“We should probably get going,” I said, allowing my eyes to rove over the scenery of his body. If I just focused on him, maybe I could keep everything else at bay. And, by God, he was a beautiful distraction.
“Sure,” he said, and rose to his feet. I fished a twenty-dollar bill out of my wallet and left it on the counter for Lindsay, and snatched my purse from where it hung on a hook beneath the bar. “Where do you live?” he asked as he followed me out of the dive and into the night.
“About ten minutes from here,” I said. “But I don’t want to go home.”
“I thought you said—”
“I want to go to your house.”
He looked at me appraisingly for a long stretch of silence before he gave one sharp nod of his head and led me over to his car. I stumbled only once, catching the heel of my boot on a loose rock, but he caught me by the elbow and held onto me all the way to his 1967 Camaro. I peered curiously up at him as he opened the door for me and deposited me inside, and I admired how clean the old car’s interior was: everything was in pristine condition, from the vinyl seats to the dustless dash.
He climbed in beside me, the engine roared to life and we were on our way. We drove in companionable silence, and the dips and turns lulled me into a sort of dream state where I wasn’t entirely asleep and I wasn’t entirely awake. When he finally pulled the car to a stop and killed the engine, it was outside of a series of pretty little row houses with red brick faces and green shingles and shutters, friendly-looking houses. He came around the car again and opened the door for me, gripping my hands and hoisting me to my feet.
“This way,” he said, not letting go of my hand, but tugging me gently along behind him. He paused and watched carefully to make sure I could scale the steps before he opened his front door and let me inside.
The apartment was small and took up the first floor of one of the row houses. It boasted a kitchenette, a bathroom and a living space that doubled as a bedroom. His bed was partially obscured by an accordion partition made of bamboo, and I could see that his home was kept with the same neat care as his car. Spare, but cozy, the apartment looked like how a realtor might set it up if they were trying to sell it.
“So, can I… get you anything?” he asked, lingering in the doorway as I roamed around the expanse of his living quarters.
“No, thanks,” I said, and kicked off my boots. I’m not sure what it was, exactly, that made me so bold. Perhaps all the gin. “I think I just want to sleep.”
“Sure,” he said, and I unbuttoned my jeans and shimmied out of them, completely unselfconscious. “Ah,” he said, holding up a hand, “why don’t you take the bed?”
“Thanks,” I muttered, feeling a tug between being disappointed that I wouldn’t be sleeping with his warm, solid form next to mine, and the utter exhaustion that was overwhelming me as I climbed between his sheets. My head barely had a chance to hit the pillow before I’d fallen entirely asleep.
***
I woke up in the first light of morning with a groan of discomfort, just as the rising sun began to peek in through the venetian blinds, sending graceful shafts of broken light onto the hardwood floor. My head was throbbing, and I swung my feet over the side of the bed and stumbled toward the kitchen, whereupon I helped myself to two full glasses of water.
On my way back to bed, I was snagged by the sight of Oliver, asleep on his back on the plush microfiber sofa, one arm slung over his eyes. His well-defined chest rose up and down with the steady rhythm of his breathing, and his boxers were the only thing that separated him from total exposure to the cool night air.
I was drawn to him in a sort of inexplicable way, this near stranger who had invited me into his home to sleep, away from the stress of my crumbling family life, and I felt safe. I moved toward him and, placing one knee on either side of his hips, climbed on top of him and rested my cheek against his chest. He was warm and sturdy and he stirred slightly in his sleep as he shifted to make room for me. His arms came down to envelop me, and he hugged me close. We stayed that way for a long while before I turned my face and pressed a series of fluttering kisses to the smooth skin of his chest. I lingered over his nipple, flicking it gently with my tongue, a move that elicited a soft little moan from his partially parted lips. I could feel him rising to alertness between my legs, and I pressed my pelvis down against his developing hardness. In response he slid his hands down along the slop of my back and onto the curve of my ass, where he gripped the flesh there, turning to kiss the top of my head.
“Harper,” he whispered, and I sat up on top of him and tugged my tee shirt off over my head.
“Shh” was my only response.
He reached up to cup one of my exposed breasts and I began to rock my hips back and forth, grinding myself against him. I bent forward so that he could take my nipple in his mouth, and he sucked it gently even as he reached around to slide his fingers into my panties. Tugging them aside, he brushed the sensitive skin of my vulva until he pushed a finger inside of me.
We kissed then, like two magnets coming together, our tongues meeting, darting hungrily back and forth. He drew his finger out of me so that he might free his rock-hard cock from the confines of his boxers, and I could feel the head of it pressing against my opening.
“Is this okay?” he asked in a throaty growl.
“Yes,” I said, “Yes.”
He began to gently thrust into me, working his cock into my pussy one inch at a time until I sat up and took the full length of him. I placed my hands flat on his chest and began to rock my hips back and forth, riding him. I tossed my head back and lost myself to the sensation of the head of his cock rubbing my G-spot, edging me closer and closer to climax. After a few moments, I leaned forward so my breasts pressed against him. “I can barely take it,” I said breathlessly, and he wrapped his arms around me and sat up.
He rose, then, to his feet, his prick still inside of me and my full weight in his arms. I wrapped my legs around him as he carried me over to the bed, like I weighed nothing at all, and laid me gently on the mattress. He reached down and slid his hands under my ass, elevating me slightly so that he could plunge himself as deeply as possible into my sex, and my legs hung limply over his arms as he fucked me. I groaned and arched my back, my erect nipples begging for attention. He shifted slightly and obliged, bending forward to take one between his teeth. A tender little bite was enough to elicit a small shriek from me, and I opened my eyes to see him grin devilishly down at me. My lips parted in surprise at how much I enjoyed that little bit of pain. “Again,” I said, and he leaned forward to place his teeth on the other nipple.
His pace quickened, along with his breathing, and I reveled in the feeling of him sliding in and out of me, filling me, then leaving me wanting. Finally, he pulled out and tugged me toward him, turning me around on the mattress so that he was standing over me. I watched him jerk off, his eyes looking me up and down. “Use one hand to rub your clit,” he said, “and the other to fuck your beautiful, wet pussy.”
I did as I was told, sliding one finger inside of me and using another to work my clit in small, quick circles. I squirmed on the mattress below him, my eyes fixated on his cock as he worked it with one deft hand. I could feel my orgasm building as my breathing became erratic, but I exploded quite suddenly, climaxing with unexpected fierceness, when I felt his hot come hit my breasts and drip down along the plane of my stomach. He wavered on his feet for a moment, the last of his ejaculate dribbling down over his fist, before he climbed over me and relaxed on the mattress next to me. I turned toward him, still damp with our arousal, and he opened his arm to me. I fell asleep nestled against his body, my head on his chest, his arm around my shoulders.
***
When I next awoke, sunlight was streaming fully into the small space, and I shot up on the mattress with a start.
“Fuck.”
Oliver stirred beside me and took back the arm I’d been sleeping on. “What?” he grumbled.
“What ti
me is it?”
A grunt led me to believe that he neither knew nor cared. I scrambled off the bed and tugged on my underwear, noting with some embarrassment that the remnants of our activities were still smeared on my body. I located my purse and searched through it to find my phone: 10:07 a.m. And fourteen missed calls from Lucas and my mother.
“Shit,” I hissed, an ache building in my head. I darted to the bathroom and slammed the door shut behind me.
“Where you goin’, Doc?” I heard him ask, but if he asked any further questions, I didn’t hear him over the din of the running bathwater.
I showered quickly and availed myself of his soaps, shampoo, lotion, and even deodorant, before I pulled on my clothes and my boots. I hesitated by the front door, looking at him asleep on the bed, and walked quietly on my toes across the floorboards to him. I pressed a kiss to his cheek, and he smiled a little in slumber. Moments later, I was out the door and calling a cab company to take me home.
From the cab, I called home first, to no answer. Then, with a cringe of hesitation and remorse, I called Lucas, who answered on the first ring.
“Where the fuck have you been?” he demanded. I could hear his blood boiling even over the phone.
“I’m so sorry, Lucas,” I stammered. “Where’s Jamie? Does Mom have him?”
“I have him, Harper,” he seethed. “He’s with me. At work.” Oh, great. That could mean any number of things.
“Which—”
“Where were you all night, Harper? Do you have any idea how fucking terrified your mother was this morning? How scared Jamie was when he woke up and you weren’t there?” At that, my heart cracked. I wasn’t a stupid teenager — I should have been home with my grieving mother and my frightened son. I slumped back in the seat in the back of the cab, prepared to take my knocks.
“Nowhere important,” I said. “Nowhere I should have been. Christ, Lucky. I’m sorry.” I heard him heave a sigh as he tried to rustle up his remaining patience for me.
“You’re not the only one going through something, Harper. You don’t get to act out like this. You have to be there.”
“I know. You’re right.”
“Yeah.” He sighed again. I pictured him pinching the bridge of his nose the way he did whenever I grated on his nerves. It was an odd sensation, to be thinking so fondly of your husband — ex-husband — when you could still feel an ache between your legs from being penetrated by another man. “I’m at the gym on Wolcott,” he said at last, “handling some payroll for some of our fighters. Oliver was supposed to be here, but I can guess where he is.” He paused. “Are you still with him?”
“No, of course not,” I said.
“Anyway, just… come here, I’ve got Jamie.” He hung up on me before I had the chance to apologize again or to begin to offer some sort of explanation.
I redirected the cab and found myself at the gym in a matter of minutes. From the outside it looked like a giant concrete box, but inside it was fully loaded, and sparklingly new. There was a cage ring in the center and dumbbells and machines around the periphery. I made my way through the gym and lingered by the ring, where two men were sparring. One bounced and circled the other, who was in the center of the ring with his fists raised.
I glanced around the gym until my gaze landed on Lucas, who was sitting behind a window in a small office at the back. I could see the little blond head of my son, who was sitting in his lap. Weaving my way between the machines, I let myself into the office, and Jamie brightened when he saw me.
“Mommy!” he shrieked gleefully, and raised his arms out for me. I scooped him up into my arms and hugged him tight. “Mommy, I got scared.”
“You did?”
“Yeah, because you were away.” If that wasn’t a kick to the stomach, I don’t know what was.
“I’m sorry, baby,” I said, and kissed his head. “Mommy just got busy, is all. Did you have fun with Daddy?”
“Yeah!” he shouted, and started to squirm in my arms. I handed him back to Lucas, who set him on the floor, pressing two Hot Wheels into his tiny fists.
“I’m so sorry,” I said again. “I just got drunk.”
“And laid?”
“Christ, Lucky,” I hissed. “Don’t say that in front of him.” Lucas rose to his feet, carefully stepping around Jamie, who was playing with his cars on the floor.
“Well, it’s true, isn’t it?” he asked, locking his bright green eyes on my face. I could feel a blush rising to my cheeks. Finally, I had to look away. He gave a slow shake of his head. “You are unbelievable.”
“What I do is none of your business,” I said, getting defensive. “It’s not like we’re still together.”
“You’re right, Harper,” he said quietly. “We’re not together. I just fucked you on the side of the road and begged you to come home. But none of that means anything.”
“You did not beg me to come home.”
“Just… take our son home now. Please.” He tried to squeeze past me, but I caught his arm.
“Lucas, hang on a sec—” But he wrenched himself free from my touch.
“Take Jamie home.” And with that, he pushed through the office door and headed back into the gym. I rubbed at my eyes before reaching up to pull my black hair into a ponytail.
“Okay, buddy,” I said to Jamie. “Time to get going.” As I bent to hoist him up into my arms, I saw a flier on the desk at which Lucas had been sitting. I held Jamie, who was happy enough to bang his Hot Wheels together, on my hip and read the flier. It depicted two men with fists raised, staring at each other with grim intent. I saw Oliver’s name on it, and the date of the fight was today. Tonight. It didn’t list the name of his opponent, but I had the feeling that Lucas would pit him against the biggest, meanest guy he could possibly find.
***
Mom was giving me the cold shoulder when I finally crossed the threshold of her house, and who could blame her? She plucked Jamie from my arms and clung to him, breathing in the sweet scent of his freshly soaped head and rocking him gently back and forth.
“Mom,” I began, not knowing exactly what to say for being such a shit.
“I know you weren’t that close with your father,” she said quietly.
“I loved him, too, Mama.”
“I know you did. I’m saying, you weren’t that close. You didn’t approve of his choices — and in a lot of ways, I didn’t either. I always respected your choice to leave Hollybrook, supported you and Jamie when you were getting set up. I understood your need to distance yourself from the club, from your father, your brother, and even from me. But he was still your father”—her voice began to shake a little as she turned toward the staircase with Jamie in her arms—“and I need you to support me, now. Because right now, sweetheart, you’re all I’ve got.”
“I know, Mama,” I said sheepishly. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay. You get this one screwup. Just… maybe help us find Brian, would you?” My brother, missing in action since before the shooting. I would happily track him down.
“Sure, yeah. Of course.”
She began to climb the stairs with my squirming son in her arms. “Otherwise, I will make all the arrangements. Your father had rather a comprehensive living will, and the club is covering what wasn’t already paid for. So there isn’t much to do. Except just be here.”
“I’m here, Mama.”
She disappeared up the stairs, my son’s sweet face peering down at me from over her shoulder. He waved to me just as they disappeared around the corner.
To assuage my feelings of overwhelming guilt, I decided the best thing to do would be to drag Brian Arthur Harrington home by the balls if I had to. There was no way I should have to bear the brunt of Mama’s grief all on my own. So I would find him if it was the last thing I did.
***
“But have you seen him in the last few days?” I asked Lindsay, who, miraculously, looked as beautiful and perky now as she had the night before, and she couldn’t have go
tten that much sleep. She was drying out a glass with a rag, her cropped tee shirt bearing her midriff. She fell into an easy lean against the bar and set the glass aside, plucking my cell phone from my hand and peering at the photo of Brian that I had pulled up on Facebook.
He looked a lot like me: a few years older, and with an impressive five-o’clock shadow, he had my thick black hair and blue eyes. His eyebrows were thick as well, giving him a brooding look that I’d lost with years of waxing and shaping. He had a dimpled smile like our mother’s and was only a few inches taller than I was.
“Mm,” she mused, examining the picture, “maybe not in the last few days, but definitely in the last couple of weeks. Those eyes, am I right?”
“Yeah,” I said, and she handed the phone back to me.
“I could never forget ’em. Yum.” I smiled and tucked my cell phone back into my pocket. “He’s a Banshee, right?” I nodded in the affirmative. “Yeah, I know I saw him when they last held council in the backroom here, and that was last week. Where he’s been since then, I honestly have no idea.”
“Well,” I said, “Thanks anyway.”
“Sure thing. Drink?”
I barked a laugh and pushed away from the bar. “No, thank you. I’m in enough trouble as it is.” She smiled and turned on her heel to head to the opposite end of the bar, where a few early regulars were demanding her attention.
I tried to call my brother’s cell phone — again — and it went straight to voicemail — again. I heaved a sigh, beginning to cross over from slightly irritated into downright concerned. Chagrined, I dialed the only other number I could think of to call in this situation. Lucas picked up on the second ring.
MC Fight Club: Iron Banshees: (Complete Series: Parts 1-5) An MC Fighter Menage Romance Page 4
