I hold my pussy lips open and rub my clit, writhing and grinding against my fingers as the naughty cinema scene plays out in my head. I cum harder than I did last night. Then I roll onto my side and cuddle the spare pillow, my belly clenching in pulses of not-quite-fulfilled ecstasy.
***
It’s four PM Saturday and I’m on my balcony checking for some underwear dry enough to put on. Someone whistles and I look over the edge to see Mikey on his motorcycle. He waves for me to come down. “Are you coming or what?”
“Coming where?” I can’t believe I’m calling over the balcony. People have stopped walking to watch.
“Dress comfy, baby. We’re staking out.”
I scramble inside, almost tripping over the wash basket. Oh shit. What the heck does dress comfy mean? I have a white lace panty and bra set in my hand—the only ones dry enough. I pull on a pink knitted dress that hugs and shows the curves I work so hard to maintain much better than yesterday’s ugly work blouse. This isn’t work, is it? I mean, not strictly.
It takes ten minutes to do my eyes and lips. He can wait. Another little while to brush out my long brown hair—I had it pinned up yesterday. Grabbing my purse, I hurry downstairs and across the road.
Mikey holds my hand to support me while I swing a leg over the back of his bike. He has no jacket on today. Those are powerful looking arms and shoulders. I touch his waist. He looks back at me, checking out my legs. This dress is a good choice. Shorter than my work skirt—I just hope we’re not climbing the ladder again today.
“That looks comfy alright, Emily. Looks damn good.”
I blush, and smile. God he smells nice, and he’s shaved too. I’m squirming in my pants as he fires up the big noisy machine and speeds off. I cling a little this time—more than I need to, but it feels nice touching him through his tee-shirt.
We’re soon through the suburbs and into farming country. He takes us to a property with a tiny overgrown cottage and a huge new iron shed. Inside the shed are a line-up of classic cars, immaculately polished. I follow Mikey as he walks past them. There is no one around.
“What are we doing here? What is this place?”
“It’s where I live. These are mine and my brother’s. We’ve been building this collection since we left school.”
“Oh, wow, they’re beautiful.”
“Thanks.” There’s pride in the grin he tosses back over his shoulder.
He’s stops at the closed door of a small office. I’ve nearly bumped into him. I peer up into his eyes, swallowing, my lips parting as he looks at them.
I wait.
“You have a pretty mouth,” he says, low and sexily.
I sway into him as he puts an arm around me. He’s still looking at my lips. I lift to my toes as he bends to me and kisses me softly.
“As soon as we get this done,” he says.
I nod and close my eyes as he kisses me again, his lips parting and his sweet masculine aroma assailing my senses. Should I be kissing a client? Technically his brother is the client.
He takes another kiss and cuddles me tight, his big course hands kneading my back and making me want to dry hump his thigh, which is pressed between mine.
“We get this done—I’m taking you to bed, Emily,” he breathes into one final kiss.
“So, let’s get it done,” I whisper back.
He smiles, takes my hand, and leads me into the office. There is a computer on a desk. He turns it on and opens an email. “You recognise that name?”
The name is Mitch Greer. “I do recognise it. He’s a local police detective.”
“That’s right. Narcotics.” He looks at me, his expression sincere. “My brother and I don’t do drugs.”
All bikers do drugs, don’t they? I had grown up with that impression. He was telling the truth though. There was no need to ask.
“Why is Brant getting told of a narcotics detective setting up a meeting with this guy?” Mikey points out another name, August Bell, which is not familiar to me. “He’s some scumbag lowlife that runs a strip joint in town.”
“Who’s the email from?” I ask. “Who’s Shamrock?”
Mikey shrugs. “No idea.”
I sit back against the desk and fold my arms. “So, the police have set up Brant with the car theft charge because he has something on them, and he’s getting informed about a meeting between a narcotics detective and a scumbag. It sounds like we need to be around for that meeting.”
“Exactly! That’s our stakeout, baby. The Green Lagonda. I think we better watch from outside. They’ll want you up on stage dancing in that.”
“In this?” I look down at myself. I’m suddenly between Mikey’s knees as he swivels the chair to capture me there.
His hands glide up the back of my thighs. “We probably should get there early—see when this Greer dude arrives and who he’s with.”
“You’re going to drive me crazy doing that.”
He’s tickling my legs now. They’re rubbery. If he pulls me onto his lap I’m not going to be able to resist. There’s a definite shape to his package—a protrusion to one side. My dress will hike up easily enough. I can see myself being lowered onto something big and hard, the thought swimming in my head as I bend to meet his lips again, and he cups my bottom with those huge hands. I can feel the callouses through my pants, he’s under the skirt of my dress. There’s only a layer of flimsy fabric between those strong fingers and my flesh.
I don’t know what the hell I’m thinking. Things never move this fast. I don’t let them. I’ve known this guy all of twenty-four hours and I’m ready to sit on his lap.
I’m very ready, I suspect. Things feel rather moist between my legs as his tongue enters my mouth and emulates what I want to happen down there.
The sound of motorcycles pulling up in the gravel outside ends the moment. I fix myself, tugging my dress down and raking back my hair. I can’t do anything about my skin being heated and, no doubt, my face being red.
Brant and his sidekick Ridge enter the office. Brant is glaring and looks pissed off.
Mikey confronts his brother. “What do you have to do with Mitch Greer?”
The computer is still on, the email we had been reading still on screen. Brant looks at it. “What the fuck?”
“Who’s Shamrock? What’s this meeting about?” Mikey presses, including Ridge in directing his question.
Brant growls. “I told you to stay the fuck out of it.” He includes me in his intensifying glare. I nearly wet my pants.
Brant grabs Mikey by the back of his shirt and pushes him out the door, slamming it shut. I’m left standing with my arms folded across my chest, wishing I had my briefcase. Ridge has taken a seat behind the desk and is looking me up and down, grinning his approval.
“Nice dress, honey.”
He looks back down at my legs. I keep one arm across my chest and tug at my hem with the other hand. The guy is actually quite attractive. He’s got the same ruggedly handsome unshaven look as Mikey had yesterday. If he shaved he could put on a suit and walk into any business meeting unnoticed. He’s also tall and broad shouldered, and lithe and fit looking. He’s wearing faded Levis and brown leather boots. His leather jacket is open, revealing a whit tee-shirt that fits well. He’s chewing on a matchstick but tosses that away and lights a smoke.
“Thanks,” I mumble in response to his ‘nice dress’ comment. The fact that he’s undressing me isn’t all bad under the circumstances. I’m still on fire from a minute ago when Mikey was about to take me the way this one’s obviously imagining.
“Have you known the Cole’s long?” he asks, cocking an eyebrow. The question sounds strange.
“I met Mikey yesterday morning and Brant in court in the afternoon. Why do you ask?”
He shrugs. “No reason. Just making conversation.”
That was a lie. He had a reason alright. I nod. “Have you known the Cole’s long?”
He chuckles. His eyes are blue. They search mine. This guy’s int
elligent too. Brant is tough and scary, probably quite genuine too, but he isn’t smart. These other two bikers are not what they seem at a glance.
“You ask good questions, honey.”
“It’s my job. So, how long have you known Brant and Mikey?”
He just grins. “Objection, counsellor.”
“On what grounds?”
“On the ground that you’re way too pretty to be getting involved in this shit.”
“Thanks, but what shit are you talking about exactly?”
He just looks steadily back at me. The brothers are returning. “Seriously, Emily, you don’t want to be around this.”
The door busts open and Brant barges in to slam the laptop shut. Mikey grabs my arm and pulls me out of the office.
“What’s going on, Mikey?”
“Nothing. He won’t tell me shit.” He leads me back through the big shed and helps me onto the back of the bike. A grin curves the lips I was being kissed by a little earlier. “I got out of him that meeting is not tonight, it’s tomorrow. Still up for a stakeout?”
“Yes.”
“Good. I need to take you home now. There’s some shit I have to do. Brant’s tying up loose ends so he can shoot through next week. I’ve got to help him—he’s my brother. Unless we can work out what’s going on and fix it.”
“We’ll figure it out,” I say. He’s leaning so close. I chew my lip and look at his. He tilts his head, and I close my eyes as he kisses me softly.
“Come on, I have to take you home.”
CHAPTER FIVE
It’s Sunday morning and I’m lying awake in bed, staring at the tasselled lightshade and wondering what ever happened to the life I used to lead. Shopping with my girlfriends or visiting my parents were the kinds of thing I did before—that and defending old granny shoplifters. Now I have to think about what to wear on stakeout, and whether or not the guys are going to like it.
Am I a biker chick now? Am I going to become one?
What if this turns into something and I end up in a relationship with Mikey? Do we one day get married and have babies? Do we live with the club or do we get a house in the suburbs—the motorcycle garaged and only brought out on Sundays? What does he even do? Does he have a job? Would he ever even want a girlfriend or is he a lone wolf that chooses a mate? What happens after he takes me to bed, as he said he is going to?
I kick off the blankets. It’s too hot. I’m too hot.
I edge up on my elbows and look at myself, nude. I need to shave my legs and trim up down there. You never know. I think we would have done it yesterday if his brother and Mister Blue Eyes hadn’t turned up.
I wonder where Mikey lives. Will he be taking me to his bed?
I decide on a long hot bath after running to the market for a few things and some new razors. The idea of dressing for the biker boys has me sitting on the bed in front of the open wardrobe scratching my head. I have on new black lace underwear. That was easy. I bought them a couple of months ago when I though Peter might ask me out. I’m thinking a short A-line skirt and knitted top. They seem to love my legs. The bra is a push-up and the top offers cleavage. This could be fun.
Mikey knocks on my door at four PM. He looks me up and down. I pirouette for him. He chuckles and grabs my hand. This is fun already.
It’s only a ten minute ride downtown to the Green Lagonda strip club. We park behind a small hedge across the road. We’re reasonably well hidden, with a view of the front entrance and an alleyway where there are trash dumpers and a backdoor into the place. It’s quiet for an hour before two huge men in black suits emerge to stand either side of the entrance, ushering people in and turning others away who appear to be underdressed. It seems the joint has standards.
“There’s Greer now,” Mikey says.
We’ve been talking about lots of stuff. He does have a job. He’s a mechanical engineer and works at an engineering factory in the city. He’s university qualified. It turns out he’s thirty years old—six years older than me. I’ve been wondering. I think six years is about perfect.
“Those are cops too,” I tell Mikey. There are four of them in the group entering the club. I’ve seen them around the courthouse. They’re detectives. I’m not sure what department.
At a little after six PM, a beaten up ford wagon pulls into the alleyway and three men in jeans and leather jackets get out. Mikey shakes his head and curses under his breath. “Squirt, Chad and Spider. What the fuck are they doing here?”
The back door of the club opens and all five of the detectives come out to meet the members of Mikey’s club. Two of them walk along the alleyway in either direction as if to keep watch. A conversation ensues between the other men. There are aggravated hand gestures, and loud voices that we can’t quite understand from where we are.
“Well, what have we got here?” someone asks with a chuckle. I turn to see a man standing beside us. “Hey, Mikey, does your brother know you’re here?”
I’ve seen this guy around too. He’s another cop. This one is in narcotics.
“We’re out for a Sunday ride,” Mikey says to him. “Me and my new girl.”
The cop nods. “You guys won’t fucking learn, will you?” He whistles to the ones in the alleyway. Everyone looks over. The guy standing beside us points. “We got company over here!” he calls out.
Mikey hits the cop’s chest and sends him backward onto his butt. He fires the bike up and we’re suddenly raging through the streets with a brown sedan sporting a flashing police light charging after us.
We’re skimming between cars and taking corners so fast and low down my knee’s almost scraping the road. Mikey flashes me a quick glance. He’s grinning.
I don’t know what there is to grin about. I’m hooked up with a biker, on the run from crooked cops. I was thinking more along the lines of satin sheets and a classy hotel room when I bought these sexy undies.
Mikey cuts through a field and speeds through an old brick railway underpass. We seem to lose the cop car. He slows and cruises into the night for another twenty minutes before pulling up at a little farm shack.
He claims my hand and leads me inside. “I’m so sorry about this, Emily.” He turns to me and addresses me sincerely, warmly. “I’m sorry I dragged you into this.”
“I wouldn’t be anywhere else,” I respond, the tremble in my body affecting my voice.
He smooths my hair and lifts my chin with a finger. He takes a kiss. I clutch his shirt, hanging on. He cuddles me. “We should be safe here tonight. We have to work out what to do. Maybe your boss you mentioned? You weren’t talking about Gallagher?”
“No. Mister Locke is my boss. He’ll know what to do.”
“Good. We’re going need some help. These cops look like they’re all involved in whatever’s going on. There must be something with the club. Not with Brant and I, but with some of the others, maybe.”
CHAPTER SIX
We haven’t eaten. I find canned stew and fresh bread, also the makings of coffee in a tiny kitchen that is quite clean. We finish eating and are sitting in deep old lounge chairs when motorcycles roar up to the house and Brant and Ridge come in.
I’m expecting Brant to be angry with his brother. They hug. “You fucking idiot,” Brant says, but it’s not an insult. I can see how much he is genuinely concerned about protecting Mikey.
Suddenly a glass cabinet window smashes and a loud gunshot rings out. The men dive for the floor. I’m pulled from my chair and buried under Mikey. More shots are fired with windows smashing and bullets thudding into the walls and furniture.
We’re crawling for the back door now. We almost make it when the flimsy wooden thing is kicked in and two of the cops from the club barge in with guns levelled on us. Brant rushes one of them, knocking his arm up as the gun fires, and he punches the cop in the head, sending him flying back out the door to thud on his back seemingly unconscious. He confronts the other cop, whose gun is still levelled, but his hand is shaking. Brant stands right in front o
f the barrel, protecting us all. Mikey dives to the side and disappears into another room, leaving me exposed. I’m horrified. Then he suddenly busts through another door, tackling the cop without the gun going off. He’s a big man and can fight. He tosses Mikey aside and is about to punch him when Brant picks the guy up by the scruff of the neck and hits him in the stomach. He then punches the big cop again, sending him tumbling out through the broken back door.
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