Gunny (Rebel Wayfarers MC Book 5)

by MariaLisa deMora

  “Oh, what good boys. Good sit. Can a good boy down?” The beagle lay down, and she frowned. She said, “Good boy, Tank. Good down. Rocky, can a good boy down?” Her words prompted the terrier to join its partner in crime prostrated on the floor. “Oh, good down. What good boys you are.” She squatted, placing one knee on the floor as she released them from the position and handed each a fry. Running her hands over their heads and muzzles, she leaned down farther to gently kiss between their ears as she continued praising them.

  From where he was standing, he could barely see the curve of her ass, the sway of her back. He sucked a deep breath. Looking at her had become one of his favorite pastimes, and it was probably one of the reasons he so enjoyed watching her dance tonight. Wanting to see more, he stalked across the room and stood behind her, admiring the way she filled out her jeans when she was squatted like that. He loved those curves, the crease at the top of her legs where they joined her ass, the dimples exactly below where her waist tapered inward before flaring out into her ribcage.

  I can’t wait to get my hands back on her. God, to be able to finally drive deep inside her heat. Rolling his neck, he sighed, reaching down to shift his rapidly thickening cock so it settled more comfortably in his jeans. Her backwards glance caught him mid-adjustment and her face stilled, settling into longing lines. She turned back to the dogs, but not before he saw the sadness rolling across her features.

  Reaching down, he scooped her into his arms, ignoring her squeal of surprise and laying his head on top of hers when she leaned into his chest. “We’ll get there, baby,” he said quietly, acknowledging the frustration she felt at not being able to be intimate. In the weeks they had known each other, her complete trust and easy friendship with him had quickly morphed into something more. He had teased her about being slow, telling her he had known within hours of first touching her that she was his, but it seemed to him, her affections now matched what he felt.

  “We’re really okay? You’re not mad I didn’t tell you about going back to work?” She whispered the questions against his neck, pressing her face into his shoulder. “I didn’t want you to be mad, but I want to work. I want to pull my weight. I’d have never gone against you if you said no, and I still won’t, Gunny. You tell me it’s not okay, and I’m done at Slinky’s.”

  “Baby,” he murmured, walking them into the living room to sit on the couch. “We’re okay. And, I get it. I do. I ain’t gonna pretend to like their hands on you.” He took a breath, nuzzling against the side of her face. “But, Sharon, baby…goddamn you are beautiful when you dance, and I can see how much you love it. As long as you always come home with me, we’ll be okay. I know what it’s like to have that kind of hunger for something, that kind of wanting twist in your belly, and I ain’t gonna tell you no, when it’s something you want so badly.”

  He settled her across his lap, keeping his arms around her, holding them both still. Releasing a contented sigh, he relaxed into the cushions, satisfied for the moment simply to hold her. “I want you to understand about me, baby.” He refused to tense up, couldn’t let her know how important this was. “I can deal with all that, as long as I know you’re mine. I don’t fucking play games, baby, and I think you get that about me. I suspect you’ve gotten that from the beginning, yeah?

  “Up until a few weeks ago, the only things that mattered in my life were my band of brothers, my bikes, and my pups. I got played once, and it turned me off the entire fucking female species. Not sayin’ I haven’t fucked, because I’ve done a fair amount of that, no lyin’. But, the only woman I ever felt for, she played me. I told myself I was done, called it quits…wouldn’t touch a woman. Hell, I jacked off for two years, wouldn’t go near pussy. Then I found the club and my brothers, and never fucking looked back.”

  She shifted and he tensed, moving one hand, slowly stroking the length of her spine. “Shhhh, baby. Let me talk, yeah?” She nodded and he relaxed again. “When you started working at Slinky’s, I noticed you. Tried to tell myself it was simply paying attention to business because you were new, but I couldn’t stop seeing you. You have no fucking idea how many times I pulled my hand back from where I stretched it out, wanting to touch you as you walked past. How often I caught myself moving through the crowd to stand behind you. Close enough to smell you, but not touch. Fuck, I had your back before I even recognized it myself. Hell, I felt like a fucking freak, because I wanted to know…had to know how your skin felt underneath my fingers, under my hand, what it would feel like to smooth it like this.” He stroked up her arm with his hand, cupping his fingers around her shoulder and then dragging them back down the length of her arm, stopping as they made a bracelet around her wrist. “Touch you. Have the right to touch you.

  “Then, baby.” He realized he had tensed up again when she made a noise against his chest, and he loosened his arms. “Then that motherfucker put his hands on you. God, that shit tore me up. You got hurt. And I touched you. Finally, after weeks of wondering and wanting, I touched you and I couldn’t let go. I still can’t let go. That first touch of skin between us? Brought us to where we are right now, because I can’t stop myself from touching you. Wanting you. The hell with stopping, because I don’t want to. Can’t.” He sucked in a ragged breath, “Won’t go back, baby. Can’t. But, it’s not just that, because now when I don’t hear your laugh, or see your smile, it feels like I’ve misplaced something important. Like a critical piece of me is missing when my hands aren’t on you. When you aren’t around.

  “Fuck, you’re under my skin, baby, and I like you there. I want to keep you safe, keep you from harm. I want to give you everything you want…any desire, just so I can keep seein’ your face. I would beggar myself to keep you, baby. So don’t dance because you want to pull your fuckin’ weight. Simply by breathing, you make my life better, so don’t think your money will make a fucking speck of difference to me. I’m keeping you, regardless.

  “Don’t dance because of money. And, baby, don’t dance for those other men because you want to make me jealous. That’s another thing you don’t have to work to do, because it’s as easy as fucking breathing. Tonight, I would have gladly killed every motherfucker who touched you for one second longer than you allowed,” he growled, arms tightening around her again. “One. Fucking. Second. And don’t try to say there weren’t any, because I saw you avoiding the men who wanted to get fucking handsy. I marked every goddamn face, and you give me the word—baby, they don’t show again.

  “Babe, dance because you love it, and I know you do. Your face tonight was…I don’t have the fucking words, baby. Such classic beauty on a sow’s ear of a stage. It’s been a long time since I had something I wanted like I want you, been a long time since I felt the lightness of beauty in my life like I saw tonight. Dance, because you love it.”

  He drew in another hard breath, leaning in to kiss her temple. “I don’t know what this is between us, but I like it, baby. I like looking at you and knowing you are mine. I know I ain’t the most handsome motherfucker in the room. I know I’m rough, not cultured like you deserve. But, baby, you let me see what this is like. I can’t go back, Sharon. Can’t go back to before you. Now that you’ve given me you, I would die for you.”

  She was silent and still in his arms while he waited patiently, listening to her soft breathing offset by the occasional whimpers and sighs of the sleeping dogs lying on the floor, dreaming at their feet. Branches brushed against the outside wall, the soft noise somehow soothing. He sat holding her for so long without her moving or speaking that he believed she had gone to sleep resting against his chest, arms folded in front of her, fingers twisted in his shirt as they usually were. Comforted by his words. Holding onto him.

  Gradually, he became aware his chest was chilled, it felt like his shirt was…wet. Bending his head to look down, he used his nose to nuzzle the top of her head, nudging it back until she was looking up into his face. Eyes reddened, ringed by swollen lids, once their gazes clashed she let out a sigh, the hic
cupping catch in her breathing the only other indication she was crying.

  He softly kissed her forehead, her temples, tasting salt as he trailed his lips along her cheekbones. Bringing up one hand to cup her cheek, he used his thumb to brush away the steady stream of tears flowing from the corners of her eyes. “Gonna tell me, baby?” he asked, rubbing his beard-roughened cheek against hers. She pressed her mouth closed and slowly shook her head back and forth, shoulders hitching with another hiccupping sigh. “You sure, baby?” he asked again, nibbling at her lips. She nodded, her hair brushing against his neck as she did.

  “Okay,” he said easily, granting her the space she needed, for now. “Gonna tote you to our bed, baby.” He didn’t wait for her assent, simply stood and carefully stepped over the stirring dogs. Moving up the hallway to the stairs, he ascended them two at a time, and then stepped into the first doorway on the left. Using his elbow to turn on the light switch, the room softly illuminated with light from lamps on the nightstands, positioned one on either side of the headboard. Gently setting her on the bench at the foot of the bed, he leaned down and kissed the top of her head, listening as the dogs came into the room, throwing themselves onto their beds with disapproving sighs at having to move.

  Sitting beside her, he took off his boots and socks, flexing his toes in the lush carpeting. “I’m gonna take a shower.” He cupped her jaw in his hand, looking into her face until he was convinced she was calm, not sad and not afraid. He still didn’t know why she had cried, and while it didn’t seem to be from negative emotions, he felt the need to reassure her, “Babe. I promise you, we’re okay.”

  Her lips twisted up on one side into what looked like a reluctant smile and she nodded.

  He pulled a face. “Now you ain’t talking to me?” Her jaw still caged in his hand, he used it to direct her head down, kissing her nose then her forehead, and finally the top of her head. “Back in a few.” Standing, he stripped off his shirt, tossing it into the basket in the corner as he walked into the bathroom.

  ***

  In her head, his words sounded again. Dance, because you love it. No one had ever given her such candid permission to please herself. Even more than when she danced, the feeling in her chest right now felt like flying. She hadn’t felt such acceptance since she was a kid.

  A kid, she thought with a broken laugh. Ace had been her rock when she was little, but then he was gone, and she became…unmoored. From the time her favorite brother had left to play hockey in Russia, she drifted. First into parties with boys far too old for her, with easy access to alcohol and drugs found in their parents’ medicine cabinets. Then into worse situations, with long-reaching repercussions. Unconsciously, she trailed fingers across her belly. Finally, into the relationship with Derek, who had worked at wooing her with pretty words and flowers, until she settled and they moved, isolating her from family and friends. Lost innocence…lost youth…lost love.

  That’s why she wept, cradled to Gunny’s chest, because of the sheer absence of love in her life for so long. She cried for those vanished years with Elkins, because of innocence stripped away when she was a teen. She thought about all her mistakes and rubbed her forehead, then used the fingers of both hands to wipe her cheeks dry.

  When he said they couldn’t go back, he was right. For the first time in years, she had someone to hold close to her heart. And he trusted her, all of her. She knew he did. She realized Gunny wouldn’t hold anything against her, none of her past, and not even anything here, in her present or future. He said he would die for me, she thought and shook her head. I’d die before I did anything to lose his trust. He brought me here, in his house, where few have been. Trusts me with his pups, his furbabies. She smiled. Trusts me in his bed.

  Now I just need to trust me. She remembered her visit with Goose today. “Yes, you’re healed up, girl.” He said the words as he used scissors to snip the last stitch from her head. She reached up her hand, fingers tracing the dip she found underneath the scar, and she looked a question at him. “Probably always have an indentation right there, hon. He tore out a big chunk of your scalp.” He shook his head. “I’m proud of you, Sharon. Most women would have crumbled in the face of what you’ve endured.”

  Looking down at her knees, she shook her head. “My friend in Florida, the one who saved me? She tried to tell me the same thing.” Glancing up, she met his gaze then her eyes skittered away as she said, “I know better. Only a weak person would have let themselves get into that position to begin with.”

  Warm fingers cupped her chin, lifting her face and forcing her to meet his gaze. “I call bullshit. Bull-fucking-shit. People get into situations all the time. It’s what you do when you find yourself there that can set the tone for the rest of your life. You got yourself out of there, took steps to separate yourself from that animal.” He shifted his grip, tilting her head back and forth to check for any bruising still on her face. “And now you’ve got a good man. Someone who will protect you against anything.”

  She couldn’t stop the smile from curling the corners of her lips and he laughed. “From the look on your face, I’d say Gunny’s got himself a good woman, too.” He released his hold and sat back on the bench, reaching down to straighten the supplies in the toolbox he carried. They were in the back dressing room of Slinky’s. Two days ago, she told DeeDee she wanted to go back to work, and when arguing hadn’t changed Sharon’s mind, DeeDee had agreed that if Goose said she had healed enough, then she could dance. He shook his head and cut his gaze up to her. “I’m not sure you know what you’re doing tonight, woman. But if you want to dance, you have my blessing.”

  Nodding, she looked down as he stood, seeing his boots take a step towards her. Without looking up, she quietly said, “Thank you, Goose. For everything. For taking care of me when it…happened. And for this. Don’t tell him, please. This dance is for him.” She looked up and instinctively shrank back when she saw him towering over her, a sudden image of Elkins flooding her mind.

  He must have recognized the expression of fear, because he took a step backwards, then another one, giving them a good five feet of space between them, and she took a deep breath. “If he doesn’t want me to work here after this, I won’t. But tonight, this one dance…it’s for him.”

  And she had danced. She stretched now, feeling the pull of muscles, which she knew would be sore tomorrow, enjoying the movement and feeling of satisfaction. She danced, and he knew it was for him. She saw it on his face as he watched her, the rest of the room fading away. Nothing in her mind but her feelings for him, her trust in him, her joy at being with him…here…now.

  Wiping her cheeks again, she sniffled and laughed. If she didn’t get in there, the man would be finished with his shower before she had a chance to join him, and that would be a damn shame.

  11 - Putting my life in your hands

  He knew she saw Goose today and had been given a full release from the few restrictions he kept on her last time, one of which had been the ‘no sex’ rule. Idly wondering if Goose was aware of her back-to-work scheme, he turned on the shower and adjusted the water, pulling a towel from the cabinet and draping it over the rod. Looking into the mirror, he turned his face side-to-side, rubbing his palms over his jaw and head, feeling the dark stubble.

  Reaching into the drawer to his right, he pulled out his straight razor and shaving gel. Turning his head side-to-side again, he filled his palm with the foam and smoothed it across his scalp. Picking up his razor, he made careful sweeps with the blade, traveling from front to back using smooth, familiar movements. He paused after every stroke to rinse and clean the blade in the sink, working cautiously around his neckline and ears. Seeing movement from the corner of his eye, he glanced towards the doorway using the mirror, to see Sharon leaning on the doorframe.

  He gave her a chin lift, and after making the final sweep of this first pass, rinsed the blade again, setting the razor aside and filling his palm with gel. Coating his scalp with foam again, he repeated the proces
s, working steadily until he felt her fingers on his hip. Halting for a moment and looking down at her with a questioning crook of his eyebrow, he waited for her to speak.

  “Can I help?” she asked.

  “Nearly done, baby,” he said, making another slow, steady sweep with the razor.

  She stepped around him, moving to stand on top of the toilet seat beside him. “I can get the places you can’t see.”

  “Got fingers, babe. I can find where I miss,” he said, demonstrating by rubbing his fingertips over his scalp and finding a small strip he missed earlier. “Been shaving my head since I left active duty. Before that, I did my own high and tight in the field.”

  She twisted sideways, looking at the back of his neck. Standing on the elevated surface as she was, she was still barely eye-level with him and he grinned. “You even seen the back of my head yet, baby?”

  She made a face at him. “Yes, you big oaf. I have. I do, every time we ride the bike. Which is all the time, since you turned my rental car in, eh?” She stuck her tongue out at him and he laughed.

  “Got your money back, didn’t I? You couldn’t drive it, baby. No reason to pay for what you can’t use. And when you’re ready, I got wheels that won’t cost you a dime.” She continued watching him as he finished shaving his head. He had rinsed his scalp and was beginning to apply the gel foam to his face, when he looked at her in the mirror, his motions slowing.

  “You ever shave someone?” He asked the question idly, fiddling with the handle of the razor.

  She nodded. “Ace used to have me shave him before every home game. It was part of his ritual.” Tilting her head to one side, she said, “Not with a straight razor, though.”

  “Spencer has a ritual? He doesn’t seem like much of a superstitious guy.” He stood still, thinking, considering it, because this appeared to matter to her, but willingly putting himself in harm’s way went against everything inside him. Still, it mattered to her, and was connected to good memories, the kind of thing he wanted to help her grow until they outstripped all the bad shit in her head. Until they were stronger than the things that made her cry soundlessly. He wanted to wipe out all her bad dreams, giving her good memories.