STRIKE: Storm Runners Motorcycle Club 2 (SRMC)

by Devane, Lauren

  “Let’s take the stairs then.” They’d gone up to the second flight before he’d pulled her down on top of him, unzipped his jeans and pushed her panties aside. Then it was fast and hot and bright. When she came, her teeth had clamped down on his shoulder, her hands barely pushing his jacket out of the way in time to muffle the sound with his flesh.

  “I don’t mind being bitten,” Tom said after with a grin as he took her hand they continued to her apartment.

  _____

  So they went out. Came home. Failed to find the information they needed.

  Until the following Thursday.

  _____

  Grace didn't understand why Tom seemed more restless with each hour that passed in the smoky bars. More than once, she'd look at him across the room while he talked to a random man, easing information out but making it look like conversation, and see the strain around his beautiful eyes. They were so clear when they looked into hers, but the rest of the time they were shadowed.

  Hidden things always come to light, she reminded herself. It's not like he knew all the pieces of her puzzle yet—what they were was too new. Too tenuous.

  But Tom was a man made up of twists and turns. A man whose secrets could drown her. She knew it instinctively.

  Still, she didn't ask.

  Maybe it was the guilt of not telling him what she was from the first time she kissed him. At night when she eased away from him and washed off the thick eye makeup and the grime of the evening in the shower, she could see him assess the woman beneath the artifice. Grace wondered if he found her wanting. If lively Dakota, who took off her clothes and made doe eyes at men, was more his speed. At the Ladies Night, he never took his eyes off her.

  Before shift one night, he convinced her to go with him to eat ice cream.

  “Do you like standard or variety?” He asked, lacing his fingers with hers and pulling her closer to him. The heat of his body and the spicy scent of his cologne pushed back the rush of fall that had greeted her when she'd stepped out the front door of the lobby.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, my sister, she likes standard ice cream. Chocolate. Vanilla. Even coffee. I go for variety if the place offers it. Blends with caramelized ginger and carob.”

  “Seriously?” Her lips twitched. Tom wasn't the kind of man she pictured eating carob.

  “What, you think I'm dull enough to stock my freezer with vanilla?”

  Grace pouted. “Vanilla is actually my favorite.”

  “Oh shit.” His fingers tightened on hers and she pressed her lips together to keep from laughing. “I'm sorry, baby. They make a real nice vanilla down near the stadium.”

  “I'm just messing with you,” she said, bumping her hip into his. “I like almost anything. Take me to your favorite place. I'd love to try something weird.”

  When he'd called for the date, Tom made Grace promise they wouldn't talk about the case at all that night. It had seemed strange at first, since it was the main thing they talked about lately, but as they strolled down the road hand in hand, she was glad he'd suggested it.

  “What was your favorite class in school?” She asked, moving closer to him as a man on a bicycle sped past, his head braced down against the wind.

  “Does gym count?” Tom laughed. “Just kidding. I liked math. It doesn't seem like that would figure into owning a bar, but I'm happier running the receipts in the morning than I am dealing with people at night.”

  “Doesn't seem like you've been putting in many nights there lately.”

  “I have more interesting things to keep my eye on,” Tom said. “Besides, the one benefit of owning the place is that you can choose what time you need to take off.”

  “So bars aren't your main scene?”

  “Not really.” He shrugged. “I prefer a backyard cookout or anything outdoors, when it comes down to it. Maybe it's just how I was raised. The Storm Runners collectively owns several establishments now and I've spent more than my fair share of time getting them up and running—I was the only one with management experience going into it—but I'd still rather be drinking a Bud Light while Ace grills another of his not-so-famous burgers and Jack tells a tall tale about whatever he did the night before.”

  She wanted to ask why he'd been in the Ladies Night the first day they'd met if he didn't prefer to frequent clubs in his spare time. Grace and her chief had both done plenty of research before she'd gone undercover there and she knew exactly who owned the club—it wasn't the Storm Runners. If he was looking for a place to fly under the radar, she supposed it would do well enough...but it was still odd.

  She opened her mouth to ask him, then stopped. That was too close to talking about the case. So she settled on a different topic.

  “Do you guys have barbecues and the like often?”

  “Every couple weeks when the weather is good. It's one way to get to know the guys who have families.”

  “Families?”

  “A lot of our members are older and married with wives, children, careers. It's not like every member of a motorcycle club is some cliché meth head.” Tom grinned at her. She had the feeling he'd made this speech before. “We have plenty of club events where family members are welcome. When you're a Storm Runner, we know and care about the people in your life too. No one is alone.”

  “That sounds really good,” she said. It did. Tom having a network of people to spend time with and depend upon made her more aware of the realities of her current situation at work. She was more alone than she'd been since coming to Detroit—and it wasn't like her narrow code of ethics had won her many friends on the force either.

  “It is. What was your favorite subject?”

  “History. I like knowing why things happen.”

  For reasons she couldn't understand, Tom looked away as she spoke. When he brought his eyes back to meet hers, he smiled. But it seemed forced, unlike any smile he'd given her since she walked out the front door.

  _____

  Using her turned his stomach. Made it so sour that he couldn't even enjoy the cherry cola ice cream he chose because it was the monthly special, made with real cherries and the only one he hadn't tried before on the board. She grabbed the green tea ice cream with taro fruit, which he stole more than one bite from once he realized how much better a choice Grace made.

  Each night made him hate himself a little more. She'd lied to him when he was a stranger, but now he was repaying the trust she'd placed in him with deceit. Even telling himself it was for the club wasn't enough to chase the sick feeling from his stomach.

  At night when he was lost in her and she was open to him in every way, that sickness pressed down on him heavier and heavier. At times, he even found himself close to telling her the truth, like the words were pushing their way out of his throat by their own accord—but then he'd think of the club and the way his father's body had been brutalized. It would stop the words, help Tom bite down on his tongue until he swore he tasted blood.

  She liked understanding things. He loved that about her. She'd scribble words on notepads in her house to look up later or make a note to look up the best way to make omelets when she found out it was his favorite breakfast food. Grace was a person who broke a concept down and then learned it from the ground up—and he wasn't offering her that.

  But god, all he wanted sometimes was to offer her himself.

  Everything of himself.

  Then Tom would stop and assess the man he'd become. Maybe a year and a half ago, he was a man worth offering to a woman like her, back when he'd taken an active interest in the club and in his own business. Back when he lived for something more than swimming to the bottom of the next bottle and finding oblivion there. Finding ways to forget that he was useless. Unable to take care of the man who'd taken care of him.

  The only times he didn't feel like losing himself in something was when Grace would pull him into her apartment and press her full lips to his, sparking heat to life in his torso. It was like coming back to life.


  A year and a half ago, he'd have offered her everything.

  Now all he could offer her was a long fall and a hard bottom.

  She pulled away from him to look at a patch of flowers growing in the front garden of one of the nice townhomes they were walking by and he took the chance to admire the way her jeans clung to her ass. Looking at it made his body tighten as he remembered the way it felt in his hands, soft and smooth. He'd never been so affected by a woman's body—not to the point where it would distract him from something else. With Grace, though, he wanted her all the time. When she was dancing, he wanted to rip her off the stage and take her away so all the other men in the room couldn't keep staring at what was his.

  Only his.

  “I can't believe no one has taken these yet,” she said. “You hardly ever see people growing flowers this showy in open gardens in this part of the city.” She trailed her fingers over the petals and smiled with delight. “They're so soft. Come touch.”

  He wanted to touch her—always wanted to touch her—but instead he reached out and traced his finger over the petals of the flower. “They're soft,” he said, then gave in and lifted his hand to her cheek, sliding his fingers over it. “You're softer.”

  Her eyes widened and her lips curved in a smile. Her head lifted to his and he pressed his lips against hers. Such a slow, sweet kiss there in the twilight on the sidewalk. Another thing he'd never experienced with the many women he'd dated in the past. Sweetness.

  The feeling that he wanted more from her than a few pleasant moments with her body.

  Grace pulled back and lifted her hands to his face, leaving one on each of his cheeks to keep him looking directly at her.

  “I love you,” she said, her words soft and sure. “Maybe it's too soon to say that, but I do.”

  His mouth opened and, to his horror, he felt something wet behind his eyes. “I—Grace.”

  “Don't say anything,” she said. If he'd seen disappointment in her eyes, he might have broken. All that shone back at him from the golden orbs was pride and joy. She was proud to love him. Him. And he couldn't even say it back.

  “Grace...” He took her hands away from his face and held them tight. She went to her toes and gently pressed her lips to his again.

  “I just want you to know where I stand. It's okay if you're not there yet.” She took one of her hands back and pulled Tom away from the flowers he'd never have noticed on his eyes. “We should stop at the bodega on the corner and get some wine,” she said. “I don't have any more at home.”

  He let her guide him and wondered what her response would have been if he'd told her the truth.

  I want to love you, but I'm a coward who let the man who ruined my family get away from me. You deserve a real man. Not a weak piece of booze-dependent shit like me.

  He knew all she'd have to offer would be words of solace and sympathy. So he said nothing.

  And that night in bed, he tried to show her with his hands and mouth what he'd been unable to say on the street.

  _____

  Grace woke up and stretched, basking in the sunlight pouring through the curtains Tom had parted when he'd climbed out of bed that morning. Again and again during the night, he'd woken her with ever-more-eager demands, and her body felt deliciously used and sore.

  Pulling on a robe and cinching it tight, she wandered into the living room.

  “There you are,” Tom said, in a tone she'd never heard before. It was soft and eager, but shot through with nerves at the same time. “I made you some coffee. You work tonight, right?”

  “Yes,” she said. “Unfortunately.”

  “It's not forever,” he reminded her. Maybe not, but it felt like it some days. The shifts were long and the clients were demanding. She wished it had yielded some useful information so that the time she spent there didn't feel like such a waste.

  “I know. What do you have to do today?”

  “I'm going up to the club to do some accounting work and make sure things are running smoothly. Want to ride along? I can have you back with plenty of time to get ready before your shift.”

  “Not today,” she said, wrapping an arm around him and leaning into him. Going with him sounded appealing, but she knew Tom could probably use some time to process what she'd said the night before. She could, too. It had been a long time since she'd said those words to a man.

  No regrets, though. Even if he never felt the same way, she'd never regret telling him what she felt.

  “What will you do then?”

  “I’m going to look for a new area rug, then I’m meeting a friend to get a pedicure. Mandi’s out of town, so she gave her appointment to Kayle. We have to get them every week, thanks to the stage heels. I swear, when this is all over, I'm never wearing them again.”

  “I'll get you a pair of boots,” he promised. “Dinner before work?”

  “With the same friend at Express. I can just see you tomorrow.”

  “I'll see you tonight,” he said, and his tone was serious business. “You don't need to be down at the Ladies Night alone right now. Not with everything going on.”

  “Fine,” she said. “But if you think you're getting lucky afterwards...”

  “Then I'm right,” he said, and spun her around so his body pressed hers back against the kitchen counter. The rough heat of him through the jeans and t-shirt he'd already put on felt so intoxicating through the thin silk of her robe that it was almost enough to make her forget how sore she was.

  “Tom...”

  “Are you sore, baby?” He ran his hand up her leg, stroking her through the robe before parting it and lightly caressing her thigh. “Does it feel achey here?”

  “Yes,” she breathed, the word so quiet even she could barely hear it.

  “What about here?” He moved his fingers higher and touched the delicate skin where her leg met her torso, teasing it with the rough pad of his pointer finger. “Did I make you sore here?”

  She shook her head no.

  “Show me where I made you sore, baby.”

  Grace took Tom's hand and gently moved it over just a little, until his warm palm covered the top of her public mound and his fingers cupped her between the legs.

  “I'm so sorry,” he said, and his cocky confidence was almost her undoing. She loved that rich, sarcastic tone he adopted when he knew he was making her melt. “I probably shouldn't do this then.” With one finger, he parted her and rubbed her to soothe.

  She sighed, pleasure sliding through her gentle like sunlight. The most incredible feeling, like an ice cream cone on a summer day.

  “Do you want me?” he asked and she nodded, staring up at him and the way his eyes looked so green at this moment, the water receding in the face of her capitulation.

  “Spread your legs, baby.” He lifted her up onto the kitchen counter and pressed her thighs apart. Unbelting the robe, he let it fall to the side and bent to kiss her where she ached.

  Grace could feel how hard Tom worked to be gentle, knew his instinct would be to arouse her quickly, violently, then make her melt while he worked himself inside her. But he was gentle, kissing her swollen flesh and licking slowly until she pressing her hips closer to his face, silently begging him to make her come.

  Her fingers curled over the lip of the kitchen counter, hanging on tight. “I want you in me,” she said. She forced herself to remove one hand and reached for him, wanting to touch that thick, velvet length.

  “No, baby girl.” He pulled her clit between his lips, sucking on the bud while short gasps shot between her lips. “Not yet.”

  “But…”

  “Not yet.” His tongue pushed inside her and worked like a smaller, agile version of what waited for her behind his pants. “When you really want it, I’ll give it to you.”

  “I really want it.” She felt him laugh between her thighs and smiled despite herself.

  “You’re sore.”

  “Not too sore.” The words opened up something in him and his motion
s became faster, more demanding. Soon Grace was moaning, fighting to not close her thighs around his head because she was so close to the edge and if he just—

  —he did.

  She screamed, fireworks racing through her veins as she came apart with his mouth pressed to her. Writhed against the hard countertop while he kept licking and sucking until she was boneless, then he lifted her into his arms.

  “Want more?”

  She nodded.

  He carried her into the living room and sat down on the couch, doffing his jeans. Pulling her onto his lap so that her back was to him, he slid inside her.

  “God,” she moaned when that thick length was pressed deep once more. “I’ll never get enough of this.”

  “Good.” He held her tight as he started moving, working to enter at the angles he knew would give her maximum pleasure. When he surged forward a little higher, her moan became a gasp. He went in again the same way and Grace keened.

  “You like that, don’t you, baby?” He did it again and felt her entire body shake.

  “Yes.”

  “Come for me.” He drove hard into her and she bounced on his lap, unable to believe the boundless pleasure his body offered. Digging into the couch, she moved faster, a wild grin breaking over her face when he drew in a shuddering breath.

  “I’m going to come,” she said. “But I want to feel you in me when I do.” She bore down on him, then popped back up, taking him deep and giving him full access to her body when she dragged his hands around to caress her breasts.

  Then she reached down and touched where they were joined, sliding her hands up to play with her sensitive clit while she rode him.

  “Grace--.”

  “Don’t hold back,” she said, each word a gasp. “I want to feel it.”

  She drove him hard into her until he couldn’t take it anymore. Grace felt him surge as he came. The pressure made her body shake and spasm and she squeezed him tight while he dragged her body back against his and pressed her back to him, like he couldn’t stand even the slightest distance between them.