Nowhere (Crimson Outlaws MC #1)

by Bink Cummings

  With one final thrust, the spark ignites, and I lose myself in explosive white-hot ecstasy. Tremor after tremor rockets through me as I wail my release, riding him rougher to prolong my orgasm. My eyes roll into the back of my skull, and toes curl in my heels as my climax flows onward, down into a river of white water rapids. Another small wave crests then crashes. Running out of gas, my legs quickly turn to noodles, unable to propel my hips any longer. My trembling body slumps forward, arms loosely draping over Wes’s shoulders.

  Somehow knowing what I need, Wes braces both hands on my ass to help me fuck him. Repeatedly, I’m guided from one shattering moment to the next as my swimming head rests in the crook of his neck. After number ten—or is it twenty?—my brain fogs. And my inner slut revels in the glory of weightless euphoria.

  Magically reading me once more, Wes ceases his ministrations. Thank God. I … I can’t take any more. My pussy is happily sated. I’m as light as a feather. I … this feels … beautiful … magnificent … incredible. If I could speak, I’d tell Wes that. I’d also say thank you. It’s been weeks since I’ve come this much. Hell, I’ve never come like this. Not over my clothes. Not by one man. Not in front of others who never touched me. Not … not so completely. Oh … Fuck. What does that mean?

  Ignoring all wayward thoughts, I float peacefully inside my head. Movement and chatter registers, but I can’t make out any specifics. It feels so distant. Then my body is suddenly in flight. Yet, I still can’t seem to pry my eyes open. It’s too much work.

  “Wrap your legs around my waist, Kitten,” Wes whispers to my ear, and I comply. It takes me three weak tries before I finally lock my ankles around his hips, my high heels clattering to the floor in the process. More movement and talking ensues. Then a blast of cold air hits my frame, making me shiver.

  “Just a few more seconds,” Wes comments. He’s right, ‘cause no sooner do those words filter through my muddled brain before I’m enveloped in heat once again when his body dips and a car door closes.

  Wes unlocks my legs from around him so that my knees can settle on the supple leather of a seat. Too tired to pay attention to much else, I drift in and out of consciousness as a warm, caring hand caresses my back and people chat. Lips pepper kisses along my face from time to time and a ball of happiness builds in my chest so tangible that I could almost cry.

  The last thing I remember is a familiar cloud welcoming me home, and the press of soft lips touching my forehead.

  “Goodnight, Kitten.”

  Goodnight, delicious smelling Wes. Thank you for bringing me back to heaven.

  Day 8

  It’s 11 a.m., and I’m seated at the kitchen island alone, munching on a bagel with cream cheese. Three hours ago, I awoke to a playback of last night’s festivities frolicking on a turn style in my head in vivid, humiliating color. For 2.3 seconds, I’d sworn it was a nightmare. Then the soreness radiating from my pussy twinged, knocking that fragment of hope loose. Dwelling, like I’m good at, I laid in bed berating myself for hours, confused as to why I let it happen. Any of it. The touching. The tongue. The ass grabbing. The whole gambit. And what torments me even more is the fact that I loved every single millisecond of it. Every one of those hot as hell, melt my panties touches. Every enticing smell. Every fevered noise. Every blinding climax.

  Once I’d finally rolled out of bed, my legs were sore from exertion. One look in the damn bathroom mirror offered more evidence of last night’s mischief when the dark purple hickey on my neck mocked my disheveled reflection. For a few moments, I stood there staring wide-eyed at myself, at my seemingly satisfied eyes, rosy cheeks, and just fucked hair. I don’t know if I’ve ever looked better, and that’s the problem. A problem I’ve been dissecting since I’ve waited for the coast to clear so I could eat. Thankfully, Wes, Garrett, and Zoe have left me alone this morning. I definitely need it.

  Inhaling my final bite, I slide off the stool and carry my plate to the sink. Running it under the water, I rinse the crumbs down the drain to waste some time. I don’t want to do the walk of shame back to my room. I’m more likely to run into someone on the way.

  I set the rinsed dish on the counter for later.

  “I wondered when you’d finally leave your room,” Wes’s voice startles me, and I accidentally bump the plate, screeching its damp base over the marble. I cringe at the sound.

  Keeping my back to Wes, afraid of facing him, I hide the crimson that’s begun to dot my cheeks as a memory of last night assaults my mind. I turn rigid, hands lying flat on the counter, eyes staring aimlessly at the subway tile backsplash. “I slept in late,” I lie.

  The slap of bare feet on the tiled floor rings in my ears just before a set of firm hands drop on my shoulders. A chest covers my back from behind. Fuck, he’s already too close, and touching me when he shouldn’t. Those hands turn into magical creatures when they start to massage like little tentacles of bliss. “You’re tense, Kitten. You need to relax.”

  I blow out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding. “It’s kind of hard to do when you’re touching me.”

  He doesn’t stop. “Is this because of last night?”

  “No,” I blurt a little too quickly. Shit, I need to learn to lie better.

  “Uh huh. You’re thinking about last night, aren’t ya?” I’m not sure if he’s more amused by this or indifferent.

  “No.” I sound more confident. Good.

  “You’re a terrible liar.”

  “Well, you’re a terrible masseur,” I lie some more.

  Apparently, that’s what I’m going to be doing all day. Lying to him. Lying to myself. Hey, if it gets me through the next twenty-four hours without a meltdown, then fantastic. Generally, when I’m feeling like this—like I might lose it—I talk to Nash. He’s a great sounding board. But now … now I’m on my own. It’s not as easy as it sounds. And I sure as hell can’t confide in Wes. Not when he’s the one fucking with my head. With … everything. It doesn’t make any sense.

  “That, I might be, but you need something to relax.” He’s still as calm as ever. It’s annoying.

  “Then maybe you should stop touching me.”

  He must not think that’s a good suggestion, because he doesn’t back the hell away. What is it with him and invading my personal space? “I have a better idea. How about you go sit down on the stool.” Using my shoulders as a steering wheel, he navigates me to said stool and puts me on it. I don’t argue, because the sooner he leaves me, the better. His proximity is already driving me batty. Let’s not forget my pussy. She seems to enjoy this attention. Her stupid clit is already starting to throb. What a slut. Fuck you, traitor down under.

  Wes casually kisses the back of my head, like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Well, it’s not. He needs to stop with these damn touches. “That’s better. Don’t move.” He affectionately squeezes my shoulders once before letting go. Then he moves across the kitchen with masculine grace. I wish he weren't so sexy.

  Lifting the old rotary phone off the counter, he yanks its cord far enough that it reaches the island. He sets the cream dinosaur smack dab in front of me. “It’s Sunday. You should call your daughter or your parents. I don’t care which. Maybe it’ll make you feel better. Then you, Garrett, and I are going to visit town.”

  “To do what?” I finally look at his face. It’s disgustingly beautiful. I hate it.

  Why did I have to come on his lap? Why?

  Wes shakes his stupidly sexy head. “Nope. Not gonna tell you a thing. Just talk to your family and meet Garrett and me out by the pond in one hour.”

  “What do I wear?” Damn it. Why am I asking this? Do I really need permission or suggestions on what I like? After Zoe duped me into wearing that leather ensemble last night, I’ve decided I won’t be falling for that tactic again. No way.

  I wave off my words before he can answer. “Never mind. I’ll wear whatever I want.”

  Raising my head in defiance, I wait for him to correct me. He doesn’t. With a
final goodbye, Wes smirks before departing the kitchen. Sadly, my eyes watch that magnificent tight ass go. I can’t fucking help it. It’s a great ass.

  Swallowing down all of my frazzled nerves, and some other feelings I’m just not willing to think about, I dial Trish’s phone. She picks up on the third ring.

  “This is Trish.”

  “It’s Mom.”

  “Hey! Mom!” she squeals, and I smile hugely at the sound of her voice. I’ve missed her so much.

  “How—” The words die on my lips as an abrupt argument ensues in the background of Trish’s call. There’s static for a moment as I hear someone cuss, and then the phone is clear again.

  “Where the fuck are you? It’s Sunday, Gwen. It’s family day. You haven’t been here for two weeks. That’s unacceptable. You better be here next weekend, or so help me!” Nash unleashes his fury and my smile fades, drooping into a frown, then to an angry grimace. This is not how I expected our next conversation to go.

  “Stop yelling at her!” Trish defends in the distance. “Now give me back my phone!”

  “No!” he growls in return. “I’ll give it back when I’m damn ready.”

  “Nash, if you expect to have any sort of conversation with me, I suggest you pull your head out of your ass and stop talking to Trish that way. It’s unacceptable,” I scold, holding my ground without blowing the hell up.

  There’s no acknowledgment that Nash heard me. But when he tells Trish he’s sorry for yelling and that he’s taking the phone outside, I know that he got my message loud and clear. Good.

  Movement registers through the phone, as does Nash’s heavy breathing, and a squeaky door that shuts.

  “Okay. I shouldn’t have lost my shit. I’m straight. Now tell me what the fuck is goin’ on and where the hell are you? Trish told me you were takin’ some vacation, except your cell is off and this line is untraceable.”

  “You tried to track me?”

  For a second, the sense of warmth and home that I always feel when Nash is around returns with a vengeance, making my insides cartwheel. Then the bitterness of our last encounter bulldozes every bit of it, leaving me numb. Which is a hell of a lot better than pain.

  “You’re family, Gwen. Of course, I did.”

  Gwen … not Gwennie … not Gwennie-bee. Things really have changed. Nash has changed.

  The sourness of my new reality hits tenfold. We’re never going to be Nash and Gwen against the world ever again, are we? We’re never going to… Fuck. I can’t think of any of that now. It’s over. This is over. He made that bed, and now we’re both lying in it. What a cruel bastard.

  Tapping my nail on the counter, I muster the courage to keep talking. Even though I’d rather hang up. “I called to speak to Trish, Nathaniel. I didn’t call to talk to you. If I’d wanted to talk to you, I would have called your cell number.”

  “What is with this Nathaniel bullshit?”

  “It’s your name.”

  “Right,” he seethes. “But I’m Nash to you.”

  “No. You’re Nathaniel now. Nash is used for family who doesn’t piss my daughter or me off. It’s used when I’m respected and loved. Not when I’m scolded for living my fucking life.”

  Oh, this isn’t good, I’m starting to lose my cool. If I blow and release all of these emotions that I’ve kept bottled up for weeks, it’s going to go Hiroshima up in here. That cannot happen. Not with the promising afternoon waiting for me after I get off this phone. I can’t go atomic. I’ve gotta keep a tight leash on my anger. Sooner or later, I’ll get my chance to let loose. Today just isn’t the day.

  “You’re fuckin’ with me, right?” He’s furious.

  Shaking my head even though he can’t see me, I sigh, my temper deflating. “Not a bit. I only called to tell Trish that I’m doing fine. That I’m havin’ the time of my life. And that the weather here is pleasant and the water’s warm. One of these days, I hope to bring her here.”

  Everything that comes out is true. Even that last part. I think Trish would love it here. Zoe would be her new best friend since they both love fashion so much. Don’t let Zoe fool ya. She may not like to shop with Wesley’s blondes, but she does an excellent job of shopping on her lonesome. I’ve yet to see her in anything less than spectacular. She’s made for designer duds.

  “Where are you?”

  “On vacation.”

  “I get that, smart ass. But where?” There’s the hint of a smile in his voice. I’ll take that over anger any day of the week.

  I glance at the oversized clock on the wall. Forty-five minutes until I get a reprieve. “If I’d wanted to tell someone, I would have. You’ve made it abundantly clear you wanted space. A nice vacation gives us both that. It was unexpected. But I’m safe, and I’m happy.” Albeit, a bit confused. “It shouldn’t matter about anything else. I’m sorry that I’m missing Sundays, but I’ll be back before ya know it.”

  The thought of that should excite me. Yet, all I can seem to muster is dread. Molasses thick dread. Coming face to face with Nash again, after he coldcocked me with melancholy, isn’t on my to-do list. At first, I thought Wes’s phony bet was a prison sentence. Now, it’s my escape from reality. I don’t know if I’ll ever want to leave if that means going home to this man on the phone … the one who stomped on my heart, shattering it into a million pieces.

  “When you get home, Gwen, we’ll talk about that.”

  “There’s nothing to discuss, Nathaniel. We’re brother and sister—nothing more. We’ll see each other on Sundays and live separate lives. It’ll be fine.”

  Nash groans in defeat. “I never said I wanted that.”

  “You’re right. You didn’t say anything at all. You walked away. Which is exactly what I’m going to do. I have nothing left to say to you.” Hesitating for a beat, I float the phone away from my ear, ready to slam it on its base.

  A wave of worry washes over me, scared that he might let me go again without a word. At the prospect, my heart kicks my ribs as I squirm on the stool. What if he does let go without fighting to clear the air? Does that mean we’re officially through? Through with what … I dunno. But it’s something.

  “Gwen.” If I didn’t know any better, I’d say that sounded a lot like pleading. “I’m not gonna do this over the phone.”

  “Then don’t,” I clip.

  “Fuck! You’re gonna hang up on me, aren’t ya?”

  He’s a fast learner.

  “Yup.”

  “Please don’t.” Gut-wrenching sadness pours out. It shouldn’t bother me, yet, it does. I hate to hear him like this.

  “Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t.”

  “I’m sorry,” he mumbles so lowly that I barely hear it.

  Taking a page from Wes’s book of anxiety, I rub the back of my neck to center myself. “That’s not a reason,” I remark.

  Nash sighs. “Listen, it’s not the time to talk about this over the phone while I’m sittin’ on Mom and Dad’s porch. Okay? I’m dealin’ with some shit. I shoulda told ya about it earlier. A lot earlier … years earlier,” he emphasizes, pausing to let the words settle. What does that even mean? “Kelly helped me understand some of it.”

  Of course, she did. Cheating, lying, irresponsible fucking Kelly.

  “Then maybe you should give her a juicy kiss for helpin’ ya.” Yup. I’m bitter as hell. So what?

  To distract from the expanding pain in my chest, I tap my nail harder on the marble.

  “I know you don’t like her, Gwen.” He’s not happy about this. I can tell.

  “Whatever gave you that idea? Of course, I don’t like her. She’s a manipulative bitch who butts her nose into our family’s business. I tried to like her. But then you picked her over me. So what does that really say?” That I’m pathetic for even mentioning it aloud. Crap. I should have just kept my mouth shut. The word vomit has a tendency to sneak up on me at the most inopportune times.

  “I’d never do that.” He’s fierce.

  “Yo
u have, and you did. This is done, Nathaniel. I am done having this conversation. You’re obviously not going to spill whatever it is you need to tell me. So you’re just wasting my time with idle chat that’ll eventually get ugly. Let’s do each other a favor, and hang up now before I say something I’ll regret later. Tell Trish, Mom, and Dad that I love them. I’ll see you when I see you.”

  Just as I move to hang up without Nash’s reply, I stop when he yells, “Wait!” So I do. “You can’t hang up yet, Gwennie. I love you so fuckin’ much. So very much. Even if you’re pissed that I fucked a lot of shit up. I still love you. And I know as much as you might hate my ass right now, you love me, too. And I’ll be damned if I hang up without lettin’ ya know. Yeah. We’ll talk all this out whenever ya get home from wherever the fuck place you’re at. But ya need to know that you and Trish have always been my world. Period. It’s not the club. Not Nowhere. Nothin’ else fuckin’ matters if I don’t have my two best girls. Ya got that?”

  Oh, my… Shit. Tears well in my eyes and my bottom lip quivers. He can’t do this. He can’t go from pissing me off to… this. This is my Nash climbing out from under the blanket of assholishness. The man I love. My home. My rock. My center. My … everything. Or what used to be my everything, until now. Until … here … Wes … Kelly …Garrett … The Bet. Life is so fucking fucked up.

  I suck in a ragged breath, tone meek. “I, uh, okay. Yes. I do love you, too.”

  “See. There’s my Gwennie-bee. Just be safe for me. Can ya do that? It’s bad enough I dunno where ya are. If anythin’ happened to you…” he trails off.

  “I know, and I promise to be safe.”

  “Lunch!” my mom hollers in the background.

  “Fuck! I gotta eat then hit up Nowhere. We’ve got church tonight. We’ll talk whenever ya get home. Don’t forget I love you.”

  “I won’t.”

  I couldn’t if I wanted to. These damn warm and fuzzies are killing me. Nash loves me … Damn.

  “Later.”

  “Bye.”