It takes Crista a minute to answer. She seems distracted by all the crazy. Steel Bones can rage, but since I been back, we haven’t had a crowd this thick, and this off the chain. At least not this early in the evening.
“Crista?”
She shakes herself. “Huh? Yeah. How about Aunt Shirl’s spot?”
There’s a tree in the way back where Shirl and Twitch used to sit. Twitch would run anyone off who tried to hang there. Kick your ass, too, if you gave him lip about it. He passed from a heart attack when I was inside. He was a great man. Helped me finish restoring my Chevelle.
We get as far as the big bonfire in the yard.
“Scrap!” Creech hollers from where he’s sparring with some dude with lobe plugs shaped like helo wheels. “Get your ass over here and wish me happy birthday!”
An unease rises in my gut. A quick scan of the yard shows very few brothers. Cue. Gus. A few of the old heads enjoying the view as some bitches dance topless in front of the makeshift stage. There’s no band, but there’s death metal blaring from the sound system.
I grab Crista’s hand and head over to the bonfire.
“I’m gonna go find Bullet. You give the birthday boy a kiss for me.” Annie bails, beating feet back towards the clubhouse.
I glance down at Crista. She still has that deer in headlights look. Her hand is cold and clammy. I’m gonna make this quick.
“Brother.” I slap Creech on the back.
“Where’s your beer? You didn’t get him a beer?” Creech directs this at Crista. My blood rises. He’s spittin’ whiskey when he talks, three sheets to the wind.
“Just got here, man.” I tug my hand back, pullin’ Crista a half step half behind me.
“You conceding or what, asshole?” The dude with the gauges stumbles over and throws his arm around Creech’s shoulder. He’s a piece of work. Septum ring, bridge, nose bone. I do not like the way the fucker is looking at Crista. I could rip his nose off his face. With all the hardware it’d be like opening a Coke can.
Two other dudes with decorator faces wander over. Must be gauges’ friends.
“I ain’t conceding. Never quit. Never surrender!” Creech lets loose a rebel yell, and the other dudes take up the roar, sending it echoing around the yard. Crista inches closer to me. Yeah. We’re done here.
“Happy birthday, man. We’re gonna go back in.”
“You can’t go back. You just got here. You’re never around. Saw you more when you were upstate.”
“I been busy, brother.” I want to turn and check on Crista, but I don’t need any attention on her if she’s losin’ her shit. “Some time this week, we’ll go for a ride.”
It’s like he don’t hear me. He’s swayin’ on his feet, and he lurches closer. The guy with the gauges is nearly holdin’ him up now.
“Bullshit. You know you’ll be hidin’ from that gash or up her ass. You just got out of jail, man. Why you in such a hurry to get locked down again?”
My fist is flying before he finishes, my knuckles cracking against his cheekbone, snapping his head back. I intend my second punch to lay him flat, but he’s already out and crumpling to the ground, and instead, I connect with the other dude with the piercings.
“Motherfucker!”
I open my mouth to apologize, but then there’s a soft cry from behind me. Crista. As I turn, the dude comes at me like a hurricane, raining blows at my head, and I drop back, get my arms up, and then there’s a scream and a flurry and oh, fuck.
Crista blows past me, dress swishing, and she’s screaming, an unearthly shriek, no words, and she’s on the guy, slams into him so hard he topples back, and she’s got her fists in his hair, and she’s just driving his head into the ground over and over again. He’s tryin’ to buck her off, but her knee’s pinning one of his arms, and Gus—God bless fucking Gus—he’s dived in and gotten the guy’s other arm.
It’s a split second before Cue’s on him, too, and now he ain’t goin’ nowhere. Crista’s switchin’ things up, beatin’ the guy however she can, and now she’s makin’ some sense, screamin’ over and over, “You leave him alone. You don’t touch him. I’m gonna fucking kill you.”
Cue and Gus are cracking up.
“You gonna get your old lady, or we gonna do this all night?” Cue barks at me, smirking while he holds the dude’s legs.
“Ow!” Gus yelps. One of Crista’s blows went wide. “What I do to you? Scrap, control your woman!”
The crowd’s gettin’ thicker, and I can see more brothers now. Charge. Wall. Bullet with Annie.
“She’s gonna break her hand,” Charge says low in my ear, and that sets me moving.
I lift her off the guy, and immediately, she goes limp, all except her chest, which is rising and falling as if she’s run a marathon. I cradle her in my arms, and Wall clears a path for me to carry her back inside. Her face is buried in my cut, and now her shoulders are shaking.
“You don’t gotta cry, baby. You won that one.” I can’t stop the chuckle, not even when she lifts her face to me, wild-eyed and lost, tears streaking down her cheeks. A knot I didn’t even know I was carryin’ loosens in my chest. My girl can fight.
“I—It’s n—not funny!”
“Okay.” I haul her through the crowd, up the stairs to the bunk I’d been crashin’ in before I invited myself into her place. Some of my books are still on the dresser. Looks like no one else has squatted here since I been gone.
I lower myself onto the twin bed, my back against the wall, and I keep her in my lap, arms tight around her. She’s starts wrigglin’ real quick.
“Let me up.”
I raise my hands. She comes up to her knees, straddling me. I’m instantly hard. I keep my eyes up, hope she don’t notice. I’m not sure what this mood is. I ain’t seen it before. She ain’t havin’ one of those flashbacks. It ain’t a panic attack. Her walls ain’t up, either.
She plops her ass down so she’s sittin’ on my thighs and sniffles.
“That was so fucking embarrassing.”
“No, baby. That was sweet as shit.”
She wrinkles her nose.
“You were defending me. I was honored.”
She slaps my chest. “Quit being an asshole.”
“No. I mean it. You took that guy out.”
“It was a sneak attack.”
“You can sneak attack me, anytime.” I’m smilin’, and we’re jokin’, until we aren’t.
“I don’t want to be the one always losing it.” She’s worryin’ her bottom lip with her teeth. I reach up, smoothing my thumb across that lip.
“Nobody says nothin’ when Nickel loses it and beats the shit out of someone.” Make bets, yes. Raise an eyebrow? Never.
“Pardon me if I want to be a little less crazy than Nickel Kobald.”
“You ain’t crazy, baby.” She ain’t. She’s sturdy as shit, my girl. Pulls herself up every time, and pulls herself back from the edge more than I think anyone realizes.
“Why are you always so patient with me?” She curls her fists into my cut. “You know you aren’t stuck with me. It’s not like once you do time for someone, they own you or something.”
“I didn’t do time for you. I did time ‘cause of what I did.” She shrugs like there’s no difference. There is, but that’s a conversation for a different time. “And that’s a stupid fuckin’ question.”
“It’s a serious question.”
I think a second. She’s sinkin’ deeper into her head while I watch, and that ain’t a good place for her. “It’s like askin’ that lady on TV. The one with the white hair and the dragon eggs. It’s like askin’ her ‘how come you’re so patient, carryin’ around those dragon eggs.’ They’re fuckin’ dragon eggs.”
“Did you just compare me to Khaleesi?”
I smile and tug her closer. Despite all the talkin’, I ain’t gotten soft. She’s got to feel it. With her wearin’ a dress, there’s nothin’ between us but my denim and her panties. I stroke her thighs, pushin’ up t
he skirt bit by bit.
“Maybe.”
“You’re ridiculous.” Her breath’s comin’ softer, faster. I take a sip of her lips, smooth my palm up her back. I don’t do nothin’ I ain’t been doin’, but maybe it’s the adrenaline, or maybe I did somethin’ right in a former life, ‘cause Crista Holt starts rocking on my dick.
She winds her arms around my neck, and she opens her mouth, lets me slide in. Her cheeks are so red, the heat burns my fingers when I stroke her face and cup her neck. I dare to thrust, not too hard, and I can hardly stifle the groan when she grinds down to meet me. She’s all wiggly now, her tits smashed against me, and I hold her tight so she don’t come back to earth while I shrug out of my cut and peel off the T-shirt I got on underneath.
I’m keepin’ up a rhythm, and thank the Lord the jeans are thick or I’d be coming in my pants. I cup her breast, brush the nipple through the cotton, and she whimpers. She opens her eyes, and they’re dopey and so damn pretty.
“Baby,” I moan, and she arches her back, ridin’ me steady.
“I can keep my clothes on.”
What? Her voice is breathy, and big eyes have something else in them now, something sharp. Aware.
“When we talked about this. You said I could keep my clothes on.”
Oh, shit. Is this happening? My cock tries to punch its way past my zipper, and my whole body tenses. A wave of hunger crashes through me, like it’s been waiting for her words.
“Of course. You’re the boss.” I take her mouth, and cradle her head in my hands, tryin’ to tell her all the things I don’t have words for.
“Will you—?” She plucks at my belt, and she eases up onto her knees a few inches. Oh, fuck. We’re doin’ that. Yes. Shit. I scrabble at my belt, get it off, unzip my pants, and my cock springs free, red and throbbing.
I ain’t a small man, and I brace, watch her face. She’s backed up a bit to perch right above my knees. She’s eyein’ me.
“Baby, we don’t have to—” She shuts me up with a finger on my lip.
“Don’t say anything. Just…just let me.” She reaches out, sort of pets me, and my cock leaps at her touch. She snatches her hand back, and then she giggles, nervous, and reaches out again. She wraps her palm around me this time, and it feels so fucking good. I’ve got my hands dug into the sheets so I don’t do something stupid like roll her over and drive into her. I haven’t even touched her pussy. This is some more exploring. We’re goin’ slow. I knew this was how it’d have to be. I’m good.
And then she reaches under her dress and tugs off her panties. They’re white and cotton, and from what I know of women, not the kind they wear when they was plannin’ to fuck.
My chest gets tight. I’m fuckin’ terrified. Crista crawls back closer to me on her knees. She settles over my cock, and oh fucking Lord, I can feel her hot pussy against the tip of my cock. It’s all I can do not to strain for her. She settles her skirt over us so I can’t see, and she’s got her eyes closed. She’s biting that bottom lip again.
“We don’t have to do this if you ain’t ready, baby.”
She shushes me. And then she wraps her fingers around my cock again, and sort of readjusts herself until I’m between her lips. She’s soft—so fuckin’ silky soft—and hot, but she ain’t wet.
She strokes up her pussy with my cock, slow, back and forth. Her face is all serious concentration. I don’t know what to do, and I’m so scared to make the wrong move. My cock ain’t got no such compunction, though. It jerks against her, seeking, dripping precum. She uses it to get some lubrication going, and fuck, I’m panting now.
She notches the head of my cock inside her. She’s a little wet, but it ain’t enough.
“Hold up.” I spit in my palm and reach under her dress, try to help, but she’s ignoring me, bearing down, and then there’s enough slick for me to slip in. Oh, God. It feels so fucking good.
Half of me is watching her face for any sign she’s not okay, and the rest of me is so high, in heaven, wrapped in her tight heat as she inches down my cock. She’s kneading my shoulders, kind of mumbling to herself, and I can’t make out the words, but I know enough not to interrupt.
Her face squinches the deeper I go, and then I’m in to the hilt, and all of nature is urging me to thrust, but I stay still, centered on my woman, and after a long moment, she starts to move.
She buries her face in the crook of my neck, mumbling into my skin, as she works her hips. I don’t know what else to do but hold her close, and as the friction steals my sense, pushing me further and further out of my mind, and my cock begins to pulse and balls contract, I start mumbling back.
“I love you, baby. Your pussy is so sweet. I love you. Don’t stop. Keep goin’. I love you.”
And when I can’t take another minute, she sinks down ’til I bottom out, lifting her head and opening her beautiful eyes. My spine tingles, and I shout, cum shooting from my cock, and it’s so good, and I know she didn’t cum, but her eyes are clear and locked on mine, and it’s there, so plain that anyone could see.
Fear.
Fearlessness.
And love.
CHAPTER 10
CRISTA
It’s been a week since we did it at the clubhouse.
Every night since, when I come to bed in my sweats, something in Scrap’s eyes dies.
He’s even more careful with me now. He tries to talk about it. When we’re hanging in the backyard, reading. When we take Frances for a walk.
I don’t want to talk about it. I never thought I’d do it. Never. Not in a million years. Even now, I can hardly believe I did. But there was something about that night. About kicking that guy’s ass. And how fucked up is that?
I don’t want to be a head case anymore. I want to be normal. I want to fuck my boyfriend and get off. I want to go to the grocery store by myself to get steaks to surprise him instead of waiting for him to get home from the garage so we can go together.
I’m so done with waiting to be fixed. A little voice whispers to me what needs to be done. What’s in the way. I recoil from the thought, shove it deep down.
We’re going to do it tonight. Just like we talked about. I’m going to lay on the bed. Take my pants off. Let him see the scars and lick my pussy.
There’s a little thrum of excitement in my lower belly, but mostly there’s the churn of nausea and panic. It’s not just gonna go away. I need to stop being a coward. Do something for once.
“Babe? You okay?” Scrap eyes me as he turns off the car.
“Yeah.” I hop out and hurry to unload the trunk. I haven’t exactly updated Scrap on my plans. I’ll be making it clear soon enough, I guess.
After I haul up the first load of groceries, I let Scrap bring up the rest of the bags, and I go hide in the bathroom. Grinder is out—probably at the clubhouse—and Frances is asleep in his bed. It threw me for a minute when I was checking the rooms. The lump in the bed stunk like Grinder, but the foot sticking out of the covers was furry.
In the bathroom, I suck down some deep breaths. I don’t have to do this. Scrap will have no problem just grilling steaks. He’s so stoked about grilling. It’s weird.
Sometimes I forget he’s been away for ten years. And then he’ll say something like where did the Sears go or what’s Alexa. He never talks about his time at Wayne, and I never ask. There’s a lot we don’t say.
I splash some water on my face and pee. If I’m going to do this, I should take a shower. That requires getting naked, though, and the only way I’m going to be able to do this is if I pretend until the very last possible moment that I am not going to get naked.
Scrap’s thumping around in the kitchen, putting stuff away. I brush my teeth. I dribble a little down the front of my hoodie. Crap. The hoodie needs to come off anyway, I guess. I unzip it and hang it from the back of the door. Underneath, I’m wearing a men’s ribbed tank top-style undershirt. My white bra-from-a-box shows clearly underneath. It’s the kind that has three clasps and no frills. I’m
really going to do this wearing this bra?
It’s not like my mom’s bra. It’s the same one she wears. She buys them for us both from General Goods.
I undo it and wriggle it off under my tank tops. Now you can see my nipples. That’s hot, right?
Oh, shit. Can you see the scars through the material, too?
I tug the curtains open wide for maximum sun and pull the tank taut against my skin. Nips, yes. Scars, no. My panic recedes a few inches. I can do this. He’ll see some, but he won’t see it all. And I can say stop whenever I want.
If I want to, I can go out to the kitchen right now and say, “Want to watch London Has Fallen?” And Scrap will definitely want to watch London Has Fallen.
There’s a soft knock at the door. I jump in my skin.
“You freakin’ out in there?” Scrap’s voice is low and amused.
“Yes.”
“How come?”
“No reason,” I lie. “Like always.”
“Cool. I’m gonna go lay down, and play that game Dizzy’s kid put on my phone.”
“Fortnite?”
“Yeah. That’s it.”
Okay. He’s making this easy for me. He’ll be in the bed, and I can saunter in all sexy. It’ll go from there.
I put on some deodorant and consider my jeans. They’re not boyfriend cut; they’re literally a pair of Bullet’s old jeans, baggy and faded. They’re comfy and…not sexy. They’ve got to come off. I could drop them, like a strip tease. Scrap would know right away what I’m about.
I should take them off now. The tank top, too. Like ripping off a Band Aid.
Shit. What am I doing? This is not sexy at all. It’s one in the afternoon, I’m sober, and this is going to be so awkward.
I sink down on the closed toilet seat.
I need to face facts. There’s no way around the awkward. Like Dr. Ang says, recovering from trauma isn’t getting back to normal, it’s getting used to your new normal.
Working myself up to have sex mid-afternoon with my hot boyfriend while working through the beginnings of a panic attack is my normal.
So what if my normal is weird? Whose isn’t?
Scrap: A Steel Bones Motorcycle Club Romance Page 13
