Safe Rider (A Lost Saxons Novel Book 2)

by Jessica Ames

  My freak out wasn’t mentioned by the girls when I came back the week after; I figure Dean told them to keep quiet, which I was grateful for. I didn’t need to relive that humiliating experience again. Besides, I like these women; I don’t want them to think badly of me.

  This, however, is new. What on earth do I need to spill? I steel myself, readying my defences automatically. Old habits die hard, after all.

  Then Mackenzie signs something. I’m attempting to learn British Sign Language from online videos, but my skills are rudimentary at best so the only words I pick out are ‘stop’ and ‘business’.

  Sofia watches her hands flash back and forth before scoffing at her older sister. “It is our business, Kenz. Dean’s one of us.” Her eyes narrow as she folds her arms over her chest, giving me stink-eye. “I need to know what your intentions are with my brother.”

  I frown at her. Intentions? We’ve been trying to keep our relationship quiet. The only people we’ve told about us is Holly and Dean’s grandmother, Dorothy, who we had Sunday lunch with last weekend. She’s in her seventies and is a riot. I adore her. But according to everyone else, I’m just Dean’s neighbour who he’s teaching to fight.

  I wrinkle my brow at Sofia. “Dean can’t be your brother; he’s an only child.”

  “Of course he’s not my brother.” She snorts. “Do you think I could deal with Logan, Jem, Adam and Dean on my arse all the time?” She makes a louder noise. “Them three are bad enough. But stop changing the subject.”

  Kenzie waves her hands in front of us to get our attention and then her hands move. This time, the only sign I make out is the one for ‘motorcycle’.

  Shit.

  Sofia and the other two women nod before Jamie turns accusing eyes towards me.

  “She’s right—you’re on the back of his bike a fuck ton.” Jamie crosses her arms over her chest.

  “He lives a stone’s throw from my front door. It wouldn’t make sense for us both to drive here.” That is true. “We’re just doing our bit for the environment.” That is only partially true.

  “Doesn’t make sense for him to drive you to Satchi’s though, does it?”

  I wince. Satchi’s is one of the many restaurants in town that me and Dean frequent.

  “Not once either, if rumours are to be believed,” Sammy jumps in with an arched brow. “Donna Matthews said she saw you both going into the cinema last Thursday and to Lims two nights later.”

  Who the hell is Donna Matthews and why the hell is she interested in what me and Dean are doing?

  Oh my God. This town…

  Gossipy buggers.

  I shut my mouth.

  “A ride on his bike doesn’t mean shit,” Sofia scoffs. “Even if it’s every day.”

  “It means more than shit,” Sammy contests and I wonder what it does mean.

  “Like a ride for a ride?” I say, which brings everyone’s attention to me. I should have kept my mouth shut.

  “Where’d you hear that shit?”

  “Someone at work said it once,” I mutter.

  “Yeah, well, that’s bollocks,” Sofia puts in. “I’ve been on the back of Dean’s bike, Wade’s, Jack’s, Ghost’s, Rabbit’s and Tap’s. Christ, I’ve even been behind Slade and Derek. I’ve never ‘ridden’ any of them.”

  “The only man I’ve ever ridden,” Sammy says, “is Ghost. Although I have been on the back of his bike—plenty of times.”

  “A ride for a ride is one of those stupid things made up by the local hags. But it is significant that you have been on his bike,” Sofia says. “These boys are picky as hell about who they let behind them.”

  “Which is what I was saying,” Sammy interjects. “That she’s there is a sign.”

  “A sign of what?” Jamie rolls her eyes.

  “Trust,” Sofia says. “He must trust her to put her behind him.”

  “He hasn’t been at the clubhouse much either,” Sammy says. “Ghost was bitching about it the other night. Well, probing to see if I knew any gossip.”

  I flush at this. How have I become the topic of gossip?

  “So, if he’s not at the clubhouse, where is he staying…” Sofia starts and all eyes come to me. I blink at the sudden onslaught as they all start talking at once.

  “Are you girls done talking about my private business?” Dean’s voice breaks through our discussion and all heads whip in his direction.

  He’s stood behind us, his arms folded over his broad chest. He’s traded the denim and leather for shorts and a tank. And even though I love him in denim and leather, I’m not exactly unaffected by this look either.

  “Yep,” Jamie says as she moves away from the group.

  “Abso-fucking-lutely,” Sofia says around a grin as the others follow suit, moving to the mats laid out on the floor.

  I don’t follow and Dean closes the space between us.

  He dips his head. “You okay?”

  “I can handle them,” I tell him, and I can. “Besides, they’re mostly harmless.”

  He snorts. “They’re not fucking harmless, darlin’.”

  This makes me giggle. Then I bite my lip and say quietly so the others can’t hear, “Are you staying over tonight?”

  “Do you want me to?”

  With every fibre of my being.

  “Yes.”

  “Then I’m staying over.”

  I grin and duck my head. This man…

  “They think something is going on between us,” I tell him.

  “Something is going on between us,” he says and dips closer to brush his lips over mine. The room erupts with wolf-whistles and catcalls. Dean huffs as I laugh.

  The class goes fast, particularly with the girls ribbing me about Dean and trying to find out as much as they can between the moves he’s teaching us. I say nothing because I get the impression Dean is not a man who likes to have his private life aired in public and he says even less than that.

  At the end of the session, Dean waits for the girls to clear out before he pulls me against him and tries to plant a kiss on my mouth. I don’t let him.

  “Dean, I’m sweaty and I smell,” I try to protest but he’s not having it. He puts his nose into the crook of my neck and inhales deeply. His breath tickles and I can’t help but giggle.

  “You smell fine.”

  I really do not. “I need to shower before you’re allowed to do that. So do you, for that matter.”

  He grins. “Okay then.”

  He seizes my hand and tugs me towards the back of the gym, to the changing area.

  “Dean, what’re you—”

  “You said you needed to shower before I can kiss you, so we’re going to shower.”

  A thrill runs through me at his words. Catching my look, he grins.

  “Sweetheart, if you want to go in there and shower with me, just say the word.”

  I roll onto my tiptoes to kiss him. He dips closer to meet me and kisses my face, before going down my neck. Oh, holy crap that feels good. I tip my head to give him better access even as my hands latch onto his forearms to steady me. I’m no longer laughing. Neither is he. I am panting because where he’s kissing feels amazing. His hands stay on my waist, although I suspect if I wasn’t holding onto him they’d be under my top. And that’s where I want them to be, so I remove my hold from his arms and as I predict, his fingers go wandering. I gasp as they skim the bottom of my breasts.

  The sound of the door slamming breaks us apart like a lightning shot. Dean twists towards it, although he doesn’t take his hands off me. Instead, he keeps me hidden behind him as he readjusts my top, then he turns.

  “Deano… how’s it going?” I don’t recognise the dark-haired man who enters, but his accent is not Northern—unlike the rest of the brothers in the Club. It’s a weird mismatch of tones and regions, none of which are discernible, but I’d guess he’s southern, like me.

  “We’re just finishing up.” Dean’s hands twitch on my waist, which sends my anxiety rocketing.

&
nbsp; The guy’s gaze slides to me. “I’m Dylan. What’s your name?”

  Dean speaks before I can answer. “She doesn’t give a fuck who you are.”

  At the hostility in his words, Dylan’s eyes slide towards Dean. “I didn’t mean to step on any toes.”

  His words are placating but his tone is hard. A shiver runs up the back of my legs before racing up my spine and I squeeze Dean’s hand, a silent signal of my discomfort.

  He registers it and mutters, “Come on, darlin’.”

  He starts to move towards the main door, his fingers locked tightly around mine.

  “Oh, Dean?” Dylan’s voice brings Dean to a sudden stop. “Prez was looking for you earlier. Did he find you?”

  Dean doesn’t respond, just grunts at him like a first-class Neanderthal. I have no idea why he’s being so rude and dismissive, but the fact he is has me on alert.

  “See you later, brother,” Dylan shouts after us, but Dean doesn’t acknowledge this either. He just pulls me over to the exit.

  As soon as the gym door closes behind us, shutting Dylan inside the building, I pull free of Dean. He halts, turning back to me. Even without the courtyard’s floodlights illuminating his face I would be able to tell he’s pissed off, but I can see his fury clearly etched in every furrowed line on his brow.

  “What was that about?”

  Dean’s jaw tightens. “Nothing.”

  “It seemed like something.”

  His fingers go into his hair as he lets out a breath. “Fuck, Liv, I don’t know; he’s new, patched over from another Club, one we’re on good terms with, but I don’t like the guy.”

  I’m starting to get to grips with biker vernacular, so I know patching is something to do with becoming a member. Patching over sounds like he joined the Lost Saxons from another Club, although why he can’t just say that I don’t know.

  “What happened to brotherhood and family?” I poke him in the ribs.

  “Babe, I’m solid with all the guys—”

  “Apart from him, and Rabbit.”

  He snorts at that. “Rabbit’s a loud-mouthed gobshite, but he’s harmless.”

  “That guy seems harmless, too.”

  At my look he sighs. “Do you want to talk about Dylan or do you want to finish what we just started?”

  I grin at him and I reach for his outstretched hand, taking it. He tugs me to him, crashing us together and then kissing me. “Come on, sweetheart. Let’s get clean, then I’m going to feed you.”

  He leads me back into the clubhouse and into the warmth. It’s early April, so it’s warm but there is a chill still hanging in the air, which means I’m glad to get back inside. Dean keeps hold of my hand as he leads me through the maze of corridors and to the staircase at the back of the building. But my mind is focused on the interaction with Dylan and why Dean clearly dislikes him so much.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Once we’re upstairs, he guides me down the corridor and stops outside room number twelve. I wait while he unlocks it, pushing it open and gesturing for me to enter.

  “Ladies first.”

  “I never knew you were such a gentleman,” I tell him as I step into his Club quarters, my eyes scanning the space.

  It’s a room built for functionality. There’s a double bed against one wall with dark grey coverlets on the bed and two beech bedside tables that look cheap. On the opposite wall is a chest of drawers and an armchair next to the bed. It’s clean, surprisingly so, although it’s not tidy. There’s a pair of boots dumped at the foot of the bed and other knick-knacks litter the surfaces. He adds to the mess, dropping his bag of stuff on the floor, but stoops to pull out his kutte, which he drapes reverently across the back of the armchair.

  “Do you want to shower first?” he asks as he toes off his trainers and tosses them under the bed.

  “I don’t mind, Dean.”

  “Then you go first. But before you do…” He closes the space between us, his hands cupping my cheeks, his heat warm against my front as his lips descend.

  Kissing Dean has quickly become my favourite pastime. I love the way his beard scratches against my face as our lips meet and the little tickle as his hair brushes my skin. I love the feel of his body as he leans into me, coming flush against me. He leaves me breathless and dizzied as we break apart.

  “Go and get showered.”

  I grab my bag from him and head to the bathroom, a little wobbly on my feet as I go. I don’t bother to lock the door as I strip out of my clothes. It’s a small en suite, with a shower cubicle, toilet and sink. There’s a mirror over the basin and a couple of towels hanging on the heated rail. It’s not modern, but it’s not exactly dated either. There’s shampoo inside the cubicle on a small plastic shelving unit and some body wash—men’s. I pull my shampoo and shower gel from my bag, placing it next to Dean’s.

  I wash fast, unsure if there is a limit on hot water and wanting to leave enough for Dean. After I’m finished, I wrap the towel around myself and use the other to wrap around my hair. Then, I pull on the clean clothes I brought with me to change into after the session.

  Tidying up the towels, I hang them back on the rail to dry, keeping the one for my hair so I can towel dry it.

  When I step out into the room, he’s lying on the bed, the television switched on. His hair’s wet, and I wonder where he went to shower. He glances up and smiles at me.

  “You find everything okay?”

  I nod. “I see you’re clean too.”

  “I didn’t want to leave you sitting in here alone, so I borrowed Logan’s shower.”

  He grins as he swings his legs off the bed and sits on the edge of the mattress. He gestures for me to come to him, which I do, and he pulls me between his legs, his hands on my hips even as mine go to his shoulders to steady me. Then he pushes up my T-shirt, revealing my stomach. I hold my breath as he leans forward and kisses just above my navel. My fingers of their own volition go into his damp hair, which is so long now I can get a good handful. It looks different than it did back in January when it was buzzed close to his scalp. Over the last few months he’s let it grow long enough to touch his nape. I like it this length. I like being able to run my fingers through it and I like grasping handfuls when he’s between my legs.

  “You did good today,” he tells me.

  “I didn’t have a freak out, you mean.”

  His look is suddenly serious. “Darlin’, you’re allowed to have a freak out when someone does something that scares you.”

  This may be true, but freaking out in front of him is not something I want to repeat. I don’t say this, knowing he will argue with me. Instead, I just continue to run my fingers through his hair.

  “I like it longer,” I tell him and he glances up at me.

  “You do?”

  “Well, I like anything on you, Dean, but yeah; I like it like this.”

  “I like everything about you, darlin’.”

  Feeling emboldened by his words, I duck my head down to kiss him and his arms go around my back, pulling me against him.

  Then he lies back, taking me with him. His hold on me is firm, but relaxed and our lips never part as we go from upright to lying down.

  My thighs widen so I can straddle him comfortably and my hands dip under his T-shirt to rub up and down his chest.

  When his mouth finds that sensitive spot on my neck I can’t stop the gasp that comes out of me. It feels amazing. Too good really. It should be criminal, making someone feel that good with just your mouth.

  His hands slide out from the back of my top, across my hips before sneaking up the front to find my breasts. As he has done every time we’ve played like this, his fingers push down the cups of my bra and find my nipples. His hands are magic, working at the sensitive buds, which are hardening painfully with every touch. I moan against his mouth, trying to rub against him, trying to gain friction against my throbbing clit. Sensing my frustration, one hand leaves my breasts to go between my legs. As soon as he applies p
ressure there, I come undone.

  I lose his mouth, my head going back as I let out a moan of complete and utter pleasure. But I need more. I need him on me, touching skin-to-skin. Our clothes are a barrier in the way of getting what I need and what I need is him.

  “Take off your clothes.”

  He laughs and nuzzles my neck. And my God do I like that. “Darlin’, has anyone ever told you that you’re the most impatient woman on the planet?”

  “I’m about to become the most frustrated woman on the planet if we don’t get moving.”

  He doesn’t waste any more time talking. He hooks his fingers into the waistband of my jeans and tugs them down. I help the rest of the way, kicking them off my legs and freeing my bare feet. Then he strips me out of my T-shirt, leaving me in just my underwear. His eyes scan my body and the urge to cover myself is overwhelming. My brain readies for a comment that is going to tear my confidence to shreds, my walls prepare to go back up, and for a moment I’m standing in front of Simon, awaiting his judgement.

  But it’s not Simon; it’s Dean. And Dean is not the kind of man who needs to tear other people down to feel good about himself.

  “Darlin’… Liv… Fuck.”

  I don’t miss the tent in the front of his joggers.

  “Is that a good ‘fuck’?” My question is redundant because I can see it is good, but I desperately need the affirmation that he is in this, that he wants to be here with me. And he gives it to me without hesitation.

  “It’s a ‘get the fuck over here before my balls explode’ kind of fuck.” He grabs my hands and pulls me to him, the pair of us falling back onto the mattress. I giggle but my giggles quickly turn to gasping moans as his hands go roving.

  I feel his fingers brush over my underwear, so close to my throbbing core but not close enough. I shift my hips, trying to push closer to where I need him but he doesn’t let me lead the action. Instead, he pulls away, leaving me a needy, whimpering bundle of frustration. Then he extradites himself from under me, so he can stand at the foot of the bed.