by Violet Blaze
“You look smashing, Pint-Size,” he says, but although the swagger and the smirk are there, there's also a slight coldness in his voice that I never intended. When I told him my plan, I didn't mean to cause him any pain. My decision isn't a judgment and it isn't conditional on how much I love him. Because that number … it's incalculable. But sometimes, love can fester into discontent if somebody isn't happy with the life they have in their relationship. I really don't want that to happen to us.
“Thank you,” I say as I lift my chin and meet his gaze head on, realizing as I do that everyone's staring at us again. If I want this to work between us, I have to make this moment count. Because if I screw this up and then decide I want to stay, I might not be able to swing it.
Without thinking too hard about it, I abandon my drink on the counter and close the few inches between us, reaching up and putting my arms around Royal's neck and lifting up on my toes for a kiss. If he doesn't want one from me, all he has to do is lift his head up.
There's a split second there where I can feel his hurt and anger like a palpable thing, but then he's leaning down into me, capturing my mouth hard and fast and frenzied, pushing my body back against the bar as male laughter bubbles up around us. I can't tell who's still watching and who's looked away because my eyes are closed and my entire body is in flames.
Royal's hands wander down my sides, over my hips, gripping me hard through my leather pants. His tongue slides into my mouth, pushing mine aside, taking over the kiss. I breathe out deep and then inhale Royal's deliciously wild scent through my nostrils, letting my senses twist together until all I can feel, see, hear, touch, smell is Royal McBride.
When he pulls back, he speaks quietly against my lips.
“You fucking gutted me this afternoon, you know that?”
“Is there somewhere we can go and talk?” I can ask, knowing full well that we'll probably fuck and then talk. It's sort of our style.
“Not at present, love,” he whispers, his voice so delightfully British that I want to squeal. Those brown eyes gaze into mine for a long moment before he lets go of me and pulls away. I feel a gap yawning between us and it sucks—especially since I was the one that opened it. Better a sudden gap now than decades of drifting apart.
Deep breath.
“We've got an early run in the morning,” Royal tells me and my heart drops. “There's a bloody good chance that I won't be leaving the clubhouse until then.”
“Oh.”
I grab my drink and take another swig. Looks like Janae is right: I'm going to need it.
He starts to turn away and my throat gets tight and itchy, like I should say something else to keep him here.
“Royal …” I start and maybe there's something in my voice that gets him because he stops and turns fully back around to look at me again. “Just … give me ten minutes?”
He looks over his shoulder, in the direction of an older man near a cluster of red sofas, and then back at me.
“I suppose I can spare ten minutes for Pint-Sized and Pretty,” he tells me, dropping his cigarette into an ashtray and then leading the way down the hall past the kitchen and outside, to that perfect little garden area that I admired on my way to sneak into the clubhouse … where I sucked Royal's dick and let him have bareback sex with me for the first time.
Hmm.
About that …
“I know that you're probably angry—”
“Angry?” he asks as he moves down the walkway and pauses next to a wooden bench. When he glances over his shoulder, his face is like stone, like that passionate kiss he just gave me never happened. “That doesn't even begin to bloody cut it, sweetheart.”
My lips purse as he keeps walking, the shadows created by the pergola above our heads casting strange shadows across his back as he pauses next to a fountain in the corner. One of the nice things about living on the coast is while it's often cold, it never gets cold-cold, like put on the parkas and salt the driveways cold. So decorative ponds and fountains and pipes, they never freeze.
The air smells sweet as I move over to stand next to him, the earthy sweetness of the red and purple flowers above our heads piercing the winter air and promising that spring will soon be sprung.
“I don't think I explained myself very well,” I start as Royal reaches into his pocket and pulls out a quarter. He clutches it tight in his palm and then puts it on the end of his thumb, flicking it up and into the water with a small splash. Maybe he's making a wish? If so, seeing an outlaw biker president make a wish with pocket change is absolutely adorable. Or maybe he's just being ironic? I don't know.
“Let me clarify,” he begins as he gets out another cigarette and lights up. “You invited my vice president—my biggest supporter and my biggest critic—and his wife over to the courthouse on Monday to be witnesses to a wedding that we may or may not have. And you did this because if you don't show up, you want them to bloody hate you.”
“Well, not exactly, but I suppose that's close enough.”
“You …” Royal starts and then he's flicking his cigarette into the water where it hisses and fizzles out as he whirls to face me. Uh-oh. There's some of that anger I sensed in him before but never quite saw, not really. I mean, in our other arguments, he was pissed off, sure, but … not like this. “Goddamn it. I didn't want to like you, Lyric. I tried really hard not to. But you know what? We're good together.”
“We are,” I say and he growls at me—literally growls. Doesn't intimidate me. Maybe a lot of people are afraid of Royal McBride, President of the Alpha Wolves Motorcycle Club, but I am not one of them.
“We're bloody great. I mean, fan-fucking-tastic. And I thought … God, I thought we'd worked things out.”
“Royal, Monday night …”
“Fuck Monday night,” he says as he steps close to me and reaches down to touch the side of my face, his fingers trembling with emotion. So much of it is rage, but there's more to it than that, too. When I lift my hand up to touch him, he pulls away. “This is because of Mia?”
“It's because for the second time in two weeks, my life was … it could've easily ended. And if it had, it would've ended with questions and regrets and uncertainty.”
“And which one of those am I?”
“You're … an enigma,” I say because it's true. Royal is sort of this big fat question mark. I look up and into his face, his hard masculine expression silhouetted against a sea of stars. In the distance, I can hear the ocean murmuring sweet lullabies. “That's the thing. I don't know what will happen if I pick this.” I gesture with my hand at the clubhouse and the murmur of voices drifting out the cracked back door. “We've talked about this before. Where do I fit in here?”
Royal takes a deep breath and runs his inked hand over his face. My eyes catch on the intricate details of his tattoos, how each red rose petal looks fresh and crisp and dewy, how the crossed pistols over his wrist are so realistic they look like photographs.
“Where's my place here, Royal?”
“I don't know,” he says, sounding beyond exhausted. Maybe this is cruel of me to dump this on him when I know the kind of week he's bound to have, but this is it. I'm making my choice now and he deserves to know that. “I have no fucking clue.”
“All or nothing,” I tell him with a deep breath. “You're the one that said it originally and guess what? You were right. All. Or nothing.”
“You're fucking killing me here, Pint-Size,” he says, and his voice is broken and rough and awful. I want to curl up against his chest and let him hold me forever. Instead, I fold my arms over my own chest and stand there watching the moonlight play across the sharp lines of his cheekbones. Royal stares back at me for a moment and then shakes his head. “Bloody hell,” he whispers under his breath, rubbing his chin as he looks down at the pavement. “I want you to be happy, Lyric, but shit, I'm such a selfish fucking wanker. I don't want to let you go. Part of me worries that if you got on a plane and left, that I'd follow you there on my bike and drag you
back.”
“But?” I ask as I hold my breath tight and wait for his answer. It shouldn't mean so much, a bunch of words strung together on a drizzly night, but it feels like they mean everything.
“But if you want to leave … I'll act like a goddamn gentleman and say good-bye.” A pause as he looks me over with a scalding expression that makes my breath catch. “Properly.”
My hands seem to move of their own accord, grabbing Lyric by the hips and tugging her close. I love the way her breath hitches and jumps with a sharp gasp of pleasure as I cut the sound off with my lips, leaning over to kiss her hard and fast, spinning our bodies around and slamming hers against the dewy chain-link fence.
Beyond my lover's body, the forest looms dark and ancient, the perfect backdrop for a bestial little shag, like some kind of wild coupling between mates.
Without hesitation, I reach down and pop the button on Lyric's leather pants, listening to the chatter from inside as the sound of human voices taints the night. Somebody might find us out here, but fuck 'em. 'S not like half the boys in there aren't cozied up in the corner with club whores anyway.
“So now you're ready to fuck me like a groupie?” Lyric asks quietly, her voice this low raspy breath that turns my cock to granite.
I cock a brow at her and then jerk the tight leather down her round, creamy hips … to find no panties at all, just some fucking strappy thing that curves down her hips and around her thighs. It's like a leather harness, some contraption I've never seen in my damn life but wish that I had. Oh good Lord, I've been bloody missing out.
“If that's what I need right now,” I start as I kneel down and take her leather pants with me, loving that she wore towering red velvet heels with her outfit tonight. Not only are they sexy as fuck, but they're also easy to take off.
I slide one off her foot and watch as she loses a good five inches of height, shrinking her back to the tiny, little pint-sized thing that I fell in love with. Like a bad prince with his sultry Cinderella, I pull off the other shoe and toss them both aside. Within seconds, I have Lyric completely bare from the waist down and shivering against the wet, cool surface of the chain-link.
“If that's what I need,” I repeat as I cup the side of her face in one hand, “then will you give it to me?”
She stares at me as I run my thumb over her lower lip, smearing red lipstick in my wake.
“Yes.”
My hands drop to the waistband of my jeans, unhooking the button, dragging the zipper down. I groan as my cock springs free, painful and hard as stone, ready to be surrounded by my old lady's heat. Because no matter what she thinks, that's what she is to me. I won't tell her now because I'll be damned if this affects her decision making, but if Lyric leaves, then I'm done. Leather lovers and dorm fumbles, that's all I'll want. I won't ever find another woman that makes me feel like this. I'm fucking certain of that. Girls like Lyric are too precious, too rare, once in a bloody lifetime.
With a slight growl, I grip Lyric's ass and lift her up, pinning her body against the fence with my own. She's so small and light, I could hold her here all night, but she wraps her legs around me anyway, hooks her fingers together behind my neck.
My cock finds her opening out of instinct, nudging between slick folds as my thumbs trace over the leather straps of her absurdly sexy little harness.
“The hell,” I start as I thrust deep, feeling this overwhelming surge of pleasure rush through me as my shaft spreads her apart, gliding into those slick molten depths, “is this fucking thing called? Is this a harness, so I can ride your ass into the mattress?”
Lyric licks her lips, her cheeks turning pink as I grip her ass tight and slide out, pumping myself in again, nice and quick and messy. I'm not worried about making her come right now. All I care about is that we connect like this, that I hold her like this, take her like this.
“Yes.” That one word escapes her lips in a long breath as I groan and close my eyes for a moment, trying to gather myself together.
“Fuck.”
My hips start to move, fast and desperate, the metal of the fence clinking as I thrust, taking my old lady in the back of the clubhouse with a needy fervor that does nothing to cool the deep emotions burning in my chest. This is only scratching the surface of the turmoil inside of me.
“Keep this on. I want you to wear it until I get a chance to use it.” I grind my body against Lyric's, even when I hear the sound of voices from behind me. I ignore them. Don't give a wild fuck about anybody else at this moment.
Lyric presses herself close to me, her head against my chest, her fingers struggling to stay locked together behind my neck as I feel my pulse picking up, my heart pumping blood fast and frenzied throughout my whole body, churning it into my already painfully hard cock. It feels like it's going to crack in half, soothed only by the companionable warmth of the only woman I've ever fallen in love with.
But it doesn't happen as quick as I thought. No. I'm too much in my goddamn head, fucking Lyric long and hard and frenzied until my arms are trembling with the strain and sweat's pouring down the sides of my face. It's only when her body starts to go, melting in my arms, muscles caressing and encouraging me as she comes that I go, too, sagging us both into the fence as I finish and clutch her ass tight, keeping our pelvises pressed tightly together.
We both breathe heavy and deep for several long seconds before pulling apart with a small moan of regret on my part. My body is heated and sweaty, moist and wet in all the places we touched. I want more. Hours of this. All night.
“I should … I have family brunch in the morning,” Lyric says as she grabs her leather pants and starts to wiggle into them. Watching her fight to get them over the ripe swell of her hips makes my nostrils flare and my heart pump faster.
There's a quiet moment where we're both buttoning our pants before Lyric grabs onto my arm, using me as a support as she leans over and grabs a heel, lifting her leg up and sliding it onto her foot. There's something about that simple act that really gets me, far more than the shag we just had against the fence.
I stand stone-still as she tucks on the second shoe and then stands up, a full half a foot taller, her green eyes locked onto my brown ones, lipstick smeared across the lower half of her face. Bet I've got it all over mine, too.
“This might sound like a stupid question,” Lyric starts as she sucks in a long, deep breath. “But would you like to join me? For brunch, I mean.”
My brows shoot up at that.
“Brunch? With the bloody mayor? Are you serious, Pint-Size?”
“I realize you have a … a run … in the morning, but if you have a spare hour or so around nine, I'd love to see you there. We're eating at that place in the cove, the one that puts the tables out at the end of the dock on sunny days. I can never remember the name of it.”
“You're planning on leaving me, but you want me at brunch with the family? I don't quite get it, love.”
“Planning on leaving you?” Lyric asks as she tilts her head to the side and studies me. My fingers itch to touch her again, but I know if I get my hands on that woman right now, I won't let go. Doubtless some asshole will come looking for me in a few and we'll get interrupted. I'd rather not murder one of my brothers tonight. “If that's what you heard, if that's what you think, then you're not listening to me. Royal, I'm giving myself a deadline. I'm making a decision. For what's probably the first time in my life, I'm going to be selfish and put myself first. If I don't do that, if I don't learn to value who I am, I doubt think I can ever truly and selflessly love somebody else.”
“What does that have to do with brunch?” I ask, trying not to get angry again. Spending an entire week sulking around like a little bitch with representatives from the other six chapters in town sounds like a good way to lose my presidency, my club … or my old lady.
“I'm going all in this week, just like I told you. All or nothing. Let's see what happens, Royal. My family … as awful as they can be, are a part of my life. Come to bru
nch. It's been a family tradition since forever. The first, last and only one I ever missed was last week and only because I couldn't let my family see me with Mia's scars on my face and my hair all messed up.” There's a long pause here where I know she's thinking about Mia. About killing Mia. My nails dig into my palms and I grit my teeth. “And although I know I have the best excuse in the world to miss it this week, I'm not going to. If I can get through this, I know I'll be able to get through anything.”
She reaches out and places her palm against my chest, effectively melting this horrible rat bastard of a man, turning his stony heart to the vibrant red of beating flesh.
“Good night, Royal McBride,” Lyric says, running her fingers down my shirt and then pausing to grab at the leather of my cut, fisting it in her hand and squeezing tight before she lets go and walks away.
I stay facing the darkness of the redwood forest for several long seconds, turning around only after the spill of music from inside gets loud and then fades away, watching as the back door slams shut and clicks into place.
After a minute, I light up a cigarette and pull the sweet sultry kiss of tobacco into my lungs.
What the hell is wrong with me? The fuck did I just say?
Must be losin' the damn plot.
Let Lyric go? Yeah, if that's what she really wanted, then that's what I would do.
But fuck if I intend to let it get that far. If she wants me at brunch with her stuck-up fucking family, I'll go—but only after I put a few holes in whatever rats I can find hiding in my forest.
Redwood National Park is over two hundred square miles of old-growth redwood trees, giant ass prehistoric ferns, and clouds of dewy wet fog. Plus, it backs up to the Yurok and Hoopa Indian Reservations as well as a half-dozen other state and national parks. It's basically miles and miles of undeveloped wilderness with trees that are older than the damn country they now sit in. Most of 'em will probably outlast it, too.
