“Mireya,” he says, clearing his throat and looking down at the floor. His sandy hair falls over his forehead and obscures his eyes. Good move. If Mireya gets even the smallest inkling that he's pitying her, she's going to flip the fuck out and kick some ass. That is for fucking sure. “Tomorrow, Amy's friend is going to be joining us.” He pauses again, like he isn't sure he wants to ask what he's about to ask.
“And?” she asks, ignoring me purposely and watching Amy take in her wild femininity with furtive glances. I doubt she's had much exposure to strong women like Mireya Sawyer. Poor Amy could use a good role model, and God, Mireya, whether she knows it or not, is the perfect example of overcoming hardship. She's got a spirit made of steel and a take-no-crap attitude that makes me want to stand by her side forever, fight whatever battles she sends me into. I'd defend this woman to the end of the earth.
I watch her, standing there unashamedly with her body on display, proud of who and what she is and know that she's not simply a woman in a man's world. Mireya is much more than that. She's a woman who takes the norm and flips it on its head, even though she doesn't realize that she's doing it.
I smile, and she glares at me.
“What're you smirking at, asshole?” she growls as I push past her, purposely rubbing my erection against her thigh as I squeeze by. She notices. I know she does.
“Well, the girl's going to need a sponsor,” he begins and already, Mireya's shaking her head.
“Nuh uh. Not happening, Sparks. Go fuck yourself.” Mireya steps back and starts to slam the door when I put my hand out and stop it, the muscles in my biceps bunching above Sawyer's head. She looks up at me, and then turns so that she's glaring at me over her shoulder.
“I need a woman I can trust to take the girl in,” Austin pleads, moving forward and reaching out a hand. I give him a look before he can make contact with Mireya's arm. Touching her right now would probably be a bad idea. Can't imagine that she'd take it well. She rolls her eyes and looks back around, past Austin and straight at Amy. “I've already got a prospect, and Amy's still learning the ropes herself.” He tries to smile. “Please? I'd owe ya one.”
“Why should I bother with this chick?” She pauses and clenches her jaw tight. “I don't even have a fucking bike.” Austin's brows pinch together and he opens his mouth to speak when I drop my hand to Mireya's shoulder and slide the other up the back of her robe. Goose bumps rise across her skin, but surprisingly, she doesn't stop me. Instead, I feel a flare of warmth from her, almost like she was waiting for this. Hot damn. Neither Austin nor Amy sees.
“Ain't any good spots in town to buy a bike here, but what if we stopped on the way to Fort Walton and hooked her up with something good. I mean, if she's going to have a prospect, the woman needs a bike, right?” Austin pauses and glances back at Amy who's no longer smiling. She nods her chin once and he sighs, running a hand through his blonde hair.
“It's not exactly in the budget,” he says. “But if you'll agree to take Christy on, then I suppose we could make it work. I need somebody to really make her feel welcome. It's not gonna be easy.”
“Fine. But I want something nice. If you try to saddle me with a Suzuki Savage, I'll kick you in the balls and throw the girl off the back. Got it?” Before Austin can answer, Mireya's slamming the door and spinning around. My fingers glide along her hip as she turns, and I clamp down hard, pulling her against me, reigniting the passion I felt in the garage. “What the fuck do you think you're doing?” she asks, but she doesn't throw me off. Good sign. “You had your chance tonight and you blew it.”
I frown at her, but I manage to catch her gaze. Something ain't right. She looks like she's been crying maybe? What the fuck? I almost ask if she's alright, but manage to catch my tongue in time. Mireya isn't about to spill her heart out to little old me.
“I didn't want to share you with another woman,” I tell her instead. “I don't want to share you with anyone. How about I save all the fuckin' for you?” She rolls her eyes and pushes away from me, untangling herself from my arms in a cloud of perfume, trailing flowers and sweet soap behind her as she moves away, dark hair wet, trailing down her back and begging me to bury my face in the crook of her neck.
“Gaine, you've obviously got some issues. Your mama abandon you as a child or something? If you need somebody to help you through your mommy issues, find another old lady to do it with.”
“Oh come on now, Mireya. You know my attraction for you has got nothin' to do with that. Fuck, if I had mommy issues, don't you think I'd have played 'em out with Old Barbie.” I see her lip twitch, I know I do. Old Barbie's the oldest person, man or woman, that's in Triple M. She's so old, her wrinkles have got wrinkles. Woman's got deeper lines than the Grand Canyon and hair that's gone white but still in dreads. Bitch is tough as leather. “And much as I fancy her, I want more than sex in my life.”
“I'm telling Barb you're talkin' nasty about her,” Mireya says, dropping her robe off her shoulders and tossing it onto the chair near the window. “Is that why you always look so far away when you're fucking? Thinking about that old bat, hmm?” I watch Mireya's body, curvy and muscular, feminine but strong, as she moves over to her bag and starts to dig through the fabric, either unaware of the effect on me or not caring that she's got me all hot and fucking bothered. My hands are trembling and my throat's gone dry.
I'm standing here watching a round, firm ass move around the room draped in lace. Any red-blooded man would go nuts in my position. Doesn't help that I'm head over the heels for the girl.
“You know it,” I say, but my voice doesn't hold any laughter. Instead, it comes out in a croak, like if I let forth all that I was feeling inside, that I'd explode. I don't want to go back to joking around and pretending that I just want to be friends with benefits like she and Austin were.
I watch as Mireya pulls out a pair of faded jeans and sets them aside. It's just busy work, what she's doing, pretending to set out her outfit. I've never seen her plan out her clothes even an hour in advance. She's avoiding me. I think about whether I should talk about what happened downstairs and decide against it. No. No. Maybe Beck, asshole that he is, is right? Maybe I've been going about dealing with Mireya in all the wrong ways? She's a woman, sure, but that doesn't mean she necessarily wants to talk everything out.
Instead, I step forward and come up behind her, pressing my erection against the silken crease in her panties, smelling her floral perfume and letting it sit on my tongue when I open my mouth to whisper in her ear.
“Somehow though,” I begin as she stiffens in my arms. “The only woman I can imagine that's prettier than Old Barb is standing right in front of me.” Mireya shakes her head and her wet hair slides along my face.
“I'm going to tell her you said that,” she says, grabbing the zipper on her duffel and sliding it closed. All she's managed to dig out are a pair of jeans and a black thong. I smile when she spins and turns to face me, our mouths so close we could kiss if either of us took a single breath. “She's a jealous bitch, too. I once saw her shoot a man in the foot for even looking at another woman.” Mireya shrugs, but I can tell from the look in her eyes that even she knows we're past the jokes and the silly sayings and the gossip. I don't want that anymore and she knows it. “I don't want to belong to anybody, Gaine,” she says and her voice starts off more tender than I've ever heard it, fading just a bit when she says my name so that her callous attitude is plastered across her face when she's finished.
“Babe,” I tell her, leaning towards her and pressing my forehead to hers. “You don't need to be.” I lift my face up and press a kiss to her hairline. She's frowning and the skin around her nose is wrinkled, but she isn't pulling away. Or punching me in the balls, so I think we're doin' good. “Because no matter what you say, no matter what you do, I'm yours.”
My hands rise up and slide around her waist, pulling her tight as my lips find hers, hot and bothered and sticky with moisture. The air conditioner doesn't seem to be working right
in this room, so it's a bit hotter than it should be, making Mireya's skin slick where my fingers find it underneath the edge of her lacy nothing. I kiss her the way a woman should be kissed, like there's nowhere else I'd rather be, like I'm worshipping her with my mouth. She's always wearing these fruit flavored lipsticks and whatnot, so I'm used to that taste. Only problem is, it isn't her. The lipstick isn't what I want to savor when my mouth is up tight to hers. Tonight, for what may very well be the first time, she's au naturel, no makeup, just soft skin and lips that hold no lies, only secrets. Wonder if I can kiss them all out of her?
I hold her gentle at first, like she's made of glass. I can't help it. I'm a man, and I love a woman. I want to protect her, to treat her nice, keep her safe. But then I think about how strong she is, how independent. Maybe I don't need to be so careful? Maybe my slow approach, my caution, that's what's fuckin' me hard?
So I squeeze tighter, flexing my muscles so that Mireya's pressed so hard into me that her breasts bulge out above the wire in her corset, rising full and golden against my chest. I can't hold back any longer, so I dig my fingers into her back, pressing against her skin through the ribbons that lace up her top, and hold onto the edges. It doesn't take much. Just a quick surge of strength and the two sides pull apart, bows unraveling until the purple ribbon is sliding to the floor in a pool of satin.
The whole time, I don't take my mouth off of hers. If I do, she'll start to protest, I know she will. I can't let her find a reason to quit because out of principle, she will. That's Mireya Sawyer for ya.
I use my body to maneuver us to the side, pushing her back until her knees hit the bed and she collapses with me on top. Her legs spread with a groan and her fingers easily find my belt buckle, unhooking it with expertise and letting it hang, metal clanking as she undoes my zipper.
My tongue hooks around hers, teasing and tangling, fighting against the rage that always seems to build up inside of her during sex. Sometimes, I can tell she wants to quit, to walk away and never look back. Sex hasn't always been good to Mireya Sawyer. My hands clench painfully around the comforter as I struggle to control my own anger at Bested by Crows. Just the simple thought of anyone fucking with this woman makes me want to destroy the damn world. To know it actually happened? Agony. I'm going to find every last fuck that made her suffer, and I'm going to rip their damn heads off. Beating their bikes up before felt good, but it wasn't enough. I don't know if it'll ever be enough, not until they've suffered even half as much as she has.
I push down my urges and try to help her through hers, moving my hands up her sides and grabbing the corset, pulling it out from between us just as Mireya frees my cock, letting it spring forward into her hand where she grips it tight and unyielding, holding hard enough that her grip straddles that line between pleasure and pain. Her nails dig into my skin enough to bite but not bleed. She knows me so fucking well, it's scary. Wonder if she knows how easily she reads me.
The corset goes flying and suddenly my hands are on her breasts, kneading and massaging the soft flesh, teasing her dark nipples into points as I groan into her mouth and taste sweet surrender. It's not complete, but it's there, just enough that she can let go of her anger and enjoy herself. In the morning, she'll be back to normal, pretending like nothing at all ever happened between us, but I can feel it. One day, I'd like to see how far I can get her to go, how deep she'll let me dig. Right now, this is enough, just holding her is enough.
We come up for air, and she releases my dick, drawing a disappointed groan from my lips. My shirt comes up and off, and soon, our sweaty flesh is pressed together, sliding wet and moist across one another as the air conditioner sputters to life behind us for a brief moment before dying away again.
I tangle my hand in her wet hair and wrap it around my knuckles, pulling gently, bringing her mouth up to mine for another kiss. Down below, she pushes aside her panties and guides me into her warmth, letting my cock slide slippery and slick into that silken wetness. I can feel the muscles in my back and ass clenching tight, holding me back from going bat shit friggin' nuts and fucking her so hard she screams. For a split second, I don't think I'm going to be able to control myself, that all of my emotions and my want and my need are going to come out right here and now and make themselves known. But at the last moment, I hold it back and dive into her with controlled thrusts, sliding my dick along her ridges, teasing her thrashing body into bucking twitches and drawing guttural groans from her smooth throat.
My hands move down and cup her ass, drawing her closer to the edge of the bed, so I can find my feet and use the power of my entire body to pleasure her. I stand up tall and let my head fall back, eyes drifting to the ceiling as Mireya hooks her ankles behind my back and holds on for dear life, letting me slam her into the bed over and over again, shaking the whole damn thing enough that I'm pretty fucking sure our downstairs neighbors are gettin' an earful.
“Fuck, Mireya,” I say because that's all I really can say. There are a whole host of other things that want to come out, but I keep 'em back because I have to. The last time I let loose, I told her I loved her and she pulled away from me like I was nuts. Now, I have a stupid ass heart tattoo on my shoulder and every damn day I get to look in the mirror and get reminded that she doesn't love me back.
“Fuck you, Gaine,” she growls as her back arches and her body spasms tight around me. She says that all the time because, well, she is Mireya friggin' Sawyer. “Fuck you to hell and back!” she screams as she claws at the bedding with her long, red nails, tears the comforter to shit and comes all over me, drenching me with her warm heat. I seriously love this woman so fucking hard. I pause for a moment, body pulsing, muscles flexing involuntarily. I want to spill my seed inside of her, but I hold back. We should be using a condom, and even though I know the damn pull out method is shit halfway out a bull's ass, it's better than nothing.
When Mireya releases me, I move back and she pushes herself up on shaky arms. I notice she won't meet my eyes this time, staring at any and everything else in the room as she stands up on quivering legs and flicks the switch on the lamp, plunging us into darkness punctuated only by breath and the beating of heavy hearts.
When she falls to her knees before me and takes my cock into her mouth, I wonder if things will ever change, if they'll ever be different, if Mireya will ever love me the way I love her.
As she slides that perfect mouth along my cock, teases my balls with her fingers and whispers curse words against my skin, I know that I don't rightly give a fuck. If I have to chase after her forever, then I'll do it. After all, what's the fun in catching something that's easy? It's all about the challenge, ain't it?
I come inside Mireya's mouth and I whisper the words in my head that I don't dare to say aloud.
I love you, Mireya fucking Sawyer.
I slept with Gaine even though I knew it was a bad idea. Something was different about last night. Something is different about me, and I don't fucking like it. Damn you, Tray. Cock sucker. Fuck wad. Pendejo. I run my hands down my face and stare at myself in the mirror. I wish the asshole had a grave, so I could go and dance on it, maybe spit at the dirt and swear a lot. Instead, his body's probably been swept up by the police, quickly cremated and forgotten about. Nobody pushes hard to find out who murdered a loser fucking criminal. Still, I know that it's his death that's doing this to me, making me act so strange, so … vulnerable. I shiver. Vulnerable is not a good place to be, not for anyone, especially not for a woman in a world of bikers.
I slide my red lipstick across my mouth and promise myself that the heavy makeup isn't a mask, that I don't use it to hide how I'm feeling inside. Might be a lie, but it makes me feel better. I pucker my lips and slide my finger into my mouth to remove any excess before grabbing my jacket and heading out the door.
With my fingers clamped around the handle I pause and glance back at Gaine.
He's still sleeping, lying out naked on his back with a damn hard-on. Staring at his sleeping face, his stu
bbled jaw, his fall of dark hair, I almost, almost feel a smile twitch my lips. At the last second I manage to push it back, muttering under my breath about the young, useless piece of ass that was crowding my bed last night.
When I get into the hallway, I see that Amy Cross is already waiting for me.
“I was just about to knock,” she says with a smile. I stare at her, and I don't bother to hide my distaste. She might think I hate her because Austin likes her better than me. While I'm not going to lie and say that I don't feel any animosity towards her for that, it isn't why I feel so angry when I look at her. Amy might not have had a perfect life, but she had an okay one, and she threw it away to come live this life. While I can't deny that the open road has its appeal, that wind in your face and metal between your thighs is its own sort of heaven, I can tell you that I wouldn't have given up a cushy existence to come out here completely unprepared and vulnerable. Amy Cross is like a sitting duck, waiting to be manipulated. If she were to be kidnapped by another gang, I don't even want to think about what would happen to her. So I'm pissed off. I'm pissed at her, at Austin, at the world. I'm just mad about freaking everything, so I take it out on everyone. It might not be right, but that's where I'm at for the time being.
“Where's Austin?” I snap at her, taking in her obviously new jeans, her crisp T-shirt. Somebody went clothing shopping this morning. I frown and try not to let my face go into an all out scowl. Once it gets there, it's hard to pull it back. Little Amy with the heart shaped face might not be able to handle my full wrath. She looks over her shoulder at the cracked door across the hall. Inside, I can hear Kimmi and Austin arguing about something in low voices.
Fucking bank robbers.
Jesus, who would have known?
“So what, I'm supposed to take you to this bar?” I quip, wrinkling my nose and checking the tire iron I shoved into the back of my jeans. I've got a knife in the front pocket and a hand covered in rings, just in case. I'm prepared for anything at anytime. Bested by Crows will be back, and they will be looking for me. If they catch me off guard, I will suffer, no ifs, ands, or buts about it.
Loving Me, Trusting You Page 6
