Off Limits: A Bedlam Butchers MC Romance (The Motorcycle Clubs Book 2)

by Dixon, Ruby

  It doesn’t matter, really. All that matters is that Solo’s next to me, and he’s sucking on my sensitive, sensitive ear as if I’m sexy.

  And God, I’m getting wet just from that small touch.

  I bite my lip, not wanting to whimper out my desire. That would be bad in case someone is still listening. Maybe they didn’t hear our furtive whispers earlier, but that doesn’t mean they wouldn’t hear them now. We have to be quiet.

  Which means he should probably stop fucking my ear with his tongue.

  Not that I want him to stop.

  It’s the best damn thing I’ve ever felt. Better than the time I screwed Lenny in the bed of his pick-up. Better than the time I got inducted to the Lady Killers (who quickly disbanded). Better than the sweetest chocolate. His tongue flicks against the shell of my ear and his teeth nip at my earlobe and I’m pretty sure my hips are bucking against the floor.

  I hear a low, breathless chuckle against my ear, and I realize Solo’s noticed that. Well now, that’s embarrassing.

  Or at least, it is for about two seconds, because his hand slides from my belly to the button of my jeans. He flicks it open and then tugs at my zipper, and the fabric of my jeans grows loose around my hips.

  I inhale sharply through my nose. I should push him away. I really should.

  But instead, my hand snakes up to those thick sideburns that make me so fucking wet, and I stroke his cheek. And oh God, they’re bristly and rough and his jaw underneath is firm and it’s the sexiest thing ever. I might come just from rubbing his jaw. His chin is clean-shaven, but his sideburns creep all the way down to the corners of his mouth. It should look old fashioned and ridiculous, but on him, it looks badass as hell.

  He’s still tonguing my ear, too, though he’s now migrating to pressing kisses on my neck occasionally. I don’t mind this. I’d give up every inch of my flesh if he’d promise to kiss it and make it all better. His hand on my belly finds the waistband of my panties, and then he’s pushing inside, to the curls of my pussy.

  And they’re wet. Wet, wet, wet. Wet because he’s touching me and I’m aroused as fuck when I should be terrified.

  He makes a low sound that I barely hear. He might be pleased. He might be laughing at me. I don’t even know. I’m not entirely sure I care. Maybe he needs a hard yank after tonight’s scare and I’m the only pussy available. Don’t care. I’ll take whatever he hands out, because right now, I’m feeling way too good to tell him to stop.

  I bite my lip as his fingers push through my wet folds, and he strokes them up and down my drenched pussy. Those big fingers push at the entrance to my cunt, and then he’s driving one inside me, and oh, sweet lord, his finger is big and thick and I want to ride it like a pony. A stuttering gasp escapes me despite my best efforts, and the next thing I know, he’s kissing his way over to my mouth, and then his lips cover mine, even as he begins to thrust with his finger. His tongue pushes into my mouth and I welcome it. He tastes like sweat and man and all the things I’ve missed. I kiss him back fiercely, even as my hips start to ride his hand. His tongue begins to spear into my mouth in time with his fingers, and it’s driving me fucking wild.

  Then, his thumb finds my clit and my breath explodes against Solo’s mouth. We devour each other as his thumb begins to flick a rhythm against my clit, even as his finger is buried inside me.

  I cling to him, my fingers digging in to his shoulders as an orgasm blasts through me. I’m doing my best to stay quiet, but as I come, he begins to finger-fuck me again, and I’m so wet that I can hear each drive of his fingers into my quivering flesh. And I come for what feels like forever, and it feels fantastic. It’s de-stressor and distraction all in one.

  By the time my muscles unlock enough for me to sag against Solo’s chest, he’s nipping at my mouth with slow, languid kisses and his finger has stopped thrusting inside me. His hand’s still in my panties, and it’s wet, and I’m wet, and the fabric of my jeans is soaked.

  And I feel so good I want to stretch and curl my toes all at once.

  Solo’s teeth glide along the line of my jaw and his hand slides free from its spot between my thighs. I smell my own musky release for a moment, and then I hear him licking his fingers, sucking my juices off of his hand.

  And okay, that’s pretty fucking hot, too.

  I wonder if he’s come. I didn’t see any indication that he had, but maybe he’s one of those still-waters-run-deep types that don’t blink an eye as they shoot their load. There’s one way to find out, though. I twist around in his grasp until I’m facing his chest and I reach between us and down to his shorts.

  My hand encounters the biggest, hardest erection I’ve ever had gracing my palm. This time, I hear his breath hiss against my skin, and I know he wasn’t expecting that.

  Which, naturally, makes me want to do more. His shorts have an elastic waist, so it’s nothing for me to push into them and into his boxers. And then I’m wrapping my fingers around the biggest, thickest cock I’ve ever had the pleasure of touching. He’s scalding hot, and the fat crown of his dick is dripping pre-cum. I’m dying to taste him, so I drag the pads of my fingers over the head and then lift them to my mouth for a taste.

  Musky and as delicious as I’d expected.

  I must make a sound as I do that, because Solo’s hand grabs my hand from my mouth and then he drags it back to his cock. He pushes his shorts down and now I have free rein to do what I want to him. So I roll my palm over the slick head until my hand is coated with his pre-cum, and then I begin to stroke him. He’s so big my fingertips barely touch on the other side, which is exciting. I can only imagine what this monster in his pants looks like. It feels enormous.

  I stroke him with quick, tight movements, and his face buries against my neck. We’re utterly silent, though to me the air feels heavy with sex. I feel the tension in his body as his hips grind against my thigh, and his cock shuttles in and out of my hand. I squeeze him and change my motions, trying to get him to come as rough and wild as I did.

  Solo’s hand clasps mine and then he’s helping me stroke him off, and I feel emboldened by the power I hold over him. His entire body is tense against mine. He strains against me, his cock pumping into my hand, and then he bites down on my shoulder. I swallow my gasp because it doesn’t hurt as much as it surprises me, and then my hand is covered with hot semen, and he’s coming all over our joined fingers.

  It occurs to me that I have no idea what we’re going to do with the semen coating our fingers since we’re in hiding. I worry about it for all of a second before I decide to be bold and dirty. After all, I’m Lucky, and if this is all I’m going to get before the Henchmen knock me off, I want to experience everything. So I guide his fingers to my mouth and suck them clean, and then I suck my own clean.

  And he’s tense next to me, so I know he’s one hundred percent aware of what I’m doing, and I bet he likes it.

  Even if he doesn’t, I don’t care. This isn’t going anywhere once we climb out of our hiding place. I can be as dirty as I want.

  Now that we’ve made each other come, though, a lot of the tension seems to have gone. The gym is still utterly silent, and I lie in Solo’s arms, wondering what he’s thinking about.

  Is he thinking about Panther? His buddy that died in Afghanistan? And how if we were doing a normal Butchers thing, he’d probably be nailing me at the moment while Solo held me? Or is he glad that he has me all to himself? Or is he wishing he wasn’t here at all?

  I’m lost in these thoughts for what feels like forever. Time passes endlessly slow in our hidey-hole, and things are now getting stifling. Plus, the crotch of my jeans is damp from where I came, and I’m getting hungry. Not that these things compare to getting ganked by the Henchmen, so I’m quite happy to hide out a bit longer.

  But maybe Solo’s tired of being here with me. I feel his body tense, and then he pats my shoulder. “Stay here,” he murmurs, and cool air floods in as he lifts the ring-skirt and crawls out. I press my fingers to my mouth,
fully aware that they still smell of sex and cunt and semen, and do my best not to call out after him. I listen for sounds that will tell me that the Henchmen are still out there. That they’re waiting on us to emerge from hiding so they can cut our throats…or worse. After incredibly long, tense moments of waiting, the skirt lifts again and Solo peers down at me. “Come on out. It’s clear.”

  I emerge, a little stiff, and he offers me a hand to help me stand up. I take it, and pull my fingers from his as soon as I’m upright. I glance over at my desk, but working after all this seems stupid. On the opposite side of the gym, one of the doors is still hanging open, the chain dangling. “I need to let Gem know what happened here,” I tell Solo. I’m not looking forward to that conversation.

  He shakes his head and grabs my arm. “We’re getting out of here. I don’t want to risk those jackasses getting drunk and heading back here to see if you’ve returned.”

  “Makes sense,” I tell him. “Thanks for your help.”

  “You’re coming with me,” he says. “They trashed your bike.”

  Chapter Two

  We re-lock up the gym as best we can and I grab my purse as Solo gets dressed and snags his keys. His bike was parked behind the dumpster, and I marvel at it for a moment. “Why’s your bike here?”

  “Heard them coming down the road and was the only thing I could think to do.” He shrugs.

  “You could have left.”

  He shoots a narrow-eyed gaze at me. “And leave you?” I feel warm for a moment before he adds, “Gem would kill me if anything happened to you.”

  Right. Because I’m kid sis to one of the prezs. Lucky me. I don’t feel so lucky as he wheels his bike out and I gaze down at my broken little mama on the ground. Her tires are shredded and it looks like they attacked her chrome with the heavy bolt cutters they used to open the door. My poor bike.

  “Leave it,” Solo tells me. “In case they return. I’ll give you a ride. Hop on.”

  Since I don’t have any other options and I’m not about to stay here by myself, I do as he says. I climb onto the bitch seat of his bike and once I lock my arms around him, I start to tremble.

  A delayed reaction to tonight’s scare. The Henchmen were here, looking for me. If Solo hadn’t been here, I’d have been gang raped and murdered. I start shaking like a leaf.

  As if he knows what I’m thinking, he pats one of the hands I have wrapped around his waist. “I got you, Lucky.”

  Nice words, but no one’s really ‘got’ me. No one wants me and my bad mojo. And then he starts his bike and there’s no more talking.

  As we drive, though, it’s clear we’re not heading to my apartment. I live across town in a little second-story condo of a place that Gem’s partner Domino owns. He lets me live there for cheap rent, and in exchange, I do the payroll for the employees of the complex. But we’re not heading in that direction—we’re heading to the far end of town.

  I can only speculate where we’re headed, but my guess is that we’re going to Solo’s place. I’ve never been.

  I try to picture what Solo’s place looks like. He’s kept to himself quite a bit since returning from the war, something my brother has speculated on more than once. I wonder if his home will look like a bunker of some kind, complete with sandbag barriers and guns everywhere and tell-tale signs of PTSD all over the place. Or if his place will be completely bare because he’s going to leave us again. I don’t know what to expect. Solo falls into the category of ‘guys that give me wide berth’ and what we’ve exchanged tonight is pretty much more than I’ve ever had with another member of the Butchers. Except Lenny, who was an initiate, but I got him killed before he could become patched.

  It surprises me when we pull up to a tiny house with a manicured lawn. I guess maybe I was expecting an apartment in a shitty complex or something more ‘guy’ like. Every time I’ve gone home with a non-club guy, he’s taken me to a shithole pad. I thought Solo would be the same, but he’s downright domestic.

  It’s kinda cute. He’s even got bushes and shit.

  He parks his bike in the driveway and covers it with a tarp, then gestures we should go in the side door. I eye his house. It’s a cute little 50’s style bungalow that’s had some improvements done. Not new and fancy, but older and kind of cozy. “I’m surprised you have a house,” I tell him. I know a lot of full-patched members that don’t do much more than ride their bikes and deliver pizzas, and crash on whatever couch will have them. This is all very grown up.

  Solo gives me an odd look. His limp is more pronounced as we go up the three steps to the door, and I wonder if he hurt himself somehow, and I feel like an ass because I never even thought about it when I was climbing all over him.

  “I saved a lot of my wages and my disability pay. Bought this at a foreclosure auction and been fixing it up. It’s not perfect but it’s mine.”

  Huh. No wonder my brother wants him as treasurer to the club. In his merry band of pizza delivery men, someone that’s actually good with his own money stands out. Of course, I’m being unfair—lots of guys in the club have real jobs and stuff. It’s just the ones that crash on my brother’s couch are the ones I’m used to seeing.

  He opens the door and waits for me to step inside, and I do. The interior is sweet and kind of homey. We step into the tiny kitchen and there’s linoleum on the floor that’s faded but clean. The counters are blue, the cupboards white, and there’s even a backsplash with a fruit fresco. All of this makes me wonder if there’s a Mrs. Solo somewhere in the picture that I wasn’t aware of.

  Oh shit. Did I just jerk off a guy with an old lady and not realize it? “Um, Solo, this is a weird question, but you’re not seeing anyone, are you?”

  He tosses his keys down on the counter and scowls at me. “Fuck, no. Why would you ask that?”

  I point at the fruit fresco.

  “Like I said, I’m still fixing it up. I didn’t put that in there.” He makes a face. “One of the bathrooms has wallpaper with the ugliest fucking roses you’ve ever seen.”

  I giggle at that, because it doesn’t sound very manly at all.

  “And call me Eric.” He opens the fridge and pulls out a beer bottle and offers it to me. “Eric Smithfield.”

  Since we’re offering real names instead of just road names, I guess I should do the same. “Penny. Last name Taggert, just like Gem.” I take the beer, use the hem of my shirt to twist off the cap, and take a chug. It’s icy and delicious and oh God, I needed it. I don’t realize how dry my throat is until I drink. I barely stop myself from choking down the entire thing in one swig.

  Solo—Eric—is giving me a weird look.

  I wipe my mouth, all self-conscious. “What?”

  “Lucky…Penny?”

  I flip him the bird. “Like I chose to be called Lucky.” The name chose me.

  He pulls out a beer for himself and then shuts the fridge. “I got a lot of questions for you, Lucky.”

  “That doesn’t sound good.”

  “It’s probably not.”

  He gestures we should go into the living room, and I head in that direction, my cold beer clutched tight. The living room of his house is sparsely decorated. There’s a big framed poster of Mad Max on one wall, and a flat-screen TV on the other. A beat up green sofa faces the TV and a throw-rug covers hardwood flooring. The room looks pretty empty, though. I guess Solo’s not so big on decorating. I sit on one end of the sofa and hold my beer since there’s no end table to set it on.

  And I wait.

  He sits down on the other end of the couch and takes another sip of his beer, then rubs his forehead. “Should probably start with the obvious. Why were those guys looking for you tonight?”

  The question’s casual, of course, but I see his gaze slide over to me. He’s wondering what sort of trouble I’ve gotten myself into. And I’m embarrassed to admit the truth, but I guess I’ve got no choice. “I picked up a guy a few weeks ago at a bar. We went back to a hotel room and I got a good look at his tats. H
e was one of the Eighty-Eight Henchmen. I snuck out and left him hanging.” I grimace. “I guess he didn’t like that too much.”

  “So now he’s coming after you?”

  “Seems like it,” I say, and I don’t know what to do with my hands so I start peeling at the label on my beer. “I never thought he’d take things so personally. Just more of my rotten luck, I guess.”

  “Did you tell him you were part of the Butchers?”

  “No. We both know I’m not.” Not really. Not in all the ways it counts.

  “Still, he must have recognized you or your bike. Or something. He said you told him you work at the gym?”

  I shook my head. I may be unlucky, but I’m not stupid. “I told him I’m a schoolteacher. So either he figured it out on his own or he’s got someone watching me.”

  He grunts. “You know we’re going to have to tell Gem and Dom?”

  “Yeah, I know.” I peel a strip from the bottle. “They’re going to kill me.”

  “Nah,” he says, voice softening. He looks over in my direction. “But they are going to want to protect you until shit blows over. It’s not your fault you picked up the wrong guy at the bar.” He takes another swig of his beer and then watches me again. “Why are you picking up guys at the bar? You don’t date in the club?”

  I can’t look him in the eye. “No one in the club will have me.” And it’s not because I’m dying to belong to someone in the club…I just really want to belong. To have a place with everyone.

  “Why do they call you ‘Lucky’ anyhow?” When I arch an eyebrow at him, he shrugs. “I was overseas. I don’t remember you from before.”