Patchwhore

by Kim Jones

  Your tardiness is gonna earn you a spanking from CAPTAIN Drake

  My lip curls in disgust as I hurriedly type out a reply.

  Jealous?

  The correct response was “Only you get to touch me.”

  His message makes me laugh, and I’m thankful for the pack of bikes entering the lot that prevent me from getting out just yet. I want to tease him a little more.

  Does that mean you’re going to deliver his spanking?

  A few minutes pass and so does the line of bikes. It’s now 10:09, and I give up on waiting for his comment. But as I shove the phone in my clutch, it vibrates with a notification. I nearly break my hand trying to retrieve it.

  Are you trying to be funny or just piss me off?

  I’m trying to get a spanking.

  Only seconds pass before I receive his next message.

  Consider it done.

  Heat floods me. I’m wet with desire. His words have me wanting to ask him to join me in the bathroom for a quick repeat of the first time we met. It wouldn’t take long. If a text message can get me this worked up, I’ll be halfway to an orgasm when he looks at me. Then a single swipe of his tongue will be all it takes.

  With that in mind, I exit the car. My movements are fluid, calculated and determined as I stride across the parking lot toward the entrance of the bar. He’s going to touch me tonight. He’s going to eat me. Fuck me. Spank me. The erotic thought makes me feel wanted. Sexy. Like the vixen I saw staring back at me in the mirror.

  I’m transfixed as I pull open the door. I forget why I’m here. My goal. The plan. Drake. And when I realize where I am. Who I am. I discover that I’ve done just as I said I would. I’ve stopped the show.

  There’s a crowd of men and women surrounding me. Someone was talking when I walked in. There was only one voice, but even it faded. Now all I hear is the sound of breathing as every set of eyes in the place is focused on me. But I only notice one.

  Blue crystals of promise stare back at me from the bar. They hold me. Paralyze me. But from a distance, I can still see his mouth. Lips parted. Breathing heavy. Stunned in silenced. Rendered speechless.

  A throat clears, and I follow the sound to Ronnie who steps from the crowd. His wrists crossed at his waist. A beer bottle dangling from his ringed fingers. “You looking for me, sugar? I sure as hell hope so.” A low rumble of laughter sounds around the crowd.

  I respond with a nervous laugh. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to stop the show.” I let my eyes slide to Cook for a second and find him recovered and now smirking.

  “I’m glad you did,” Ronnie says, eliciting another round of laughter from the group. I scan the crowd for Drake, but come up empty. Feeling a little lost and a lot embarrassed, I offer another quick apology to the group and try to shrink inside myself as I move to stand next to Cook.

  The speech resumes. I try to listen, but I can’t focus. I can feel Cook’s eyes burning into me. Looking up, I find him smiling. Then his head dips to my ear.

  “Well played, gorgeous,” he whispers, and I have to bite my cheek to keep from laughing. Beaming up at him, I follow the slight jerk of his head. I’m still smiling when I notice Jud glaring back at me. He looks livid. And I’m surprised when he doesn’t drag his finger across his throat to express how much he wants to kill me. I shoot him a wink.

  When I feel Cook stiffen beside me, I look at him in confusion. He tries to cover up his reaction with a smirk, but it’s clear something is under his skin. Then hands are on my hips and I’m being pulled flush against a body. Lips are at my ear. I’m holding my breath in fear—knowing who it is. Unable to not cringe when I hear his voice.

  “Hey beautiful.”

  Drake.

  “Sorry I’m late,” Drake says, once the crowd starts to disperse. “Ronnie had me doin’ some shit out back.” I cautiously sniff the air as I turn to face him, relieved to find that he smells much better today. And he may have even showered, although his clothes look just as dingy and dirty as they did the other night.

  “Damn, girl.” I allow him to twirl me like a ballerina in a jewelry box. “You fine as hell.” Drake’s compliment doesn’t have the same effect as Cook’s reaction, but I thank him anyway.

  Taking a deep breath, now that I know it’s safe, I force myself to focus on the positive. This is a day of firsts for me. First date since Jud. First ride on a bike. First time I’ve hung out with bikers—sober.

  “So…” I beam at Drake, making myself notice something good about him. His pants are nice. “What we riding?”

  “It’s over here.” Grabbing my hand, he pulls me out of the bar and through the cluster of motorcycles—passing Jud on the way. I don’t give him a second glance as we stop at a bike next to his. It’s has definitely seen better days. The fender is dented. The seat is ripped in some places and patched with duct tape. And the headlight is held in place with a bungee cord.

  “She may not be pretty, but she’s mine.”

  “It’s…” I search for the right words, catching Jud watching us from a few feet away. He’s fuming. Ignoring Clarissa as she rambles on about something. “I love it,” I say, turning back to Drake and offering him a smile.

  He shoots me a smirk, handing me a helmet that looks about as beat up as the bike. “Knew you would.”

  Noticing my struggle to fasten the strap, Drake invades my personal space to assist me. I stare at the few scraggly hairs on his chin to avoid his gaze. After the helmet is secure, he gives me a heated look—his eyes glancing from mine to my lips and back. He wants a kiss. I’d rather hurl.

  The rumbling sound of pipes draw his attention away from me. Everyone is mounting their bikes, firing their engines and pulling out. I clamber on the back of Drake’s bike once he’s on, gripping his shoulders for support.

  “This your first ride?” he asks, glancing at my death grip on his shoulder. I nod nervously, but don’t try to hide my smile of excitement. Despite how much I don’t enjoy being on a bike with him, I can’t deny the thrill of riding.

  “Don’t worry, beautiful.” He winks at me. “I won’t let you fall off.” He turns the key and the bike makes a terrible noise. He tries it again. And again. And again. Then tells me it’s cold natured. I’m not sure how that applies, considering it’s nearly eighty degrees. But I shrug anyway.

  “So where are we going?”

  His hand comes to rest on my knee as he turns to face me. “We got five stops to make then we come back here. At each stop, you get a card. Whoever has the best poker hand at the end of the day, wins the fifty-fifty drawing.”

  “Fifty-fifty?”

  “Yeah. The ride is to raise money for St. Jude. The split is about a thousand dollars. Maybe I’ll win.” He shoots me a grin. Hell, maybe he will win. Then he can afford to fix his bike.

  Looking out at the pack, I notice there are several small groups gathered across the lot. Each group wears a different patch. The group we’re in consists of six people—Drake and Jud being the only two I recognize.

  I scan the crowd again and find Cook near the front of the line. He’s so sexy and confident on his big, black bike that looks like something Batman would ride. His hands rest high on the handlebars, his feet pushing the bike back and forth a few inches as he waits patiently for the ride to start.

  Then, just as Drake tries to crank the bike again, Cook turns and looks at me. When the engine fails to turn over, for the fifth time, he throws his head back on a laugh. I give him the finger, wishing I could see his eyes that are hidden behind his dark glasses. He shakes his head as he lifts one foot from the ground and shifts into gear, then pulls out.

  Finally, Drake manages to get the bike started. But we continue to sit and wait until every other group has pulled out, before falling in behind them.

  The ride doesn’t go as well as I’d hoped it would. When Drake’s bike wasn’t back firing, he was swerving all over the road. Either he was new at riding, or he just sucked at it. By the time we reach the first stop a few miles away,
I feel like I need a Dramamine and a Xanax.

  I stand around the parking lot while Drake and a few other guys tinker with his bike. I do my best to comb out my hair with my fingers while I wait.

  It’s hot. I’m starting to sweat. And I desperately need a mirror. When Drake still hasn’t made a move to go inside after about fifteen minutes, I interrupt his conversation.

  “Drake?” He looks up at me from his squatted position. “Is it okay if I go inside?” His head turns toward the bar, then back at me. A woman with a clipboard starts toward us and he stands quickly.

  Tucking a strand of hair behind my ear, he grins. “Yeah, babe. Go ahead. I’ll be in shortly.”

  I turn on my heel, looking back over my shoulder in time to see Drake pointing at me as he speaks to the woman. Maybe she’s his wife, and we’ll have to cut this date short. Wishful thinking, I suppose.

  Inside, the bar is crowded, loud and smoky. I maneuver through the mass of people and find the bathroom in the back. There’s a line, so I lean against the wall and wait.

  The women are laughing and talking—ignoring me completely. I wonder if Kat is here. At least then I’d have someone to talk to. Even Delilah’s company would be nice. I feel like an outsider. A loner. I thought this would be more exciting.

  “Why the sad face?” I smile at the voice, turning to find Cook standing behind me. His sexy voice and scent is enough to lift my mood. But the sight of him makes me downright happy.

  “I have to pee,” I say, not wanting to give him any reason to tease me. Second to Jud, he’s the one person I don’t want aware of how out of place I feel.

  “Where’s ya boy?”

  I roll my eyes, wanting to smack that grin off his face. “Busy.”

  “Are you Carmen?” My head jerks at the sound of my name to find the lady with the clipboard. She smiles up at Cook a moment, then slides her gaze back to me.

  “I am.”

  “I need you to sign this waiver.” She thrusts the clipboard in my hand. I scan the page as she talks to Cook—asking him how he’s been. He’s cordial, but I can feel his eyes on me.

  After briefly reading the liability form that states the club isn’t responsible in the event of death or injury, I scribble my signature at the bottom and pass it back. She raises an expectant eyebrow at me. “It’s twenty dollars,” she says, holding out her hand.

  “Oh, okay.” I dig in my purse for some cash, but Cook beats me to it. He hands her a twenty, mumbling something under his breath. She snatches the bill from him, quickly waves to us and leaves.

  “You didn’t have to do that,” I say, locating the money in my purse and offering it to him. He dismisses it with a shrug.

  “I’ll get it back later.” There’s a hardness in his voice, and I wonder if he’s going to make me pay for it in another way. My body heats at the thought. “Have fun today, gorgeous,” he says, pushing off the wall.

  I reach out and grab his wrist. “Is Kat here?”

  He nods. “I’ll let her know you’re lookin’ for her.” He looks down at my hand that still holds his wrist. Immediately I release him. I don’t know why his mood changed so quickly. But I don’t think it’s because of anything I’ve done. Then, as if to prove it, he winks at me and smiles—erasing all the tension from his face.

  I watch him walk away—moving through the crowd like a shadow. He arrives at Ronnie’s side and stands next to him, clasping his hands at his waist and remaining silent. Ronnie motions with his fingers and Cook’s head dips so he can hear him. He says something, then both their eyes find me. I quickly look away—thankful the bathroom is now open so I can disappear inside.

  The hours I spent on my hair this morning were a waste. After the humidity and the ride, it’s a frizzy tangled mess. Having no other option, I pile it on my head in a messy bun. Then I touch up my makeup and contemplate using the bathroom. But after a quick deliberation, I decide against it. Fearing I won’t be able to get my pants back up.

  I open the door to find Kat beaming at me on the other side. “Hey there, hot mama.” She gives me a onceover and whistles, smacking her gum in my ear when she pulls me in for a hug.

  “Damn, I’m glad you’re here,” I admit. “I don’t know any of these people.”

  “Well, I’ll just have to introduce you at the next stop.” She grabs my hand and starts pulling me toward a pool table. “Did you get a card?” I shake my head. “Draw one.”

  There are only a few cards left scattered across the table. I pick up the first one I see. It’s an ace of spades. Kat lets out a whoop, and takes the card. I guess I did something right… A man writes something on a piece of paper then hands it to me. It has my name next to Drake’s in parenthesis.

  “Keep that. You’ll need it at every stop,” Kat says, and I wonder why she’s in such a hurry. It’s then that I notice the bar is almost empty. “See you in a few!” She blows me a kiss and sprints across the lot toward the front. I head to Drake’s bike to find it already running. He greets me with a whistle.

  “Ready to ride, beautiful?”

  Hell, I reckon.

  Over the next four stops, I find myself having fun. Kat has been kind enough to help me with my plan—promising to line up some future dates with several of Jud’s brothers. I’d made my one rule clear: the date had to happen wherever Jud was. Considering the bar seemed to be the one and only hangout spot for all of them, she agreed that she’d set all the dates up there.

  I was worried some of the guys might question why or prefer something a little different—a more intimate setting, if you will. She ignored my concern and simply said she’d handle it. I trusted she would.

  Kat also introduces me to a bunch of girls whose names I’ll never remember. They’re friendly enough, but I can tell they’re a little cautious of me. At least they’re kind enough to allow me to hang inside their circle. Although, I’m pretty sure it’s only because I’m with Kat.

  Drake never goes inside the bars. Instead, he stays near his bike with several other guys. I don’t mind it. Actually, I prefer it. I seem to have more fun when he’s not smothering me.

  I see Cook every now and then, but he doesn’t speak. In his defense, he’s always doing something—taking out trash. Emptying ashtrays. Getting beer. Standing next to Ronnie. Looking hot and sexy and edible.

  At the last stop, I’d asked Kat who Ronnie was. The question had our entire table of women growing quiet and looking at me in disbelief. “He’s the president of the Devil’s Renegades, the most prominent MC in this area. And he’s one of the founding members.”

  She’d said it almost reverently. Now I understood why he’d been so popular the first night I’d met him. It was a show of respect for everyone to greet him when they arrived. I couldn’t deny that it made me feel good that someone so important had treated me so well.

  On the final stop before going back to Pop’s, Drake finally came inside. This place was bigger—the main area lined with tables set for eating. As part of the ride, we were served BBQ for dinner. Which I’m pretty sure is the only reason Drake came in.

  I’m sitting at a table with him and his club. The only people from the Eagles who aren’t sitting with us are Jud and Clarissa. Fine by me. They might spoil my appetite.

  The food is delicious, and it has nothing to do with me being as hungry as a hostage. When I’m finished, every one of my fingers is covered in BBQ sauce.

  “Do you know where the napkins are?” I ask Drake, who’s too busy stuffing his face to even look up at me.

  “Ask a Prospect.” This has a few people at the table laughing, but I hardly see what’s so funny. Although I’ve felt like I’ve been in the dark about every conversation they’ve had. Not that I minded. It’s usually about parts and bikes and people I don’t even know.

  I stand and look around, frowning when I don’t see Brett, the prospect from Drake’s club. Then my eyes land on Cook. He’s a prospect. And he’s not doing anything but standing there looking too damn good. So I ma
ke my way over.

  The moment I’m in front of him—sticky BBQ fingers in the air, he smiles. “Hello, gorgeous.”

  “Hey. I was told you have napkins?”

  His brows draw together. “Why would I have napkins?”

  “Well, I asked Drake for some napkins and he said ask a prospect. You’re a prospect, so…”

  He gives me an amused look. “Did he call me a prospect?” He sounds almost hopeful.

  “No. He just said to ask one.”

  “He did, huh?” he mutters, looking over the top of my head toward Drake with a flash of possessiveness in his eyes.

  “Cook,” I snap, bringing his attention back to me. He beams at my annoyance. “Do you have napkins or not? Look at my fingers.” I wiggle my fingers in front of his face. He grabs my wrist. His smile turning wicked—he’s up to no good.

  “Let me see if I can help you out.”

  “Thank you. Who knew napkins…” My voice trails off when he pushes my index finger between his lips. All I can do is stand and stare and drip as he sucks the sauce from my fingers one by one. The heat of his mouth and the swirl of his tongue has me doing the one thing he promised me I would do—remember.

  The soreness lasted for only a day, but every now and then when I move just right, I can still feel how tender I am from what he’d done to me. But now, in this moment, I can feel the ache deep inside me. It’s as fresh as it was the morning after. Or maybe it’s not from what he did, but a longing for him to do it again.

  When he’s sucked my fingers clean on my left hand, he moves to my right. He’s just as thorough. Licking. Sucking. Teasing. Reminding… His fiery blue gaze holds mine. Promising me more delicious torture very soon.

  He gives my pinky a light nibble before pulling it from his mouth. “There,” he says, his voice dark. “Make sure you tell your friend the Prospect didn’t disappoint.”

  I shake my head. “I’m not telling him what you did,” I whisper, my breath coming in quick pants.

  “Fine.” He shrugs. “I’ll tell him myself.”