by Ryan Michele
“Sweet lips, can’t wait to make you moan like that.”
The meat that I swallow gets lodged in my throat and I cough it down then drink to wash it all the way down. As I gasp for breath, a hand taps my back and I jump at the touch, turning. Tug. Besides the coughing, I settle when I know it’s him.
“You all right?” Tug’s concern is evident as his hand does wicked things to my back, rubbing up and down continuously.
“I’m fine.” I cough and wipe my mouth with my napkin. The air flows through me, finally reaching my lungs. Tug must have been satisfied as he sits down in his seat, never taking his eyes off of me. I ignore him and the sultry smell of him that lingers on me from his touch and resume eating. I will not think about the kindness he showed in making sure I wasn’t choking. I will not think about the fact that him doing that totally puts him in the good guy category. Nope, not me. I will not think any of that.
“Glad I have that effect on ya, sweet lips,” he says, snapping me out of my thoughts. I shake and process his words. Ugh, ego much. My eyes water from the coughing fit and I dab them with a napkin repeatedly to stop the water. If I didn’t, I’d be glaring at him.
“You just caught me off guard. One minute we are talking about something the next you’re making lewd comments.” Lewd, sexy and hot as shit comments that drive me crazy. Stop! I chastise, not wanting these thoughts even remotely distracting me.
He chuckles and gives me a full out sexy half-smirk. “Babe. That was nowhere near lewd. You want me to do lewd?” His brow raises in challenge.
My burger stops right before entering my mouth and I contemplate his words as a chill runs down my spine. I don’t answer verbally, but non-verbally I shake my head, not needing anything like that coming out of his mouth. I’m already on edge as it is and if I can stop him I’m going to do it. He sits up in his seat and picks up his burger, scarfing it. The way his strong chiseled jaw moves with each chew has me mesmerized. The movement of his Adams’ apple and the way his lips swipe side-to-side as he chews, make me think of all the places I’d like his lips on my body. I rapidly turn away, not wanting him to decipher my thoughts. I don’t dare look at his face because the ass will know. He seems to be able to read me and I really don’t like that.
I need to get this conversation off of me and off sex before this night ends up in ripped clothes on a bedroom floor, or maybe the diner’s bathroom. “What made you want to join Ravage?”
He sets his food down on the white plate and leans against the seat, almost like he’s proud that I asked him. His eyes gleam with happiness. “Family. Brotherhood. I wanted that.”
“But you have a family.” To me it seems a bit jaded if you have one but want to find another, but who the hell am I to talk? I have no one and would love to have some type of family to spend holidays with or even talk to. But it is an honest question.
“Having a family and being part of one are two different things. I have a mother and sister, but shit happens.” He lets his words drift and doesn’t finish them. “With Ravage, it’s like a team and each member will have your back no matter what.”
“So you wanted to be on a team?” My eye quirks as I try to figure this man out. I get wanting to have a family, hell I’d love to have one, but the team part is throwing me off a bit.
He scoots his food off to the side and the air around us changes. The seriousness of what he’s about to tell me rolls off of him in waves. I’m captivated by it and I want to know what it is. Need to know what it is. Why is up for discussion another time. I set my food down and listen intently.
“When I was in the service, I had a team of men.” He pauses. “That team was there through everything. We counted on each other and every single one of those guys I knew would have my back. When a guy gets out and has to join civilians, it’s not easy.” He shakes his head as if he’s clearing away a bad thought. “When you come back and there are so many laws dictating you, after not having them for years, the adjustment sometimes doesn’t work out so well.”
I start reading between the lines of what he’s saying, but not really saying. Tug had a very difficult time adjusting. I wouldn’t know the first thing about what he saw or what he did in the military. I take him at his word.
“But how did you meet up with these guys?” Sure. I found the place because my aunt gave me a card with X’s address on it. I’m not judging just curious.
“Buzz. He was in my unit. Didn’t know him growing up, but come to find out we only lived about an hour from each other. Anyway. After we got out, we went our separate ways, didn’t last long. He knew the Ravage brothers and that’s how it all started.”
I am not going to pretend to know exactly what they do in Ravage because it’s none of my business, but the brotherhood sounded good for him. The pride in his voice about it isn’t hidden to me. At least he saw something and went for it. Shows his determination and persistence.
“But you’re not a brother yet?” I dip my fry in ketchup and then shove it in my mouth. Yum.
“Nope. Prospect. Been that way for almost a year.” He scratches the scruff on his sexy as sin chin and my damn mouth waters. Yes, waters. If I could kick myself in the ass I would so do it.
“What does being a prospect mean exactly?”
His eyes narrow and I don’t like that look on him at all. “Means I’m trying to be part of the club, anything else is club business.” That’s pretty much what Princess said.
I read many erotic romance books about motorcycle clubs. But who knows if they have a lot of real information in them or not. One thing that is consistent in all of them is that women are not part of the club, they don’t know the comings and goings inside of them, and they definitely are kept in the dark. And to be frank, thank God for that because I really don’t need to know. I should have remembered this before asking the question in the first place, but it was conversation that didn’t revolve around sex.
“Understood.” His eyes quirk up in surprise almost like he thought I would challenge him on this. Like I would pester him to get information. There is no need, especially considering after this, we will not be seeing each other again and his Prospect/Brother status will be moot.
“Does it bother you?”
“Does what bother me?” I repeat, confused.
“Me being with Ravage MC.”
“Oh,” I breathe out, “I don’t care one way or the other, Tug. This is only dinner and then we are parting ways. You live your life. I’ll live mine.”
He leans back in the booth, putting his arm on top of the seat. Confidence oozes off him in thick waves, almost knocking me off kilter. His long brown hair frames his face. I flex my fingers. What would it be like to run my fingers through it? Would it be tangled or sleek? I blink and try to get myself under control. This night needs to be over soon. I can’t take much more of his hotness.
“Sweet lips, I’m just getting started.” Before I can speak, his phone rings. He holds up one finger as he answers it swiftly. I quiet without thought.
“Yeah.” He stays stoic, not giving any body language away throughout the short conversation. Only hearing one side sucks, not that I care.
“Be there in fifteen.” He pauses, gazing at me with eyes full of disappointment.
“I’m with Blaze. Gotta make sure she gets home.” He winks at me and heat rises up my cheeks. I breathe out, willing it to go away, willing my body to stop this reaction to him.
“Yep.”
“On it.” He turns the phone off. “Gotta go.” He throws some bills on the table and rises from the booth.
“You go on. I’ll be fine.” Really I just need a breather and if he goes I can have it, get my wits about me.
“Nope. I’ll follow you to your road and then I gotta go.” The steel in his voice leaves little room for discussion or argument, but he’s only following me so there’s no reason to argue. Wait.
“How do you know where I live?” Because I know sure as shit I didn’t tell him. I rise from th
e table at my question.
He smirks and leads me out the door. “Google.” How in the hell can someone find me that easily, especially with my name. I really need to brush up on my technology.
Something niggles at me so I ask, “This happen a lot? You get calls and have to leave?” He stops. The moon shines down the side of him, making his face glow and his hair shine. I bite my lip as the shadows play on his cheeks and his eye lashes shadow them too.
“Yeah, sweet lips, part of it.” He says no more and leads me to my Jeep, ushering me in, while holding the door open. Another nice thing for a man to do. Damn.
I stand next to my seat, my back turned to it facing Tug. Hot. So very hot in this small space. He steps closer and I need to breathe. I try to hop up in my seat, but his arm catches me around the waist. His hold is snug and he keeps it while turning me back into him. My breath catches as his warm, hard body presses up against mine. Every muscle of his body from legs to groin to chest invades my space. Hard. Hot. Sexy. Time seems to stand still and my lips part. He’s so close that if I stood on my tiptoes our lips would lock in what I’m sure would be a ferocious kiss.
His lips come down on mine in the softest peck I’ve ever had, surprising me, or disappointing me, I’m not sure which. The kiss is more like a butterfly kiss, a flutter of a wing caressing my skin. My eyes lock on his and part of me wants him to devour me, consume me. It’s as if he can read the desire in my face as his eyes light with a fire I have yet to see. “Another time, sweet lips. Next time I get a real taste.”
He releases me on unsteady legs, but I hastily climb up into the Jeep, shutting the door as soon as he steps away. Shit!
“Get me the needle and thread.” I pause, thinking on my feet. “Oh and the boob pads, hurry.” Another wardrobe problem; this time from one of the newer dancers Star. She’s been here a couple of weeks so I consider her new. Her routine tonight has something to do with stars and her top, or lack thereof, broke, spilling her tits out, which would be fine, but not the right time for that.
Luna, who has turned over a new leaf, brings me the things rapidly. Suzie homemaker was not on the job description and considering I am no seamstress, I do the best I can. Luckily, it’s one of the things my mother taught me back when she wasn’t sick. When she was vibrant and could do all the things a mother does with her child. Until the sickness ate her up inside, taking my whole world away from me.
“Ouch!” Star shouts and my focus goes to the pin I have obviously stuck her in the chest with. Shit.
“Sorry.” I have no idea how Princess did all of this by herself every night for so long. Stupid shit like no tampons. Really? Everything is easily fixable and normally doesn’t take long to deal with, but it does get tiresome. Sometimes I feel like their mother.
I remove the top off of Star and continue to sew so I don’t poke her.
Princess hasn’t been around and I haven’t heard much from her except to tell me that Casey is hanging in there. She’s popped in a few times, but never stayed long enough for any real conversation. She did tell me that she wants to have a meeting, but doesn’t know when that will be yet.
It’s fine. I can handle pretty much anything at this point. And what’s better is the women don’t give me shit so much anymore. They listen, do what they’re supposed to do and we all make money. Pretty simple concept. Glad they figured it out, saved us all from headaches and drama that I do not need. That doesn’t stop the cattiness between the girls, but I have learned in this short time to handle each situation as it comes.
“There.” I finish stitching and hand Star the garment. She slips it on and it fits like a glove.
Star jumps in her spot excitedly. “Thank you!” She rushes off to get ready for her set. I do a sweep of the room, nothing is out of place. Women doing makeup, chatting with one another, everything is good. I’ve gotten much more practical in my shoes since starting my new tasks. Those first nights with heels were killer to my poor feet and since I’ve been doing a pretty good job of being incognito, flats work so much better. Guys that come here expect the women in heels and all done up, helps me fade into the background.
I weave through the crowd with Cali trailing behind, and people shift out of the way as they focus on the dancers, waving money and catcalling through the room.
My eyes land on the table in the front row and a small pang of disappointment settles at the three guys in business suits sitting there. Tug hasn’t been to X for two days. I thought for sure I’d have him up my ass, and the fact that he’s not kind of eats at me, considering he had been here the entire week before, not that it matters. Who am I kidding? That night after our coffee that I didn’t have, all I’ve thought about is that man. Even had a few orgasms in the process. I swear he’s gone in and scrambled my brain.
It pisses me off that he’s a nice guy. Why can’t he be a fucking jerk and have me hate him. It would make all of this so much easier.
A hand on my ass stops my thoughts and I turn. Cali seizes a pimple-faced kid, probably just turned twenty-one, and drunker than shit, eyes partially glazed over. The grin on his face instantly fades and terror replaces it. Cali picks him up, escorting him out of the building with ease. I turn to the bar where Ace is tending, ignoring the taunting coming from the kid’s friends.
“Everything going okay?” I holler over the bar and Ace gives me his sly smile, no doubt winning the hearts of many of the ladies in here. With his luscious, built body, tattoos peeking out under his shirt and those awesome blue eyes, my heart stops. He strolls over, wiping his hand on a white towel, and then whips it up over his shoulder where it stays resting.
“Good. Night’s hot. You back up there?” He nods to the stage.
“Nope. Done for the night. I’m leaving, just want make sure everything’s good.” With only an hour left, the guys will lock up and there shouldn’t be any more catastrophes in that short of time. Hopefully. Normally I stay, but tonight the pounding music is playing havoc with my brain, the pain slicing through me like a knife. All the thumping is about ready to bring me to my knees. I took pain relievers about four hours ago and they didn’t do a damn bit of good.
The hairs on the back of my neck stand up before I see him. How is that even possible? Tug’s here. I’m a damn yoyo. Part of me is elated and the other part, not so much. I sweep the area and meet his stare, his eyes locking with mine. The electric current flows between us. I scramble to pull myself together. His brothers follow him as he effortlessly strides toward me, through the throng of people moving out of their path like the parting of the Red Sea.
“Hey, sweet lips.” He stops close and tilts his head to the side. It’s sexy as hell.
“Hey. I’m leaving. Enjoy the show.” I motion with my hand to the girl up on stage, Tug doesn’t react. His eyes stay locked on me. Buzz and Breaker’s eyes focus on whoever is there, paying no attention to Tug.
“Good. Let’s go.” He reaches over and grabs my hand, and an instant shock courses through me so intense that I’m momentarily paralyzed. I get my wits and try to yank my arm but, he doesn’t let me go.
“I’m going home. You can do whatever you want.” I try for stern, but I fall flat and he knows it. Dammit.
“Come on.” Tug nods at Ace and clenches my hand, then leads the way through the crowd. If I wanted to fight I could, but I can’t cause a scene. And shit if his grip isn’t strong, like he wouldn’t take no for an answer anyway. Cali catches up to us right as we pass by Doug, who nods in acceptance.
I jerk my hand, but his grip is firm, not painful but demanding. “Cali’s here. He’ll make sure I get to my car.”
“Nope. I will. Get your stuff.” He holds out his hand for my key to unlock the door to my dressing room, but I don’t hand it to him. Instead, I unlock the door my damn self. I do not need some guy doing shit for me. He smirks but doesn’t say anything as I barrel into the room and gather up my things. This room has become more of an office over the past week instead of a dressing room with papers
piled up for lineups and music lists. But I like it.
Tug makes himself comfortable on the couch, leaning back and crossing his boots one over another in front of him, his arms behind his head in the sexiest of ways. “You gonna ask me where I’ve been?” he asks patiently.
“No.”
He answers anyway. “Had club business. Now I’m free for the night.”
I look at him through the mirror. His leather rag fits perfectly over his wide chest, the black shirt underneath only enhancing it. His hair isn’t laced with product, but looks like his fingers have been through it hundreds of times today, sleeking it back. His deep chocolate eyes are locked on mine and I catch my heart doing this weird thumping that I’m not accustomed to. Immediately, I move away and try to get myself together.
“Tug, I’ve got a massive headache. I’m going home to lie down.” Thank God for it, score me. Never been so happy to have one.
“I’ll come with ya.” His words come out matter-of-factly, like I what he says goes. Uh… no.
I turn fast and my head spins a bit, but I get it together. “You are not coming to my house!” I declare. He is not coming into my space, just not.
“I’ll follow you. Make sure you get there okay.” The lines around his eyes tell me he’s full of shit. This is not going to happen. He can follow, but he will not come into my house. Absolutely not.
“You can follow,” I grab my bag, “but that’s it.” He chuckles, following me out.
Through the entire drive, I keep checking my rearview mirror, watching the lone light following me through the darkness. I’ve never had a man over at my home before and the thought is very nerve racking. It is my safe haven; the place I can go to get away, and I’m not ready to have anyone in my space. This will be one fight that Tug will not win.
Pulling up to the house, floodlights kick on, illuminating the brick home that I love so much. I open the garage door with the remote. The sound of Tug’s bike roars and then cuts off behind me as I park. My eyes are so glued on the man behind me that when I look up, I slam on my brakes, almost driving through the damn wall of the garage. Shit. My pulse flares and I grip the steering wheel. Dammit. Get a grip woman.
