Gisele Owens is mine, all mine.

  She tilts her head back when I start fondling her, and I watch her chin, her fluttering lashes. I love watching her love it. I squeeze harder, find her raised nipples through her shirt. Bend low and start to suck on her tittties through the cloth. She puts her hands on the back of my neck, helps me burrow into her cleavage. “Yes!” she cries, already. “Yes, yes, yes.”

  In another minute, I need more—so I peel the shirt away, yank her bra off and toss this to the side. Her body looks perfect in the moonlight, like it was designed to be seen this way. I kiss up and down her bare chest, and then, 'cuz I can't help it, start to rub myself through my pants. She sees what I'm doing and drapes her own fingers over the outline of my cock, fumbles for a minute with the zipper. I reach up and flip off my own shirt, flex my muscles so she can see my pecs stand out. She's so excited she can't seem to get the button undone, so I reach down and help her. Pull myself out of my pants, put my manhood into her waiting fist.

  Now it's my turn to lean back and love it. She works me good and hard, her fingers moving quickly up and down my shaft. I push my hips into her touch. I already have to try my hardest not to come, but I hold myself back. I want to last for her. I want to fuck her all night long.

  “Do you want me to kiss it?” Gisele asks, slightly timid. I can barely nod, but as her head bends down, I press my palm into the back of her head. When she takes me into her mouth, I moan like something wild.

  “That's right, baby,” I murmur, over her head. “Suck it good and hard. Take me all the way into your throat.” Her hands still gripping my base, she plays with my tip, massaging me with her tongue. I can feel her breath tickling my balls, and I feel myself grow just slightly harder. God damn, is my old lady a good fuck.

  She wants me to come, but I'm not ready yet—so I pull her away from my crotch and tell her to get on all fours. She obeys, and I'm so excited I can hardly wait to start pulling off her jeans. When her big round ass is in the air, I push my face into it. For a second, Gisele recoils, but then I can feel her begin to lean in. I flick my tongue back and forth over the raised mound of her asshole, back and forth, back and forth, until she's cooing, wanting more. Then, I push a finger down towards her entrance. Play with the outside of her pussy for a second.

  “Is that good, baby?” I whisper into her folds.

  “It's so good, baby,” she whispers right back, and as if to confirm this, the girl starts rocking against my hand and mouth, humping my touch.

  My finger finds her clit, and I watch her back arch up like a cat's. I rub her in little circles for a few minutes, feeling her get wetter and wetter beneath my hand. I move my mouth downward, so I can push my tongue inside. I go slowly, but she rears back again. She tastes so sweet.

  I pick up the pace a bit, moving one hand down so I can tend to myself again while she moves above me. God, I'm close. My dick is so hard it feels like wood. Gisele is moving fast against me now, slamming herself into my face. I can feel her about to explode.

  “I'm gonna come!” she gasps. “Oh god, yes. I'm gonna come so fucking hard for you.” It really sends me, how she talks so dirty. She starts to scream, and her ass and legs clench up around my tongue, and my free hand. And I'm on the tip of it, too. But instead of drinking her down, I quickly move my cock up to her, slip myself inside just as she's pulsing, and feel the sweet grip of her orgasm around me, just as it happens. God it feels so good I want to shoot off, too—but I bite my tongue to prolong the pleasure. I push into her instead, she’s wet and ready for it, still shaking from how hard I made her come, but now it's my turn. I pick up speed, thrusting in and out of her, in and out, faster and faster and faster...

  She peers over her left shoulder and smiles at me, meets my eye for a split second. And it's then that I come. I come harder than I can remember ever coming before. I push my fingers deep into the flesh of her ass, and I drip down her legs with a shudder. Her light hair has gone damp with sweat, and her skin is cool. When I pull out and lie down beside her on our soiled little bed, she sits up and stares at me. Runs a hand down my body, pausing at moments to tangle her fingers in my chest hair. I reach over and slap her good and hard on the ass cheek. Make her yelp.

  “You're my family,” I murmur into the darkness. I'm still a little crazy from the o, so I'm not a hundred percent sure of what I'm saying. Naturally, I'm drained from the stress, the sleepless nights, and now, this delicious fucking. She smiles at me some more. She really does look like Claudette Colbert—at least to me.

  “And no matter what happens with our MCs, I want you to know that I'm going to take care of you.” And your whiny bitch of a sister, I murmur under my breath, to myself. This makes me chuckle a little. She laughs when I laugh.

  Gisele yawns then. She nods. I struggle to think of something important outside this room, some danger or obligation—but the outside world has grown murky. Even my brothers seem insignificant here. I open my arms across the comforter, so she can burrow up into the crook of my armpit. I love how she smells. Like fresh rain, and dirt. The earth.

  I wait for her to fall asleep b
efore I whisper the rest into her hair, once her breathing has grown long and serious, once her eyes are fully closed. “I love you, too, Gisele Owens.” It's easy to say, actually. It's been true now for years and years and years.

  Chapter Nineteen

  * * *

  Gisele

  I could sense that we'd reached the famed 'Knights of Styx' secret meeting spot before I heard the engine humming, or the shouts of the riders. In the cold light of morning, I struggled to keep my faith. As wonderful as the night before had been, there still loomed the threat of our journey's finale. What would we find at the bikers' campground? And what the hell were they going to make of me and Carter, the motliest of pairs?

  I rode close behind him; when he slowed, I slowed. And there, in the belly of Northern Florida, so far from my home, we came across a clearing. Thirty men were bellowing, their assorted Harleys in a circle, and the death shepherd Charon was emblazoned on the back of each vest. There they were: the Knights of Styx. Among these very souls, I realized, is the yellow-belly who murdered my father.

  Carter seemed to speed up when the full Styx assembly came into view, and it was then that I realized—he was excited. And why shouldn't he have been? These men were his brothers, after all. He tilted back on his racer and popped a wheelie on sight, and I swear I could hear the Styx cheering for him above the fanfare of their tailgating party.

  “If it isn't THIS fucking bastard!”

  “Tex, where in hell have you been?!”

  I cut my engine and parked a few meters beyond visibility, while Carter was swept up into a mass hug.

  “Tex! Never thought I'd see your pretty little face around these parts again!”

  “Tex, you goddamn son of a bitch!”

  With a pang, I realized he'd never told me his biker nickname, the moniker that made him who he was to those closest to him: Tex. I took a gander at my man, who was beaming from all the attention. Tex didn't really seem to fit him, in my humble opinion.

  “Hold up, fellas. Fore we all roll out the welcome wagon, y'all need to meet somebody. This is my old lady—Gisele.” That damning blush crept over my skin as a few dozen big men set their eyes on me. Fucking genetics, I tell you.

  “Hi,” I said shyly. You'd have thought I'd never seen an MC before—my voice came out as a squeak. My demureness, however, seemed to set the gang at ease. I scanned the many scruffy faces—there were no women here at camp today.

  “Well if it isn't,” boomed a thick Texas accent, from within the belly of the beast. The crowds seemed to part, and a hefty sonofagun with a walrus-grade moustache addressed the group. From the way the men seemed to cower as he spoke, I deduced the walrus was their club president.

  “Wolverine.” Carter—or, I supposed, Tex—pronounced, lowering his eyes a little. “You and I need to talk. Private-like.”

  The rider called Wolverine just nodded, then jerked his head away from the crew. Carter met my eyes, indicating I should follow.

  Though I was glad we'd beat our rivals to the secret camp, it struck me as odd that neither the Coffin Cheaters nor Satan's Refuse hadn't found their way to the den yet. Even without a lead location to go off, my boys had enjoyed a day's head start on their quest for blood. The whole thing made me deeply antsy. I bit my nails as we trudged back towards the road, scanning the horizon in either direction for the sounds and sight of revving bikes.

  “Didn't think you'd come back from your scouting mission with a piece of ass,” Wolverine drawled, in a voice just loud enough for me to realize he'd meant me to hear him. So it was true, about the Knights of Styx men. Carter had spoken of how his club liked to tie their women up, bandy them about like property...but Jesus, Gisele, now was not the time for such thoughts.

  “We don't have a lot of time, Wolf, so I'm just going to blurt it out. It's the Coffin Cheaters. They're hunting us. Some new gang in the city knocked off two of their club-members last week, and they're convinced it's us that's behind it.”

  Wolverine's bushy eyebrows raised, but only slightly.

  “So those dumb country shits are the same old war-mongering asswipes, huh? After all these years?” The Styx leader lit a cigarette. “I should've expected. What fools we were, thinking we could stage some truce. Puh.”

  Anger bubbled up inside me. All I could see in that moment, beyond that big, fat, miserable moustache, was my father's expression as he was jolted awake for the last time. No matter what they'd done to me recently, the Coffin Cheaters were my family. I'd show this dirtbag “country shit.”

  “The Coffin Cheaters are well within their rights,” I blurted out. “Nobody's forgotten that skirmish six years ago. You raided their club in the night. You sacks of shit shot an innocent man at short-range, unarmed.” Please, please, don't cry, Gisele. Whatever you do, don't let this fucker see you cry. “And he was a good man, too. Better than anyone in your sorry excuse for a club, I bet.”

  “You better get control of your old lady, Tex,” Wolverine whistled—and to my further injury, he started laughing. I suddenly understood the surge of protective fury that Tati must've felt in the garage, the evening before. I wanted to throttle Wolverine's fat, stupid face. Instinctually, I took a step towards him. I reached towards some phantom holster at my side, imagining for an instant that I had a weapon.

  “You better back the fuck off, woman,” the President said. He'd stopped laughing. Carter moved to grab my wrist, but I shook him away.

  “Gisele.”

  “I know you didn't bring a traitor bitch home with you, Tex.”

  “Was it you, Wolverine? Was it you who killed my father in his bed?” It was happening now, and there was nothing I could do. My vision grew blurry. I began to wobble in my shoes.

  “Listen, girlie. I never laid a hand on a Coffin Cheater. And that shoot-out you're referring to? That was well within our rights. Some drunk motherfucker called Flapper shot three of our men, over a tiny piece of business in Little Havana. And he wasn't man enough to shoot anyone in the face. No, that motherfucker killed our boys while their backs were turned. Two of my best friends and my brother.” Wolverine spit on the ground, for emphasis. “So just you watch who you're talking to.”

  Carter finally managed to get ahold of me then, and pressed me into the folds of his leather jacket. I was still shaking, though my tears had stopped. The world skewed around me—Flapper? I conjured his cruel expression, the way he'd licked me at the Crossroads. Was he truly the source of all this evil, of every horrible thing? Wolverine's eyes were burning with the righteous fury I'd come to know so well. And I knew right then that the walrus wasn't lying. My whole life, on the other hand, was apparently built on an injustice that was much more complicated than pure good and pure evil.

  “We only came to warn you, Wolf. We were hoping to get to the Cheaters as well—want them to know this was all a big misunderstanding—that their real enemy is this nasty new club that goes by the name of Satan's Refuse. The man Flapper you've heard of? He's the scumbag who's in on it, and he's leading his club into a war for a power play. I've been working with Gisele here for a few weeks now. She's the Cheaters' den mother.” He clung to me harder, and I allowed myself to collapse into his smell, his broad, powerful arms. No matter what happens, I told myself, I still have you.

  Wolverine looked at the pair of us, and something in his mean little gaze seemed to shift. Maybe he'd also been in love with the wrong person before. Or maybe, he was just kind, deep down.

  “Satan's Refuse, huh? That's not a bad name.” He dropped his cigarette into the dirt, ground it out with the heel of a steel-toed boot. “Alright, Romeo and Juliet. Why don't you tell us what we ought to do?”

  Chapter Twenty

  * * *

  It was decided that Carter and I should ride around the camp's perimeter together, scouting for signs from either of the oncoming crews. We'd wave white flags, and attempt to court any oncoming hellions into a sit-down. Between the MC's crested uniforms and our travel plan, I felt like I was going int
o a ground war circa 1880. I'll admit—it was a little exciting, riding around together like the king and queen of the castle. I felt a flicker of that same familiarity he and I had known two nights before, when we were just shooting the shit on Scotty's couch. I took the lead this time, and for the first time in what felt like weeks I enjoyed the sensation of the wind ripping through my red hair.

  The bewildered Knights of Styx remained at their camp site, idling at the ready. Each of the men had been instructed to hold fire, under any circumstances. Yet I perceived more of the dark truth in each of their eyes, when Wolverine told his riders that the Coffin Cheaters and some mystery organ were riding in from the South to pick a fight. If I'd had any doubts about that terrible Flapper story before, these slid by the wayside now. We needed to kill that motherfucker, it was clear—only then could peace be brokered between the three clubs.

  As he had when we'd first met, Carter abruptly pulled up beside me, signaling for the off-ramp. My eyes skittered to my rear-view mirror, where I saw what he'd just seen: a rangy crew, ten or more men on un-muffled bikes. The riders' headlamps were too bright to be sure, but I thought I recognized the outline of one hunched figure, leading the pack on a custom Sportster: Dog. My old friend, sometime lover.

  Carter, ever quick on the uptake, was already waving his makeshift white flag—it flew in a long cloth train behind his bike. He kept his blinkers on and slowed a bit, while I sent up a silent prayer in my head: Please let them slow down, and talk. Please let them not be so brainwashed by Flapper that they can't listen to reason. I hoped they could see my long red hair, the custom features of my Street Bob. For this was the ultimate test of my adoptive family: did they love me enough, finally, to stand down?

  I slowed my bike, so I was sharing the road with Carter. Across the lane divide, he flashed a quick, tight smile in my direction. The bikes behind us picked up their paces, closing the gap between us.