He roused at her touch. Sliding his hand around her waist, he bent her head back and kissed her. A thank-you kiss, deep and hot. His tongue thrust inside, mimicking the act she’d just performed. She explored his torso with greedy hands, squirming against him. Wanting him between her legs, not just in her mouth.
“How about that spanking?” he murmured, moving his lips to her throat.
She spread her thighs on a low moan. When he’d ordered her not to come, she’d been very close to exploding. She was still teetering on the edge, her panties clinging to her wet pussy. “Please.”
His fingertips brushed the lips of her sex and she whimpered.
“I’ll take care of you.”
“Yes.”
“For a fee.”
She recoiled in surprise. “What?”
“My services aren’t cheap.”
“Ladrón.”
He laughed at the Spanish word for thief. He might have heard it before, but she figured her expression was easy enough to read. Mia didn’t have to pay for his services. She could put her hand down her panties and be done in thirty seconds or less. But she couldn’t spank herself. The heat of his wide palm tempted her, along with his rough touch and hard body. She dug the money out of her bra and set it on the bench.
Smiling at her acquiescence, he placed his leather vest on the ground between his boots. “Kneel.”
Pulse racing, she sank to his feet. He bent her over one knee, her bottom tilted up high and her stomach pressed to his hard thigh. She grasped the edge of the wrought-iron bench, bracing herself as he lowered her panties.
She’d been spanked before. On her last birthday with Philip, they’d come home tipsy and made love in the kitchen. Then she’d donned a party hat and eaten cake in the nude. He’d offered to give her a birthday spanking. She’d agreed, giggling. What started out as a joke turned into something sweetly erotic.
There was nothing sweet about the flat of Cole’s hand as it came down with a smack. She gasped at the burn, tightening her grip on the bench. After a pause, he did it again. Her breasts jiggled from the impact and heat blossomed on her skin. She moaned in anticipation of the next strike. He rested his left hand on the nape of her neck to hold her down. His right palm lit up her bottom, again and again.
She wasn’t sure why she liked it. The tingling pain made every sensation sharper. She was embarrassed and enthralled. Wet, exposed to him, trembling. Maybe the act appealed to her in the same way that performing for him did. The fact that they were outdoors, in an open space, added to her excitement.
She’d never fantasized about edgy sex with Philip. Not because he wasn’t adventurous, or they’d lacked sizzle. He’d satisfied her on every level. But she was a different person now, numb inside. Every slap of Cole’s hand brought her back to life. When he stroked her hot flesh, soothing her, a sob escaped her lips and tears spilled down her cheeks. Not from the sting, but from the emotional release.
He plunged two fingers inside her swollen pussy, groaning. He was hard again, his cock straining the thin fabric of his boxer shorts. He lifted his left hand from her nape and slipped his forefinger into her open mouth, penetrating her at both ends.
Mia moaned at the dual invasion. He withdrew from her lips and her pussy, leaving her aching to be filled again. Moving his slippery fingers to her clit, he rubbed her in a slow glide. Then he slid the wet finger from his other hand between her buttocks, circling her anus. He must not have been lubricated enough, because he moistened his finger again with his own saliva. Then he entered her, making her gasp.
Her bottom was sensitive from the spanking, her clit throbbing. He slid his finger deeper into her ass. She vibrated with the need to come, her entire body trembling.
“Please,” she panted, spreading her legs wider.
He pinched her clit and continued to tease her ass. Arousal seeped from her, slicking the lips of her sex. Her inner muscles clenched in response. He let her writhe for another moment, seeming to enjoy her erotic discomfort. His cock was standing at full attention. When she begged again, he gave her what she wanted. Keeping one finger buried in her ass, he started fucking her with his free hand, alternating between thrusting his fingers into her upturned pussy and stroking her stiff little clit.
She shattered with a hoarse scream, her body convulsing. She felt like a puppet on a string, completely in his control. The orgasm hit her hard and wouldn’t let up. She came and came and came.
When it was over, he removed his fingers from her. She was too satiated to be embarrassed as he rose from the bench and washed his hands in the fountain. He still had an erection tenting the front of his shorts.
She wouldn’t have minded if he’d taken her from behind, or any other way. She might not have moved. But he didn’t position her like a rag doll. He buttoned his fly, pulled up her panties and drew her into his arms.
She didn’t cry, like last time. The sun set behind the Santa Rosa Mountains and the crickets began to sing. His heartbeat thudded against her cheek, strong and sure. He had the words “Dirty Forever” tattooed in cursive script over his left pectoral. There was a flock of blackbirds on his ribcage, taking flight.
“Does everyone in the gang have this tattoo?” she asked, tracing the script.
“It’s a club, not a gang. But yes.”
“These exact words?”
“Dirty Forever, or Forever Eleven. Some have both.”
“Above the heart?”
“Anywhere close to a vein. Neck, chest, wrist.”
Her pulse began to accelerate. “Why?”
“Because the outlaw lifestyle is in our blood, flowing through our veins.”
She dropped her hand, disturbed by the thought. If she was going to ask him about club members with tattooed wrists, she might not get a better opening. But she stayed silent, torn between the urge to know and her newfound peace.
“I have a thing to go to tomorrow night,” he said.
“A thing?”
“It’s a rally near Slab City. Like a tailgate party. People will be expecting me to make an appearance.”
Mia moistened her lips, considering. “Everyone in the club will be there?”
“I think so.”
She could search the crowd for the man with the “E” tattoo. “Take me with you.”
He removed his arm from around her shoulders. “Take you?”
“I want to see what it’s like. I want to see Slab City.”
“You won’t fit in.”
“I can fit in.”
“You’re too...”
“Too what, classy? After what we just did?”
Flushing, he raked a hand through his hair. “Rallies aren’t for outsiders. You’ll get noticed, and I won’t be able to introduce you to the other members.”
“Why not?”
“It’s a respect issue. The only women who get introduced at rallies are old ladies. Wives and girlfriends of club members. And even if you were my old lady, I couldn’t introduce you at your first meeting. You’d have to come to more than one.”
“That’s fine. I don’t need to be introduced.”
“I can’t stay right next to you, either,” he said. “Guys will hit on you.”
“I’m a big girl. I can handle it.”
He hesitated, seeming conflicted.
“Is there some kind of gang-bang initiation I need to know about?”
“There’s no gang bang, Mia.”
“I thought all motorcycle clubs had wild orgies,” she said, only half-joking.
“Sorry to disappoint you,” he said, his gaze traveling down her body. “We don’t pass around women.”
Cole’s meaning was clear. She was his, and only his.
“If that’s the next fantasy on your list, I can’t fulfill it,” he said.
“You’re not into sharing?”
“Not with men.”
She smiled at this answer, unsurprised. The money they’d exchanged had fallen through the slats on the bench, s
o she picked it up. Three hundred dollars. “How much do I owe you for that spanking?”
“Whatever you think it was worth.”
She gave him two bills and kept one for herself.
He tucked them into his pocket, smiling back at her. “That’s fair, since I enjoyed it at least as much as you did.”
“Do you spank all of your dates?”
“No,” he said. “You’re the first.”
“You’re kidding.”
“Did I do it like a pro?”
She just stared at him, her heart racing. It was that lucky-adaptive gene of his. He was smart, physical and good with his hands. He’d gone from scaring her with his rough edges to mastering her body in two encounters.
“I was definitely into it,” he said. “I feel very relaxed right now. Maybe spanking you is the cure for my anger issues.”
“Maybe it was the blow job that relaxed you.”
He nodded his agreement. “One a day keeps the doctor away.”
She laughed, twining her arms around his neck.
“You give excellent head,” he said, closing his mouth over hers. He kissed her with languid strokes and no particular urgency. She got the impression that kissing wasn’t a sexual warm-up for him, but something he did for its own enjoyment.
A large crow landed on the edge of the fountain and flitted off again, startling her. She broke the kiss, casting a furtive glance around the date farm. The grove wasn’t as open as the lakeshore. There were rows of trees to cover their activities—and hide onlookers. Suddenly the idea of being watched seemed sinister, rather than sexy.
“Tell me about the men who killed your husband,” he said.
She retrieved her jeans from the ground, chilled by the dark subject. “So you can hunt them down?”
“So I can protect you from them.”
“You’ve got your hands full protecting yourself.”
“Were they MC?”
“Even if I knew, I wouldn’t tell you.”
“Will you tell me what happened, without any details?”
“Why?”
“You seem uncomfortable on your back. And in closed spaces.”
Mia understood what he was getting at. He thought she was afraid to be alone in a hotel room with him. She hadn’t considered it from this perspective before. Although she didn’t believe he would hurt her, she was wary of being boxed in or pinned down.
“It might help to talk about it,” he said, studying her face. “That’s what my psychologist says, anyway.”
She zipped her jeans and put on her tank top, mulling it over. Last night he’d accused her of using him for sex because she didn’t want to disrupt her husband’s memory. Although Philip would always hold a special place in her heart, Cole’s easy domination of her body felt threatening. Opening up to him was scary.
But staying numb was worse.
Putting on her boots, she rose from the bench. “I came home early from work. We were supposed to celebrate that night. I was looking forward to it.” She swallowed hard, picturing the scene. “I walked in on a home invasion robbery. Two men had my husband tied up on the floor. When he saw me, he said ‘no.’”
“No?”
“Just ‘no.’ As if my being there was the worst possible outcome. He could endure anything but seeing me in danger.”
“What happened?”
“I ran down the hall and ducked into the guest room. I tried to hide under the bed, but one of the men grabbed me by the ankle. I fought him. He slammed my head against the floor and yanked my legs apart.”
Cole’s eyes went cold. “He raped you?”
“No. His partner came in and told him not to. They were in a hurry.”
“He let you go?”
She shook her head, tears blurring her vision. “He grabbed a pillow and held it over my face until I went limp. I was half-conscious, and my head was bleeding. I was terrified he’d check my pulse. So I just lay there and played dead. I peed my pants.”
He rose from the bench, too agitated to sit. His fists were clenched at his sides, his nostrils flared. “Did you see their faces?”
“They were wearing masks.”
“Do you know who they are?”
After a short pause, she shook her head.
“Would they recognize you?”
“They think I’m dead.”
“What if they spotted you in a crowd?”
“I look different.”
“How?”
“My hair is shorter and darker.”
His gaze lowered to her crotch with interest, as if he’d noticed the hint of red there. “I don’t want to parade you around in public. I can’t stand the thought of walking right by them, totally unaware.”
Mia hadn’t worried much about being spotted. The robbery had taken place in Riverside, which was over an hour away. White Lightning operated there almost exclusively. Even so, she wore hats and sunglasses when she left the house. She worked with law officers and female inmates only. There was almost no chance of her being recognized.
She knew what would happen if she told Cole one of her attackers was the president of White Lightning. She could read the intent in his expression. He would kill Gordon Lowe with relish and go after his partner, too. This was the exact reaction she’d anticipated—but now she was terrified by the thought of its fruition.
Too guilty to meet his eyes, she slipped her arms around his neck. She would accept Cole’s protection if she needed it, but she couldn’t use him to exact vengeance. He meant too much to her. The thought of him going back to prison made her heart ache. She felt alive with him. She wanted to savor that feeling, and hold on to him for as long as possible. He wasn’t her weapon anymore. He was her salvation.
“The rally is for Dirty Eleven and its supporters only,” he said, stroking her hair. “We don’t do home invasions.”
“Then I’ll be fine. Let’s just enjoy each other, and pretend nothing else matters.”
“You sound like an outlaw.”
“What’s wrong with that?”
“There’s a hotel across from the rally site,” he said finally. “We can get a room.”
She inhaled a deep breath. “Okay.”
“You’ll stay all night with me?”
“Yes.”
“We can drive through Slab City, but I’ll warn you that it’s pretty rough.”
“I like rough,” she said, lifting her lips to his.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
COLE KNEW MIA was slumming.
He got ready early in the afternoon, tossing some toiletries and a change of clothes into a backpack. Her reasons for agreeing to the overnight date shouldn’t have mattered to him. He was getting his and then some. What did he care why she was sleeping with him? A man who took offense when a beautiful woman sucked his cock and begged for a spanking didn’t deserve to call himself a heterosexual. She had a hot, wet mouth and an even hotter pussy. Only an idiot would question her motives.
Cole wasn’t an idiot.
But he was a realist, and more introspective than he wanted to be. Going to prison had turned him into a thinker. He was still a doer, and he’d do Mia all night long. If she liked his rough hands, he’d put them on her. If she was interested in visiting the dump where he grew up, he’d take her there. If she wanted to play outlaws with him, he’d indulge her.
He couldn’t expect her to look past his felony record and intimidating appearance. Especially since there was nothing else to see. He wasn’t a criminal with a heart of gold or a victim of the system. There were no sad stories to share, no terrible secrets. He was just dirty to the bone. It was in his blood.
Mia had come to him for a wild ride, and he’d give it to her. With pleasure. She was the sexiest, most exciting woman he’d ever met. She embraced her fantasies without shame. He’d never seen anything prettier than her fresh-slapped ass, pink from his palm.
But he wanted more than her body. He wanted to lay in bed with her on a Sunday morning and jus
t...smell her hair. He was obsessed with her. He liked the way she fit on his bike. He liked her face, and her eyes, and her sad, infrequent smile. She’d said she wasn’t happy, and he believed her. He’d do anything to change that for her.
He put on his cut and checked his reflection in the mirror, noting that he looked sharp. The members of Dirty Eleven took pride in personal hygiene. They weren’t filthy, raggedy-haired old men. They left that honor to some of the other clubs, who resembled stray dogs, called their women pigs and appeared to have fleas.
He pulled the neoprene over his ankle monitor and headed out the door. Shawnee was sitting in a lounge chair by the pool, reading a book. Skye had a set of toy boats bobbing on the surface of the water. Neither was dressed for swimming. The burning flames of summer had faded into the warm-embers heat of fall. In Indio, a 90-degree day was cool.
Cole joined them in the pool area. He crouched down next to Skye and retrieved a boat that had floated out of her reach. She hugged the wet toy to her chest. It dripped water on her bare feet, making her giggle.
“You should talk to her,” Shawnee said, glancing up from her book. It was a worn paperback romance with a lurid cover.
Cole had read books like that in prison. Romance novels were popular with inmates, maybe because women were scarce and porn was contraband. He’d been surprised by the racy content in some of the novels. Maybe they’d helped prepare him for Mia.
Shawnee dog-eared a page and set the book aside. “We’re supposed to encourage her to communicate.”
Cole rose from Skye’s side, not giving a damn. If the little girl wanted to be quiet, that was fine with him. There was too much noise in the world. Grating machinery and superfluous chatter. He sank into a chair beside Shawnee. She wore a big floppy hat and a hippie sundress with no bra. Her forty-something tits were still nice. He pictured them jiggling as he’d fucked her on his twin bed, Star Wars blanket falling off one side.
Flushing, he looked away. “Will I see you at the rally?”
“Probably not,” she said. “I have to take care of Skye.”
“Can’t Ace watch her?”
“He doesn’t do unsupervised visits.”
Riding Dirty Page 14
