by Debra Kayn
Needing to duck out of sight, he shifted and laid down on the throttle. There was a time for caution and a time to get the hell away from the police.
He turned at the T and cut down an alley. Looking behind him, he caught a glimpse of the patrol car entering the backstreet.
Every muscle in his body tensed. He sped forward, flying through the cross street, lucky to miss the car thirty paces away heading toward him and thankful the police would be slowed in their pursuit.
He had to think and move fast. There was a reason they wanted to catch him, and he knew without a doubt, it had nothing to do with the way he rode tonight.
Hell, he'd come from a quiet dinner with his family. There was no target on his back.
But he had a long list of crimes he'd committed after his release from the state penitentiary.
Weaving down the blocks, he heard sirens in the distance. He needed to hole up somewhere until they gave up the hunt.
As he grew farther away from the clubhouse, he kept trying to put distance between him and the urgency of the siren. He'd already passed Frank's house. Not wanting to compromise anyone else in the club, he kept riding, flying through stop signs and dodging traffic.
Going down Tenth Street, he remembered Ringtail's girlfriend's rental. Twyla would be home by now. If not, he knew where Angie had hidden the key.
He shut off his headlight, using the streetlights to guide him. Twyla had parked her car in the driveway.
Turning his head, he searched the area behind him. The police hadn't caught up with him. He hopped the sidewalk, rode alongside her car, and hoped like hell there was room between the house and the fence for him to get to the backyard.
Almost putting the bike down when a garden hose tilted the front wheel, he put the motorcycle in neutral and jumped off, killing the engine. He pushed the Harley behind the house, attuned to the distant sound of sirens.
The son of a bitch wasn't giving up.
Walking along the back of the house, he looked through the windows. Twyla had the place lit up like a fucking Christmas tree, but there was no sign of her through the windows.
At the back door, he knocked. After several seconds, he tried again. "Hey, Twyla? It's Whip. Can you open up?"
He probably scared her to death, showing up and hanging around her back door.
The sirens changed octave. He knocked again.
The curtain at the window to the right of the door moved, and Twyla looked out. He stepped into view and held up his hand, pointing to the door.
She wrinkled her brows. What could he do?
He had nowhere else to go at the moment. If he left now, the cops would be on his ass.
She moved away from the window. The lock clicked, and she opened the door. He pushed his way inside.
"Sorry for barging in, sis." He closed the curtain in the kitchen. "Can I use your phone?"
In her hand, she held the pistol. She pointed the end of the barrel toward the wall. He ignored the threat to his life. She wasn't going to shoot him.
He called the clubhouse and stepped away from Twyla, stretching the cord across the room. Paco answered on the third ring.
"It's Whip. I've got a tail on me," he said.
"Where are you?"
"Ringtail's girl's old house. Tenth Street." He lowered his voice. "I can't shake him."
"What did you do?"
"Nothing, man."
"I'll grab a crew and head out, give you a distraction. Do you know where you're going to go?" asked Paco.
"I can't go back to the clubhouse until I know why they're after me. I'll need somewhere to hide my Harley." He glanced at Twyla, watching him. "I'm going to hold out here. I'll check back in a couple of hours. Can you have Priest make a few calls and see if someone's gunning for me?"
"Will do."
"Thanks." He hung up the receiver and looked at Twyla.
She stared back at him. If she was shocked by the conversation, she never showed it.
"Just pretend I'm not here," he whispered.
Her eyes widened. "That's a little hard to do."
Chapter 7
Twyla
Twyla's heartbeat filled the silence. She set the pistol on the kitchen counter. There was no use for the weapon. If Whip wanted to hurt her, he had two prior opportunities.
She cocked her head, hearing the police sirens in the neighborhood. "What did you do?"
"Not a damn thing." He walked into the living room and closed the curtains.
The tension he carried in his shoulders eased, fully hidden from the cops, he inhaled deeply. She studied him carefully. For how much she'd witnessed Big take on the duties of Cusclan Motorcycle Club and how he'd distance her to keep her oblivious to their activities, Whip had thrust her into whatever he was doing by coming here and seeking her out.
The fact that he involved her scared her more than if she remained clueless.
Angie was the one involved with a Tarkio member, not her. She wanted nothing to do with bikers from any club.
Yet, Whip kept showing up out of the blue. The fact that she had never seen him before until she tried to get away from Big concerned her.
"You can't stay here." She folded her arms in front of her. "I don't want to be involved in anything you've done."
"Too late for that." He walked over to the fridge, opened the door, and pulled out a can of beer.
"H-how did you know there was beer in there?" Her spine stiffened. "You can't help yourself to what's in the fridge."
"It's not yours." He looked at the can, then downed half the contents. "These were left by Ringtail."
"How do you know?"
He looked at the drink in his hand. "Coors."
Irritated, she paced the area in front of the couch. "So, getting to stay in this house wasn't a split-second bit of charity from one sister to another. This is a Tarkio house?"
"Hell, no." He looked around the room. "But I'll use it."
"You can't—"
"Calm down." He sat on the couch. "I'll only be here a couple hours. Then, I'll leave, and you'll never have to see me again."
"Good."
He drank the rest of the beer, crushed the can in his hand, and said, "Good."
Mocking her wasn't making the situation easier. Two more hours wasn't going to kill her if he'd stay out of her life.
She walked in front of him, determined to escape to the bedroom and sleep the hours away until he left.
"Hey, sis."
She stopped outside the bedroom. "What?"
"Can you grab me another beer?"
You've got to be kidding me. She stepped into the bedroom, shut the door, and closed her eyes. She wasn't going to wait on him. He could grab his own beer. Or better yet, leave.
Because Whip remained in the house, she kicked off her shoes, pulled off her socks, and crawled on top of the bed, fully clothed. While she highly doubted that he was a danger to her, she also wasn't stupid.
He was wanted by the police. If he got desperate, he could do anything.
Why would he show up here?
A man like that probably had women falling all over him. He could snap his fingers and shoot a slow grin, and most of the women in the room would wet their panties.
It irritated her that under normal circumstances, she could be one of those women. But Big ruined the appeal of having a biker as a lover.
If they were all inconsiderate, selfish, and had a dick the size of a small Gherkin pickle, she had no desire to have a repeat with Whip.
She yawned. Her ears popped, and she realized the sirens had stopped.
Flipping over to her other side, she punched the pillow to fluff it up. Tomorrow, she'd clean the sheets off the other bed and see if that mattress was any more comfortable. It had to be better than this one. One-hundred percent better than the backseat of her car.
Looking forward to tomorrow, she fell asleep.
Sometime later, her bladder woke her up. She sat up in bed and listened to the house. Beside
s the occasional horn from a passing car, she hadn't heard Whip leave. She'd slept harder than her restless night made her feel.
She looked toward the window. Dawn was breaking.
Getting out of bed, she groaned, hating the feel of dirty clothes on. She reeked of campfire smoke. She went through her bags, found a clean shirt, bra, underwear, and a pair of shorts. Carrying her clothes, she walked across the hallway and went into the bathroom.
After using the toilet, she stripped out of her clothes and shivered. The house would lose its chill as the daytime temperature climbed higher. She cranked the shower up as hot as it would get and stepped under the stream of water.
Closing her eyes in pleasure, she let her head fall back. A sudden thought hit her, and she opened her eyes, looking at the edges of the tub. Her sister had taken all the shampoo and soap.
"Damnit," she muttered, looking for a towel that wasn't there.
She should've known Angie would take all her belongings and not leave her anything. Ringtail had cleared everything out but the furnishings that had come with the house. No wonder the bedspread on the bed was scratchy and ancient.
Sliding the glass partition to the side, she hurried out, crossed the hallway, and dove for her suitcase. Not having any towels, she grabbed two clean t-shirts and her bottle of Vidal Sassoon.
Her teeth chattered. She rushed back to the warm water and sighed in relief as her body warmed. Fully awake, she washed her hair, using the suds to wash the rest of her body.
The first thing she'd need to do was go to the store and buy the basics. Soap, a towel, and toilet paper. Angie only left half a roll on the spindle. She'd need bread and peanut butter. Laundry soap to clean the bag of dirty clothes in her car. Those items would need to last her for a couple of days until she returned to work on Monday and got paid.
Somehow, she would need to find out how much the rent was to continue living in the house. Though she was sure, she could afford the house. Angie probably earned the same per hour as her, plus she kept any extra tips the customers slipped her.
Turning off the water, she gathered her hair, wrapped the shirt around her head, and dried off with the other one.
"Brr..." She shivered, quickly dressing.
She hoped Angie had left in a frenzy to get to Ringtail's house and forgot to leave behind the coffee maker and coffee.
Rubbing her bare arms, she walked barefooted into the living room and veered around the couch to step into the small kitchen when light snoring stopped her in her tracks. She backed up and peered around the arm of the couch.
Whip slept on his back. One hand tucked into the front of his jeans. She brought her hand up and bit her fingernail, taking in the way his boots dangled off the piece of furniture. He looked uncomfortable yet cozy at the same time.
So much for thinking he'd left.
Whip's full lips softly sputtered with an exhale that came out more of a growl, making him sound like a hibernating bear in winter with all his hair and beard.
Her stomach fluttered. There was something extremely sexy about him sleeping.
His dark hair hung off his face onto the arm of the couch. His bushy beard covered his neck, but she could glimpse his chest through the buttons undone on his flannel shirt. He'd squirmed in his sleep because his leather vest was askew, showing a flat stomach.
Shaking her head, she tried to rid herself of finding him attractive. He was supposed to be gone. Two hours. That's how long he was supposed to stay last night.
She put two fingers on his shoulder and nudged him. He continued to sleep.
For a man running from the cops, he slept as if he hadn't a worry in the world.
She put her whole hand on his shoulder and shook him. "Whip, get—"
He grabbed her wrist, pulled her toward him. Before she could shriek, she lost her balance, and he pulled her underneath him and pinned her to the couch. With his weight making her breathless, she gawked up at him.
His brown eyes, two inches from hers, came into focus. He groaned, capturing her lips with his mouth.
Taken off guard, she hadn't prepared to stop him. He'd caught her with her mouth open. His tongue—Oh, dear Lord.
He stroked her mouth with the warmth her body sought. She moaned under the caress.
Whip pressed his pelvis down, grinding against her until her knees widened. She pushed her hands against his shoulders with the intent to get him off her— and came away fisting his leather vest, pulling him closer so he wouldn't stop kissing her.
He tugged at the hem of her shirt, sliding his hand underneath the material. With no hesitation, he pulled the cup of her bra down, popping out her breast. His mouth left her. She arched her back, protesting the loss of his tongue.
He latched onto her nipple. Her body melted into the couch at the warmth. Her restless night made her languish to his touch. The upheaval of her life calmed.
She stroked his head, trailing her fingers along his whiskered jaw. The muscles controlling his mouth, his lips, his tongue, contracted as he sucked.
Her legs spasmed. She squeezed down on his hips, grinding her pelvis against him. His solid body fit perfectly with hers. She wanted to wrap herself around him and stay.
He shifted. The waistband of her shorts slid against her skin. Suddenly aware of the barrier between them, she squirmed, trying to help him remove the material.
A low growl came from him, and his lips let go of her breast, and he removed himself from her body. She reached for him, coming up empty.
He pulled her shorts and panties off her lower half and moved her, propping her up on the couch. Her feet landed on the floor. He knelt and slid his hands along her inner thighs, spreading her knees. Intent on his purpose, he slipped his hands under her ass and pulled her to the edge of the couch.
Slouched against the lumpy cushions, she almost shot off the couch when he lowered his head and swiped his warm, wet tongue against her pussy. Her eyes closed in bliss. Oh, sweetness, that felt good.
She mewed, cupping the top of his head with her hand. Swept up in the sensations populating her body, she lost herself. Whip took and took, going on his cravings, and somehow, what he was doing with his lips—those full lips, and his mouth—that hungry mouth, and his tongue—God, he was skilled, threatened to undo her.
He circled her clit with the same talent he used on the rest of her. She moaned. Who was this man?
Why was she letting him touch her?
Why was he still here?
How could he make her feel so good?
Her butt tightened, and she pressed her sex against his mouth. The pleasure too much to hold back as he held her pelvis in his hands and manipulated her orgasm higher and higher.
She panted, no longer cold from the lack of heat in the house. Burning up, she fisted his hair, preparing herself for what was to come. She was no longer in control of her own satisfaction. What Whip was doing to her pushed her forward with no hint of direction.
She was at his mercy. Sweet, sweet mercy.
He growled against her. The vibration left her trembling. Her pussy spasmed, and any hold she had disappeared.
Her body tensed, thrown into a dizzying frenzy. Her breath caught in her chest, and her back bowed.
Jolts of desire caressed every inch of her, curling her toes. And still, his tongue kept her going and going.
Chapter 8
Whip
Twyla's let go of her hold on Whip's hair, and her ass relaxed in his hands in instant relief. One taste of her wasn't enough. He wiped his mouth against her inner thigh and stood, relieving the pressure in his jeans.
She leaned forward. He put his hand between her breasts, stopping her from getting up.
"Give me your tits, sis." He unbuckled his belt.
She blinked, remaining on the couch. He grinned. Damn proud of himself. He'd worn her out, and that was some sexual high she was riding.
He reached in his jeans and brought out his cock. His balls tightened at the freedom, and he stroked h
imself, showing her what he had for her.
Snapped out of the haze he'd created, she lifted her shirt over her head and reached behind her back, and removed her bra. Her breasts fell free, and her nipples stood out for him.
He licked his lips, wanting those nubs back in his mouth but knowing he wouldn't last. Bending over, he licked a path up the middle of her chest, then picked up her hands and guided her to cup her breasts together.
Straightening, he fisted his dick and glided the hardness between the perky globes in front of him. A drip of his arousal eased his way.
Forward.
Back.
Long, fucking, thrusts bringing him to the toe of his boots and rocking back on his heels, only to draw him back faster, swifter.
Sweat broke out on his forehead, and he gazed down at the sight of her holding her breasts for him. Her gaze followed his cock, and that was the hottest damn thing he'd seen in his life.
He hadn't planned on staying, and if he'd left, he sure wouldn't have put the moves on her. But, nobody was allowed to grab him when he slept.
Coming away with a dainty wrist and soft skin, he'd realized his mistake. By then, she was underneath him, her body molding to his and kissing him back.
He took his cock out between the cushion of her breasts and rubbed the head over her nipple. The nub tightened even more, and he shoved his dick back in the channel she provided, and titty fucked her.
His balls ached. He removed his hand from himself and palmed both of her breasts, finding her nipples, rubbing his thumbs in circles.
Twyla's head fell back, elongating her neck. Such a pretty sight, he pumped faster.
She righted her head, opening her mouth, and dipped her chin. Her tongue came out and licked the drop of come from the end of his dick. He dug his toes in and aimed for her mouth. The pressure along the length of his cock grew tighter as all the blood pulsated.
"That's it. Let me see that tongue." He aimed for her mouth.
Her lips closed, teasing the head of his dick. Sucking when she caught him and losing him on a pop.
In.
Out.
In.
