by Tara Oakes
LONG RIDE
The Slayers MC
Book Three
TARA OAKES
This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.
First edition. April 25, 2016
Copyright c. 2016
Twelve Oakes Publishing, Inc.
Cover designed by CBB Productions
Edited by Dana Hoffman
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favorite ebook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
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ALSO BY THIS AUTHOR:
THE KINGSMEN SERIES
Book #1: A LIL' LESS BROKEN
Book #2: A LIL' LESS LOST
Book #3: A LIL' LESS HOPELESS
Book #4: BITTER SWEET DECEPTION
Book #5: BITTER SWEET BEGINNINGS
Book #6: BITTER SWEET CRAVINGS
THE CHIANTI KISSES SERIES
Book #1: BABY V
Book #2: BOSS
Book #3: BETRAYED
MY SOUL TO WAKE
Book #1: STAIN
THE BADGE BOYS SERIES
Book #1: PRETTY BOY
Book #2: DARK WEB
THE “A” LIST SERIES
Book #1: ALL THE PRETTY LIGHTS
CHAPTER ONE
BABY
I feel his hand roam.
First over my hip, then back and forth, inching its way closer down to my inner thigh. His strong fingers know exactly where they’re headed, having memorized the path years ago.
He follows it now, tickling the smooth skin along the way.
I’ve dreamt of this for months, imagined it, remembered what it felt like.
That was the best that I could do under the circumstances. Well, that and doing it myself, imagining it was him instead. Now that I have him back, it’s like a cruel twist of fate that the one thing I want more than anything right now, the one he needs desperately, I can’t give him.
Stitch finds his target, and begins to push aside the cotton of my panties, slipping his fingers deep between my legs to claim what’s his, what’s always been his.
His and no one else’s.
Stitch took my heart, and everything that came with it, back when we were just teenagers.
My Ol’ man has always had an insatiable appetite for pussy. It’s one of the things I love most about him. The fact that I can’t satisfy that need right now is beyond frustrating.
“Two more weeks, Stitch. Doc says,” I mumble into the pillow, but make no effort to pull my hips away. Even though this is just a little tease, at least it’s something.
I haven’t had him in me for almost ten months, not since he got locked up. This torture may not give me the release I need, but at least it’s a taste of what I’ve been missing. I may not be foaming at the mouth for it like he’s been lately, but that doesn’t mean I don’t have the needs, too.
“Fuck the Doc. He’s not the one who has to sleep next to you every night, feeling every single fucking curve and waking up with wood, knowing he can’t fucking do what he needs to with it. He’s not the one who’s been sitting in a jail cell with nothing but your damn picture to jack off to, either,” Stitch breathes into the back of my neck, stroking the little area behind my ear with his tongue.
“Let me put it in, just once. You know you want me to, Baby. God, I miss feeling you wrapped around me. Miss it when you come hard enough to squeeze my cock until I think I’m gonna burst.” His teeth nip at my ear lobe.
I feel the very healthy hard-on he’s working against my leg, grinding in sync with how his fingers move along my wet center.
“Mmmm… you’re fucking drenched. That’s Mother Nature’s way of telling you that you’re ready. Fuck the two weeks.” There’s frustration in his voice.
It’s been the same scenario every morning. Each night isn’t much different, either, and in between let’s just say he gets creative while begging.
There’s only one thing that will hold him off, one thing that comes in as a close second, enough to put him off for a few more hours until he begs again.
His free hand snakes between my waist and the mattress, searching for my breast.
“Come on, Baby. I’m dyin’ here,” he makes an impassioned plea.
I roll towards him, losing the connection his hand has on my clit, sacrificing it so that I can tend to him the way he needs me to. I’m in nothing other than a nightshirt and some panties, but it’s enough for the material to pull and twist as I move, tightening around me.
Once fully turned, I slip my arms under the shirt and pull, freeing it from my body. He watches, carefully studying every move like a starving man watching a steak being prepared.
The tattoo work sprawled across his chest is on full display. A few new ones had been added while he was serving time, and I steal a glance at them whenever I can, adding them to the mental collage I have of his ink.
As seductively as I can, I move one knee to slide over his tight stomach, slipping it in place so that I’m now straddling him, resting my drenched panties just above the waistband of his black boxers.
“What do you need, babe?” I ask teasingly as if I don’t already know the answer.
He licks his lips, eyes locked on my chest. He’s always been a boob guy, which was lucky for me, but, ever since I gave birth last month he’s been obsessed with how large they’ve gotten.
“Depends on what you’ve got planned…” His voice has the same southern drawl it always has, the one that makes you hang onto every word.
I press my hips down and he hisses, eyes rolling back deliciously. I can feel the hardness of his cock from under me practically pulsating as I move back and forth over the cotton covered shaft.
“How about a little sample for now? Just to remind you what you can have in two weeks?” My head tilts, letting my hair fall down my back, leaving my front unobstructed for his viewing pleasure.
Tightening my abs, I use my core to steady myself as I buck my hips back and forth, causing a building friction, sliding over his boxers, grinding deeper into him.
I know this won’t satisfy either of us for very long, given the look in his eye.
His heavy hands slap down on my ass, one cheek in each palm, and help to guide me deeper and harder into his groin, leaving me no choice but to brace my arms straight out against his chest as I moan.
Our eyes lock on each other’s and we ride together for as long as we can tolerate the tease. He knows what this position does to me, he knows the way my thighs tighten at his sides when the build becomes too much.
I’m almost there now, panting and biting my lip as his boxer-covered cock plays me expertly.
“That’s it, Baby. Let me watch you come.” I can hear the excitement in his voice, as if it feels almost as good to him watching as it does to me riding.
We’ve had to find creative ways to satisfy each other these last few weeks, unable to do what we know the other truly wants. What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger. At this point we’re like fucking iron men in this arena.
Feeling the strength of his hands on my body after so long is intoxicating. I’ve missed it. The power they have to guide me to do exactly what he wants, while letting me have the control I need, is like nothing else.
My breath hitches and catches as my lungs spasm from the
burst of adrenaline, while my body powers through its orgasm, reaching the pinnacle. My legs clamp down on his firm hips to slow the movement, unable to take any more, shaking.
Stitch breathes slowly, controlling his own built-up excitement, allowing me the time to recover as he gently massages my legs, my back. My body turns soft, mellow as the aftereffects of the release surge throughout.
I needed that.
Now, his turn. He’s always a gentleman and makes sure I come first, but that doesn’t mean his need is any less than it was. I take the time I need, but don’t waste a second more.
Bending forward and dropping down to his chest, I kiss the trail of tattoos until I reach the most beautiful of them all. My name over his heart. He had gotten it when he was barely nineteen.
I remember the day he told me he wanted to do it. He wanted to show me that his heart belonged to me, along with everything else. My lips touch the inked area, setting down tiny kisses over the branding.
It hasn’t changed much over the years. Sure the skin used to be a little smoother. Maybe the ink was even a little brighter back then. But, it’s real. It’s faded. It’s weathered. And, it’s still there.
Just like our love for each other.
His chest rises and falls dramatically under me, and I know I don’t have much time to work with. Inching my way down, I kiss a path down his center, stopping only to nip at the notched “v” of his hip before taking hold of the waist of his boxers and pulling down, leaving his gorgeous cock to spring to life, hitting me in the chin softly.
Using my tongue, I bathe the head with the warmth from my mouth, flicking the underside like I know he loves. It’s my go-to move whenever I want to add a little something special.
Once the black briefs are down low enough, I take him in both my hands and position myself above, mouth open, slowly descending on him until every single inch is hidden within my hollowed cheeks.
His body strains, I can feel it quiver from struggling to hold him in deep.
“Fuck, Baby!” His head lifts up to see the sight and he gathers my hair, holding it piled high above my head to prevent it from hiding any of the view.
I control myself, regulating the shallow bits of air in and out so that I can keep him here on the edge as long as possible. It feels like an eternity, listening to him moan, feeling the muscles of his legs tighten. I have no doubt that his toes are curled by now.
Unable to hold him in any longer, I release with a popping sound as his glistening cock is left standing erect, begging for more. My throat relaxes, suppressing the choking gag that his massive size was triggering.
I use the wet coating that’s left to dry on his shaft to slide against my body as I lean forward, guiding the rounded tip of him through the valley between my breasts. Back and forth, I let him slide. Up and down. Over and over again. The smooth head of his erection appears and disappears with ease through the tight space between my breasts. With each push it makes up through the cleft, his length is such that he nearly reaches my lips, making me beg to taste him again.
One last guided thrust up and I give in, letting my breasts fall aside so that I can devour him once more with the scorching heat of my watering mouth. The very first time I deep throat him once more, I feel a salty trickle of his pre-cum baptize my tongue.
There’s a deep muted thud as his head falls back against the pillow. His breathing is loud and husky.
I double my efforts, knowing I have him right where I want him. Snaking my tongue around him, I swirl over the smooth skin of his length, feeling the veiny protrusions of his near orgasm.
Stitch’s hand that’s clenching my hair tightens its hold, urging me to finish him quickly. His hips raise themselves, fucking my mouth with his cock.
I know he loves this, but I think I may actually love it more, knowing I have the power to give him this pleasure.
“Baby, I…” his words trail off into incomprehensible sounds as his body moves involuntarily, shuddering while coming hard, pouring down my throat. “Drink it, Baby.”
And I do. Every. Last. Drop.
~*~
“Heading out.”
Stitch’s voice is hushed as he steps into the nursery, wearing his black hoodie, the dark mussy hair on his head still damp from the shower.
I’m rocking the baby, pacing back and forth in front of the white painted crib that used to be her daddy’s when he was her age. Stitch’s mom, Fanny, had found it buried somewhere in her basement months ago and had it restored as a baby shower gift.
“She fussin’?” My Ol’ man leans carefully over my shoulder checking for himself.
I feel his towering form close behind and it makes me feel safe, safer than I’ve felt in a long time. All the months he was gone, I could only close my eyes and imagine him there to try and remember what this felt like.
“Nah. She’s quieting down.” I’m afraid to jinx it.
Lu isn’t the best sleeper and I can’t help but wonder if it’s Nana’s way of playing a little joke on us from up in Heaven. Just like her namesake, my nana Lucille, baby Lu is up at the earliest crack of dawn, and too restless to find much rest before then.
My nana was always busy taking care of Gramps to have one still minute to herself. Her great granddaughter in my arms takes right after her.
Stitch is still a little nervous around her, leaving most of the holding and rocking to me, afraid he’ll break her. Very cautiously, he lets his arms wrap around me so that his hand is close enough to her cradled head in the crook of my elbow. His big strong thumb sweeps over her plump little cheek lovingly.
“She’s gonna be a heartbreaker just like her momma when she grows up,” he marvels at the little person we’ve made.
I nearly laugh. “Yeah? Then it’ll be your job to chase away the boys when they come sniffin’ around.”
Stitch playfully growls from somewhere deep down. “I’ll chase every single one of those fuckers away from her with a fist, a bat, and a gun. None of ‘em are gettin’ close to my little princess.”
I know he can’t see it, but I roll my eyes anyway. “Oh? I seem to recall my daddy chasing you away with a fist, a bat and a gun. Didn’t do any good.”
His weight shifts behind me before I feel his heavy right hand grab my hip closest to him and pull me in to spoon against him. “No matter how hard he tried, you just kept comin’ back for more. Had a thing for the bad boys. And the bike.”
Playfully, I elbow him in the ribs.
He’s got a point though. I remember the very first time I saw him. My friend Amanda and I had gone to the mall one day after school. I was fifteen. He was a few years older. He was only a prospect for the club back then, paying his dues to become the full-fledged member he is now. He may not have had all of his patches yet, but the leather on his back alone was enough to make me wet my panties just looking at him.
He noticed me checking him out, I got him to admit that to me years later, and he made sure he gave me plenty of eye candy to look at. Bulging muscles. Dark sunglasses. Jeans that were tight in all the right places.
The thing that got me though? That sealed the deal and made me want him? His bike.
The first time I heard that old Harley start up was the very first time I came. Anyone who tells you that you can’t have an orgasm from listening to that… they’re lying.
“Well what if she takes a liking to a bad boy with a bike?” I tilt my chin down to reference our daughter.
Stitch pushes my hair aside exposing the skin of my neck. His lips find their way to it and suck hard enough to make my knees weaken.
“Over my dead body. Her momma may have fallen for a biker, but she’s not even going to get the chance. I’m looking into convents now.” He slaps my ass hard, squeezing a handful of the few extra pounds of baby weight that I haven’t lost yet. “Be back after dinner.”
Lu stirs in my arms from the voices and I move to console her before it becomes a full-blown tantrum.
“Be safe!” I call over
my shoulder as her leaves.
For Lu’s sake, I hope Stitch is right. I hope she never falls for a biker, especially a member of the Slayers MC like I did. Every time he steps out that door, I worry. With good reason, too.
This is no easy life.
It’s not one I would want for her.
CHAPTER TWO
STITCH
I feel naked.
No matter how many layers I put on, I feel completely exposed without my leather on. Don’t get me wrong… finally getting sprung out of the joint is worth it, under any conditions. It meant I got to see my kid being born. It means I get to be here for my Ol’ lady and try and make it up to her for being away so long.
But, it also means I have to play by the rules. Their rules. The board of parole.
I gotta keep my nose clean and my hands even cleaner to enjoy the freedoms they’re givin’ me. For a few more months, anyway. Sure, it sounds easy, but, in reality it’s only being able to breathe half way.
The things I do, the club, those aren’t just trivial things that you can give up without feelin’ like something’s missing. I know my leather cut is only a piece of fabric with a bunch of patches sewn on. That’s what it looks like to most people, anyway.
To me? To the club? To anyone else that knows better? It means a hell of a lot more than that.
Every single one of those patches is a part of me, earned the hard way. Every single crease in that leather was put there after years of hard wear. Every tear, every blood stain… they’re all a part of me as much as a scar on my skin would be too, and Lord knows I have enough of them, too.
The most recent one, a long red gash of a line on my stomach, is healing well enough for me to be able to ride my Harley without having to wince in pain behind sunglasses anymore, was earned just the way all the other scars had been.
