Down to my Bones (Reapers MC: Ellsberg Chapter Book 1)

by Bijou Hunter

  “In that case,” he says, puckering up something sexy.

  My lips meet his, and I nearly drop my sandwich in my hurry to wrap my arms around his neck. I wouldn’t mind having sex right here, except I don’t think I could she-bop with the snooping dogs watching. Plus, they tend to howl when I do, and I don’t need them alerting my family to what naughty shit I’m up to with this out-of-town biker.

  Quaid must lace his lips with meth because I immediately lose myself in the craving for more. Another taste, followed by another, and then another. I think I drop my sandwich in the cooler at some point. If it landed on the floor, though, the dogs would descend on us in a heartbeat. I don’t need them interrupting my growing addiction.

  My hands ravish his bare chest. His skin is so hot, and my fingers burn at the feel of him, but I want more. I soon climb onto his lap, causing us to topple on the ground. My lips only leave his long enough to ensure I haven’t injured him. Once he smirks at my overheated expression, I return to devouring him.

  I’ve never had an addictive personality, despite my maternal side being lousy with addicts. This feeling, though, is instantly intoxicating. No amount of twelve steps can defeat such a craving.

  I’m aware of where my hand now rests. I know what I’m doing to his cock through his camo shorts. I have no doubt what his hands are cupping. We’ve gone from zero to—well not quite a hundred, but we’re veering close to the edge of no return.

  I don’t know what breaks us apart. No sounds or movement from the woods disturb me, but I’m off Quaid in a flash as if someone shoved an electrical current up my ass. Scrambling away from him, I look around half expecting to find the sun setting and the day over. How long was I attached to this strange man, working at his impressive erection? He got his rocks off, so that’s good, but now I’m left exposed and not only because my tit hangs half out of my bikini top.

  “I’m not—" I say, still crab-walking away from him. “I blame you. And that chest. You knew what you were doing when you sat there wet and shirtless. You Jezebel. Seducer. Siren.”

  “Are you done?” he asks while resting on his elbows and smiling at my retreat. “Let me know when you’ve got all your accusations out of your system.”

  “You want to be in my system, you temptress. You’re trouble. I should have listened to my gut when it said you were hazardous. You’re danger with a big red sign and exclamation marks.”

  “I could make you come too if that’s what you need to settle down.”

  “No, never,” I say, standing and checking for the tenth time to see if my breasts are covered. “I’d never want such a horrible thing. You’re vile. Nauseating.” Despite my horror at my current predicament, Quaid’s smile lures me into momentary silence. Blinking too fast, I shake my head. “Put your shirt back on so I can yell at you more.”

  Quaid rolls forward and onto his feet. I assume he can do that because he has super strong upper stomach muscles. Of course, the last thing I need is another reminder of his seductive body. My gaze avoids the wet spot on his pants. I still remember the feel of his hard flesh in my hand. Even with his pants acting as a barrier, his dick made a very favorable impression.

  “Better?” he asks after his white T-shirt covers what I earlier ravished.

  “You’re not a good person.”

  “And why would that be?” he asks, crossing his arms and reminding me how he has very powerful arms. Ugh, I doubt I’ve ever hated anyone more.

  “You made me drop my sandwich,” I say and then yell, “People are starving in the world, Quaid! They wouldn’t appreciate knowing I wasted food because of you!”

  “Your sandwich is in the cooler, next to mine.”

  “That’s not the point, and you know it,” I growl despite having no idea what my point is either.

  “What’s this?” he says, pointing his finger at my face. “You’re reacting to something. Are you wetter than hell and unable to think straight?”

  “I don’t know what that means,” I ask, whipping out my best blank stare.

  Quaid grins widely, showing off his white teeth that I just recently licked something fierce. “Don’t pull that duh routine with me, Miranda Johansson. I’ve been on to you since day one.”

  “I don’t like you at all,” I hiss.

  “Should I leave?”

  “Yes,” I demand.

  “Can I finish my sandwich first?”

  Shrugging, I walk to the stone and locate my food. “Might as well. Can’t waste sandwiches when people are starving.”

  I reach for the thermos and drink so much spiked lemonade that I can no longer remember what it’s spiked with. I hand it to him and then bite into my sandwich.

  “Did you act like this with those two turds?” Quaid asks.

  “Yes. You’re not special.”

  Quaid wears his smile as if he owns no other facial expression. I know he’s capable of not smiling, but he chooses to make a point of making a point by being happy. Ugh, I drank too much lemonade.

  “I’ve never had a girl give me a handjob in the woods before.”

  “Oh, you’re the fucking worst!” I yell with my mouth full of chicken sandwich. “Why are you so awful? Is this punishment for me stealing a hot dog from a little kid?”

  “What kid?”

  Shrugging, I struggle to remember the details. “One of the local club guys’ kid. He’s five, and he was shoving them into his mouth as if his parents never fed him. I asked if they cared that he was eating so many and they said no. I worried he might throw up if he kept eating. So I created a distraction, which wasn’t hard because he’s five and really dumb. When he wasn’t looking, I swiped his hot dog. He asked where it went, and I said he ate it. He believed me and ran away screaming about the evil woman. Once he was gone, I ate his hot dog. I sinned against God’s love of dumb children, and now I’m attracted to the worst man ever.”

  “I have good qualities, though,” Quaid says casually. “I’m not totally selfish. Remember how I gave your nipples a good workout?”

  Narrowing my eyes at him, I’m instantly outraged by how he instantly narrows his eyes at me. “I don’t like how you make me feel.”

  “Are you saying I didn’t do a proper job with your nipples?”

  “I’m saying you make me want to claw your eyes out, and my reaction isn’t healthy.”

  “I don’t know. I spent all these months dreaming about you and then showed up to make you mine. If I don’t have to be healthy, why should you be?”

  Sullenly eating my sandwich, I refuse to look at Quaid. His ridiculously handsome face is ridiculously rugged. I can picture him sitting ridiculously naked in my ridiculously round yurt one day. Why can’t I stop using that damn word in my head? My broken brain is just one more reason that Quaid’s bad news, yet he isn’t the one I’m really pissed at.

  “I’m embarrassed by how out of control I got with you. I might not seem the hoity-toity type, but I know how to behave myself. I don’t know why I couldn’t with you.”

  Quaid’s fingers brush away my hair from my sweaty throat. He nuzzles the tender flesh before kissing my cheek.

  “All that negative shit in your head is nothing but noise, baby girl. What really matters is how you and I have a connection deep down. Don’t think about it more than that.”

  “I’m already feeling like a child, and you calling me ‘baby girl’ isn’t helping.”

  “I refuse to call you Rando, and you don’t like Miranda.”

  “‘Hey, you,’ remember?”

  “How about Kitty?” he suggests instantly.

  “Why Kitty?”

  “River suggested it.”

  “Don’t talk about me with him. River has a big mouth like everyone in the Rogers family. Everything he hears, he shares.”

  “I’ll remember that.”

  “I don’t like Kitty.”

  “But you do like cats?” he asks, stating the obvious.

  “You can call me Meow.”

  Quaid
laughs at my suggestions. “How about Mimi?”

  “That’s a cutesy name. Doesn’t fit me.”

  “Mimi is a pet name for grandmother. So not cute as much as distinguished.”

  Failing my battle against a grin, I laugh. “Do I seem distinguished to you?”

  “You seem like anything you want to be, Mimzy.”

  Laughing harder, I shake my head. “Colton calls me ‘Duh’ as in Mir-an-duh.”

  “Nope. Try again.”

  “Miranda means marvelous. You could call me Marv.”

  Quaid rubs his smiling face. “No dude names. I need a name I can yell out during sex.”

  “No yelling. I am sensitive to loud noises.”

  “Fine, I need a name I can moan during sex.”

  “Oh, Marv. That’s the ticket, Marv,” I say with dramatic flair. “I really don’t see the problem.”

  Scooting closer to me, Quaid whispers, “I knew a Marvin in the service. There is no way I want to think about his hairy fucking back while we’re in bed.”

  “You’re too high-maintenance.”

  “What’s wrong with Mira?”

  “That’s what they called Miranda, and she was the worst!”

  “I thought I was the worst.”

  Smiling, I sigh. “I might have overstated your worst-ness.”

  “Possibly.”

  “You never did thank me.”

  Quaid chuckles, immediately knowing what I mean. “Thank you, Kitty.”

  “No, Kitty.”

  “Until you come up with something better, I’m going with Kitty. The way you pounced on me was a lot like how Chase’s cats play.”

  “Not the handjob part, though, right?”

  “No, that was your little-added bonus.”

  I watch him finish his sandwich in three large bites. Quaid then digs around in the cooler. I don’t say anything while he retrieves a bag of chips. When his gaze finds mine, I smile.

  “Can we go back to the part where I like you and pretend I didn’t scream at you for seducing me?”

  “No, Kitty.”

  “Why not?” I ask, frowning.

  “I enjoyed your screaming and accusations. You’re very entertaining when your fight-or-flight juices get pumping.”

  “When are you leaving Ellsberg?”

  When he devours chips—one immediately after another—I assume orgasms make him very hungry.

  “Not for a while,” he says once he swallows.

  “What if River orders you back to Shasta?”

  “I’ll pretend he has the wrong number and hang up.”

  “He’s your president.”

  “You’re my woman,” Quaid says and flips a chip into his mouth. “At least, that’s where I see this going. If my president can’t have a little patience while his brother woos a pretty girl then what the fuck good is he?”

  “I don’t want you getting in trouble,” I mumble, thinking of River, Maverick, and the other Shasta swamp whores ganging up on Quaid.

  “You let me worry about that. Your only concern ought to be what you want next from me.”

  “I wish we could have dinner together tonight, but Tuesdays are ‘family night’ and non-negotiable.”

  “We’ll see each other tomorrow,” he says, chomping on the chips. “And the next day and the next. You get the picture.”

  “Do you want to stay out here for a while?” I ask, missing him already.

  “Of course. Where else would I want to be?”

  Grinning at his relaxed expression, I shift my butt closer to his and nibble at my sandwich. I feel calmer now. My arousal is nowhere to be found. Even with his shirt on, Quaid is hotter than the fucking summer heat, yet the ache between my legs shut up around the time he started teasing me about names.

  Now I’m back to being me, and I like me. So does Quaid, even after I went hellfire nuts on him. That makes me suspect he just might be THE ONE with exclamation marks.

  THE OUTSIDER

  Iwouldn’t call Miranda hyper after she finally stops throwing around insults and accusations. She isn’t entirely calm either. I can’t help thinking if I’d rolled her over and gotten her rocks off before she went nutty that we’d be having a much more relaxed lunch.

  By the time she steals chips from me, I know her lust-fueled panic has passed. When I pretend to hide the bag from her, she wraps her arms around me and threatens to knock my ass to the ground.

  “Do I get to make you smile this time?” I ask, glancing back at her while she reaches for the chips.

  Miranda lets go immediately and gives me a thoroughly sullen frown. “Why do you have to go and embarrass me like that?”

  Feeling like a dick, I turn toward her to apologize. Of course, the sneaky bitch snatches away the chips and smiles triumphantly.

  “Men are so easily tricked.”

  “At least share,” I say, caressing her jaw.

  Smiling wider, she lifts a chip to my lips and laughs when I take the entire thing into my mouth. “Pig.”

  With her feeding me one before eating one herself, we quickly finish the bag of avocado oil kettle chips. “I’ve never had those before.”

  “Mom said we should try new things all the time, so we never settle for shit. No, wait, maybe it was Gram who said that. I don’t know. I just try new snacks a lot. If they suck, I give them to Colton. He lacks taste buds.”

  My cell rings before I’m able to ask a follow-up question. Miranda nearly snarls when she hears the phone. Is there anything sexier than this woman in full-on possessive mode?

  “What’s up, boss?” I ask, recognizing River’s number.

  “I want an update on when you’ll be back.”

  “He won’t be going back,” Miranda says into the phone. “So piss off.”

  “Hello, Rando,” River mutters, sighing deeply.

  “It’s Kitty now.”

  “Really?”

  “No, you fucking idiot,” she growls into the phone, and I can barely keep myself from bursting into childlike laughter. “Does Kitty Wexler ring any bells? No way will I use the name of some slut you banged in high school.”

  “That’s right. I did bang her,” River says, chuckling.

  “Kitty said you weren’t good.”

  Losing his humor, River grumbles, “She did not.”

  Miranda grins at me. “Kitty claimed the reason girls called you Go-Go was because you finished-finished too fast.”

  Miranda laughs so hard at her comment that she nearly falls off the seat. River isn’t nearly as entertained.

  “Is that really why they call you Go-Go?” I ask my president.

  “No, asshole, it’s because I’m fucking fast.”

  “That’s what Kitty said!” Miranda cries.

  “I run fast, Rando!”

  “Sure, sure,” she says, leaning her head against my shoulder. “I’m going to keep Quaid around for a while. Unless you really want him back. Then I can drive up and visit the club a lot. Might stay for weeks at a time.”

  “No, you stay right where you are,” River says immediately. “You’re needed in Ellsberg.”

  Giving me a knowing wink, she murmurs, “That I am.”

  “Are we done, boss?” I ask, and he sighs with relief. Without another word, he hangs up. “Thanks for handling that.”

  “I sense you’re not very close to River, and I’ve known him since he was a little boy. I’m not afraid of him in the way you are.”

  “I don’t fear River.”

  “It’s okay to admit you have fears,” she says, stroking my forearm. “It makes you human, and I know you’re human because I jacked you off very recently. Robots don’t relieve themselves that way.”

  “And you gained your robot knowledge where?”

  “I jacked one off before and it just sort of looked at me.”

  Chuckling, I shake my head. “I’m still not afraid of River.”

  “But you don’t care about him.”

  “I care about him as much as I care ab
out my other club brothers.”

  “Meaning not at all.”

  “That’s not fair,” I say, losing my smile. “I don’t know them well.”

  “Why are they still strangers after all this time?”

  “I live at Chase’s house, so I see him every day, but the rest of the guys are more like men I see in passing at a bar.”

  “Did you make friends when you were in the military?”

  “Yeah, but I was stationed with those guys. Sometimes, my unit was on its own for days with no distractions. Of course, that’ll build friendships stronger than what the average person gets in civie life.”

  Miranda takes my hand, tilting it to examine my palm and then my knuckles. She places my hand on my leg and reaches for her phone.

  “Yes, Rando?” River answers less than a minute later.

  “You’re a bad leader.”

  Grunting, he asks between clenched teeth, “How do you figure?”

  “You need to have more team-building activities with your peons. You didn’t do that, and they don’t know each other, but I have a solution. Want to hear it?”

  “No.”

  “You should take your stinky biker buddies on a weeklong fun run. No hotels. Just camping out at night, eating at shitty restaurants, and watching out for local cops. It’ll bring you closer in the way our RVing did when we were kids. By the time you return, you’ll know how to order for each other. You’ll know all kinds of stuff. Like which guys have sensitive tummies and get the shits easiest. Who snores? Who needs meds to sleep? Who farts a lot? That’s hardcore team building right there, Go-Go. I’ve offered this advice for free because we’re old friends. Plus, I don’t want Pop learning you suck at leadership and stealing away your chapter to give to Colton.”

  “Why the fuck would Colton take it?” River nearly yells.

  “Because he can’t run Ellsberg. If people think you’re a bad leader, maybe you should be replaced.”

  “I’m not a bad leader, though, Rando,” he says, emphasizing every syllable in her name.

  “Because you’re going to take my advice about the fun run?”

  River sighs loudly. “Fuck you, Rando.”

  “It’s a good idea, isn’t it?”

  “It’s not a bad idea.”