by Brook Wilder
Or so she thought.
As she got closer to campus, Della slowed to a stop and stared at the motorcycle that was parked on the street ahead of her. It was almost like the scene from her dream. Prescott, clad in a tight shirt and his kutte, was leaning casually against his bike, looking right at her. He was so handsome that Della couldn’t help imagining him running his hands over her. Everything she’d felt upon waking up that morning came rushing back. She considered ignoring him, but knew that she couldn’t. With a deep breath, she approached him at a walk.
The uncanny similarity to her dream continued when Della caught Prescott openly eyeing her as she got closer. His eyes had the same hungry look in them that she had seen in her dream. The biggest difference was that in her dream she had been confident and unafraid. Standing there in real life, on the other hand, was daunting and terrifying. She didn’t like receiving attention from him, especially when he was clearly such an amazing specimen and she, by comparison, was painfully average.
So why was he looking at her like he wanted to devour her? He’d seen Kate before. Surely by now he was fantasizing about Della’s slender, confident roommate. Kate had such an easy way with men. Della was envious of her friend, as she had always been shy and awkward.
“I won’t bite,” Prescott said. “Unless you want me to.”
Della realized she had stopped walking several feet away from him, perhaps unconsciously keeping her distance. She felt a jolt of electricity run through her at his words. In fact, she did want him to bite. She wanted to feel his mouth all over her body. That was probably the reason she had stopped so far away from him. The closer she got, the more tempted she was to act out some of the scenes from her dream.
“What do you want?” she asked.
“Same thing,” he said. “I tried to give you space, figure stuff out on my own, but I can’t do that anymore.”
“I told you I didn’t see anything.”
Even to her own ears, Della sounded insincere.
“I don’t believe you,” he replied plainly. After a pause he took a deep breath and added, “The man whose murder you witnessed… there’s a reason I’m trying so hard to figure out what really happened to him. He was my father.”
Della’s hand went to her mouth. She had had no idea. She couldn’t imagine what Prescott was going through. No wonder he was so agitated.
“I think the man who killed him is going to get away with it,” Prescott continued. His voice was tinged with anger as well as sorrow. “If you come with me, identify the murderer, then I might be able to avenge my father’s death.” He held a helmet out to her. “Will you do it?”
Della stared at the helmet for a moment. She knew what Kate would say, but with this new information she didn’t see how she could turn Prescott away. All he wanted to do was seek justice for his father. Criminal or not, she couldn’t find fault with that motivation. Letting out a breath, she reached out and took the helmet from him. After she strapped it on, Prescott mounted his bike and gestured for her to get on behind him. She felt her face going red, knowing that riding behind him would force them to have very close contact with one another.
“I’m a little sweaty,” she said apologetically, gesturing at her workout clothes.
Prescott’s smile sent a fire through her. “I don’t mind a little sweat.”
With no other excuse available to her, Della swung her leg over the bike and allowed Prescott to pull her arms around his waist. He urged her to hold on tight, and she did. Through the fabric of his shirt, she could feel the muscles she had touched in her dream, the ones she had longed to explore in reality. Her hands were only inches away from the fly of his jeans. She wondered how big he was in real life, if he could live up to her dream. As the bike took off down the road, Della felt herself getting warm and wet all over again just imagining the possibilities.
Prescott wished they didn’t have such a long ride ahead of them. The second Della had gotten on the bike behind him, he’d felt his cock stand at attention. He could feel her breasts pressed against his back, the sports bra she wore doing nothing to conceal her ample curves. Her hands were clasped together over his navel, but they’d occasionally slip downward when they took a turn or went over a bump. She was so close to touching him intimately it was almost painful to think about.
Still, while he thought he wanted to the ride to be shorter, a part of him wanted it to go on forever. Far from being disgustingly sweaty, as she’d claimed to be, she was enticingly warm against his back. He could feel her body heat radiating around him. It was all he could do not to pull over, turn around, and take her.
He imagined bending her over his bike, pulling those sweatpants down to expose her rear to him. In his mind, she was wearing lacy panties that left little to the imagination. He’d pull those down quickly enough, so he could gain access to the part of her he craved most. She would have a lovely moan, he thought. When he touched her, parted those lower lips so he could mount her from behind. Take her roughly, show her just how much he wanted her.
They arrived at the clubhouse all too quickly. When Della handed his helmet back to him, she didn’t meet his gaze. Her cheeks were flushed pink, and he could tell that she was embarrassed. It was quite possible she’d been thinking somewhere along the same lines as he had been. That thought tested his control all over again. But he knew this was not the time or the place for what he really wanted.
He hung up the helmet and shook all lecherous thoughts from his mind.
“Stick with me,” he told Della. “Don’t be scared, okay? I’m going to keep you safe.”
Much to his surprise, she looked up at him with trust in her eyes. She nodded, tried and failed to smile a little. It was clear she was still nervous. When he put his arm around her she stiffened slightly, her cheeks going red.
“Relax,” he murmured. “It’s just so the guys won’t go after you. If they think you’re mine, they’ll leave you be.”
“What if it’s not them I’m scared of?” she asked, her voice surprisingly steady.
Prescott couldn’t help running his hand down to her hip, pulling her a little closer.
“I’ll be on my best behavior,” he murmured. “Promise.”
He hoped he could stay true to those words. The feeling of her tucked under his arm felt so complete, so right, that he was somewhat shocked.
At another nod from Della, he guided her toward the clubhouse entrance. Truth be told, he wasn’t doing so great at keeping calm himself. He had been waiting for this moment for too long, and he was determined not to let anyone or anything mess it up.
The first problem that presented itself was Shaft. He was sitting on a bench off to the side of the entrance, almost like he was waiting for Prescott. Like he’d known this was going to happen. He stood up when he Prescott and Della approached.
“Who’s your friend?” Shaft asked, acting casual.
“This is Della,” Prescott said. “Della, meet Shaft.”
Much to Prescott’s surprise, Della didn’t hesitate before sticking her hand out to Shaft. They shook hands quickly, and Prescott could see both of them sizing up the other. He liked the look he saw in Della’s eyes. She actually relaxed visibly in Shaft’s presence, and Prescott knew she’d gotten a good feel for him.
Shaft, meanwhile, looked concerned. He wasn’t necessarily angry, and Prescott could tell he didn’t have a problem with Della herself. Still, it was obvious his friend wanted to talk.
“Can you give us a minute?” he asked Della. “You can sit right over here.”
He led her to the bench that Shaft had vacated. She seated herself and crossed her legs. Prescott and Shaft walked a little ways away, but Prescott made sure to stand somewhere where he could keep an eye on Della.
“I don’t like this,” Shaft whispered as soon as Della was out of earshot. “She doesn’t belong here, Prescott.”
“Why? Because she’s not a club girl?” Prescott asked, getting defensive.
“Yes,”
Shaft said. “That’s exactly why. She’s an outsider. You knew how I felt about this and you did it anyway.”
“You sound like my old man.”
“I’m trying to sound like a concerned friend.”
“Look,” Prescott said on a sigh. “She has info. I just want to take her temperature, see if she recognizes my dad’s killer.”
“See if she recognizes Al, you mean.”
Prescott shrugged. “I’ve got a feeling she’ll recognize Al, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to be disappointed if she fingers someone else. No matter what, I’m gonna catch the killer. I’m going to have the truth.”
Shaft didn’t respond right away. Prescott could tell he was getting through to his friend.
“Just pretend she’s one of my fucktoys,” he said, smiling devilishly. “Another club girl who can fade into the background.”
“Is she?” Shaft asked. “One of your fucktoys, I mean.”
Prescott couldn’t help mulling the idea over, thinking again about how much he’d like to feel Della’s naked body pressed against his. He could do it right here, push her against the wall, take her for his own. He’d ride her until they were both sweaty, spent, and satisfied.
“Hey,” Shaft said. “Focus, man.”
“Sorry,” Prescott said. He realized he was staring at Della and quickly turned back to Shaft. “It isn’t like that with us,” he explained. “We haven’t done anything. Barely touched, except for the ride over here.”
“Maybe you should keep it that way,” Shaft said. “Girl like that… she’s gotta be looking down on you from her high horse. She won’t mean to or anything, but she doesn’t really understand us, you know? Best just to leave her in her own world, instead of dragging her into ours.”
“She’s not as innocent as she appears,” Prescott said.
“What makes you so sure?”
“I don’t know. Something about her, like she’s holding herself back.”
Prescott wanted to see her let loose. He wanted to be there when she broke free of her shell.
“At the risk of sounding like a broken record, I’m going to tell you to be careful,” Shaft said. “You don’t have the best record for thinking before you act.”
“Fuck off,” Prescott said.
“I will when you grow two brain cells to rub together.”
“Whatever,” Prescott said, trying not to smile. “Let’s get this over with.”
He returned to Della, took her hand in his. She looked up into his eyes, and he saw fear there.
“You’re doing great,” he whispered to her. “Remember, you’re safe as long as you’re with me. Do you believe me?”
“Yes,” she said without hesitation.
There was still fear in her. She was a little pale, and her eyes were wide. But he also saw trust in her expression. The way she gazed up at him made him want to take her away from this place, somewhere private where he could wrap her in his arms. He reached out to brush a stray lock of hair out of her face. That brought a little of the color back to her cheeks. He nearly leaned down to kiss her right then and there. Her lips were slightly parted, as if in invitation. But he stopped himself, taking a page out of Shaft’s book and thinking before he acted.
“The guys might try to rile you,” he warned her. “They like to give club girls a hard time. Especially new ones.”
“Club girls?” she asked.
“They’re girls who sort of… belong to the club. They’re unattached. That’s what you are for today. But you’re on my arm only, okay? Don’t let them get to you.”
“Sure.”
“You’re gonna do fine. Come on.”
He gently pulled her to her feet, then slipped his arm around her again. This time she didn’t tense up at all. Far from it, she actually leaned into him, fitting herself perfectly against his body. Prescott rested his hand over her rear, curling his fingers around the edge of her hip. She didn’t shy away from the touch, not even when he gave her a little squeeze of encouragement.
Together they walked into the clubhouse.
CHAPTER SIX
This was all so surreal. Della’s heart was pounding. She couldn’t tell if she was more affected by being in a motorcycle club’s clubhouse or by the feeling of Prescott’s arm around her. With his hand on her rear, and his body pressed against hers, she could barely think about anything else. She didn’t even know why she was letting Prescott touch her so intimately. They barely knew each other, and she was aware of how dangerous he was. Despite that, she felt inexplicably safe with him. He had promised she would not come to harm, and she knew that he was keeping his arm around her to fulfill that promise. As long as she looked like she belonged to Prescott, the other guys would keep their distance.
And she was glad for that.
As soon as they walked into the clubhouse, all eyes turned on them. Della felt the gazes of the other men like a physical touch. They looked her up and down, inspecting her. They raised their eyebrows at her and at each other. These men were covered with tattoos. They had unruly hair and beards, thick rings on every finger. Many were drinking. Della didn’t doubt for a second that each man was more dangerous than the last. She was in a den of criminals, all of whom could kill her without batting an eye.
Prescott didn’t react at all to their lewd looks, so Della tried to keep calm as well. She tried not to think about the fact that the men were dangerous.
It helped that Shaft was right behind them. Della didn’t know why, but she had felt instantly at ease when she’d met Prescott’s friend. Shaft was soft-spoken for a biker, and he had kind eyes. She saw a lot of depth in his expression.
“What do you got there, Prescott?” someone asked. “New filly that needs breaking?”
“Yeah, I’ll bet she’s a wild one,” another intoned.
Della tried to hold her head high without blushing. This was all an act, and she couldn’t break character. Prescott had warned her this would happen.
“I’ll tame her soon enough,” Prescott replied easily, giving Della an extra squeeze to emphasize his point.
“Is he giving you enough exercise?” the first man asked Della. “If you need someone with a little more stamina, I’m up to the task. I can make you scream all night long.”
“Shame,” Della said. “You still wouldn’t beat Prescott. We’ve practically been living in his bed for the last three days straight.”
The guys howled with laughter, seemingly in approval. Della wondered if she had said the right thing. A glance at the smile on Prescott’s face told her she had.
“So what brings you here?” the second guy asked Prescott. “Just wanted to show off your new piece of ass?”
Della wasn’t sure if she was imagining it, but there seemed to be some sort of threatening implication in the tone of the question. She’d thought that Prescott would be really close with everyone in his MC, but it looked like a few of the men were less than pleased to have him around. What was going on?
“Do I need a reason to be in the clubhouse?” Prescott asked.
The man shrugged, but didn’t respond.
“Just promise you’ll share once you get tired of the new girl,” someone else said.
“I don’t like sharing,” Prescott said.
“Your mother oughta be ashamed of you,” the man said reprovingly.
“Whose mother is ashamed of them?” someone else asked.
The newcomer emerged from the shadows, smiling for all he was worth. That smile sent chills down Della’s spine. Not just because it was sinister, but because she recognized this person. It may have been dark that night, but she was sure of it. It was like watching the murder all over again. She found herself sucking in air, and reaching around Prescott to squeeze him.
Now, more than ever, she was finding it difficult to hide her fear. This was exactly why Prescott had brought her here, to identify the man who had killed his father. Now she had done that, but if she gave any indication to the murderer there was a good
chance neither of them would leave that building alive.
Other than giving her a quick squeeze in return, Prescott didn’t acknowledge Della’s revelation at all. He kept his focus on the newcomer, though. Della tried to memorize his features. The grizzled hair and sickening smile were distinctive enough, but she also noticed more than a few battle scars. This man had seen a lot of action, and had most likely come out of it smiling.
