Hard as Iron: Hard For Her 5

by May Ball, Alice

  I knew it, but what choice did I have? Get on the bike and be killed with him, or stay in the Rusty Bucket compound, then I would be dead on my own.

  Scrambling higher up the winding hillside road, the bike leans and lurches under me. I look up to see a flash of a log, rolling into the road ahead. He’s swerved to avoid it, but we’re leaving the road. Jumping into mid air.

  Not down the hill side. A drop into the forest. I try to stay relaxed for the fall, but every part of me, my arms, my fingers, the insides of my legs, all of my body wants to be wrapped around him. Painted onto him. Part of him.

  “Hold on tight,” I feel his voice with my palms on his pecs more than I hear it. His ass clenches and rolls. I wish I could bite it now.

  With a rush of sensation so intense it’s like a flash of light, I feel washed through with a wave of complete trust. And then something even bigger. I believe when we hit the ground, it will be hard, but I know he’ll keep us safe. How can I have found such a perfect man, at such a perfectly hopeless time?

  The back wheel lands first. Like we’re in slow motion, the tire hits a rock, then slips. I feel the weight of the bike lurch to the side, but he, this perfect man, twists the strong cords of his body to balance the weight, at the same time he matches the engine speed to dig the tire into the ground and take a grip. A surge of power shoves us up. Together.

  We bounce. We’re in the air again, but this time when we hit the ground, all the power thrusts us forward. Up the hill, through the trees, we surge and weave through the forest. Swing left and right between the thick, tall trees.

  I can’t believe he can steer the bike at all at this speed, guide the massive Harley over mossy rocks and branches, through the clusters of trees. At the same time, I know he can. I know he will.

  My man can do anything. He has the power.

  Hard, steady vibration, the thrum of the motor and the bounce of the tire, the shaking seat under my ass is making me buzz. I’m telling myself that’s the reason I’m thinking like that as we hammer up the hill.

  That’s when the thunderclouds crack. Rain drops out of the sky in sheets, like it’s emptying out of huge buckets. The leather on his back is a slick waterfall. The ground under the bike becomes a slippery mush. Water splashes my legs as the back wheel bounces through puddles. The tires slip and slew.

  Through the noise of the rain, the crackling roar of the engine and the thunder, I can’t hear if the bikers behind followed us off the road or not.

  The rain and the rough ground don’t slow the bike down much. He must be seriously crazy, riding this hard in these conditions. Seems like, with the bikers behind us, the rocky, slippery forest floor, the slope of the hill and the weather, something’s sure to kill us soon.

  Now I wish I’d gotten to know him. Iron.

  Chapter Six

  I told the Outcasts’ president, the VP, the Sergeant at arms, the whole board in their church, “I’m practically a nomad. Might even become one officially. My club, the Dark Lords, they’re my brothers. My family. I guess, but I’m not really a fitting-in, belonging type of guy.” I looked across the top of my bourbon, around the boardroom table, “so I’m here as kind of a troubleshooter. But I’m here for the Dark Lords.”

  “Look, Iron,” Judah, the outcast’s Sergeant at arms, “somebody blew the shipment. Somebody gave it away. There was a rat. But we found him. It’s been dealt with. You get me?”

  “Yeah. I just want to cross the I’s. Dot the T’s.” Keeping it light.

  “You don’t believe us?” Judah’s hand slipped around to the back of his belt.

  “It’s not my place to believe you or disbelieve. I hear what you tell me, and I’ll take it back to the Dark Lords. They’re out one hell of a deep stack on this deal, as you well know. They’ll decide how it gets handled.”

  That was before I saw her.

  The ground is turning to mud, and it’s getting harder to ride uphill.

  In this weather, I know the Outcasts won’t follow us up here. If I can just keep the bike steady past the next ridge, we’ll be safe. For now, at least.

  I stop by a thick clump of bushes and shut off the motor. “We’ll hike from here,” I tell her. “It’s not far.”

  She looks at me like I’m crazy, but she gets off the bike. After I push the Harley into the bushes for cover, I lead her up the hill. Put an arm over her shoulder to keep some of the rain off.

  “You really know where you’re going, scooter boy?”

  That stings. I don’t answer. The last part is steep, and she slips on the soft ground. She nearly falls. But she shrugs away when I put out a hand to help her.

  The cabin is dark, and it doesn’t look like anyone’s been here all season.

  Chapter Seven

  “You knew this cabin was here?”

  The cabin is one L-shaped room around a bathroom. He went into the bathroom, brought out a couple of towels.

  It’s not exactly the gingerbread cottage, but to shelter from the rain and after that ride, this dark, mossy hut in the woods looks enough like a fairy tale to me. As I struggled up here through the mud, all the super-ridiculous and gooey thoughts I had about this biker had started to wash away.

  Now I feel that glow way down inside me, lighting up all over again.

  I need to be careful of my feelings around this man.

  As he holds out a towel for me, I tell him, “Let’s be clear. I don’t do men, scooter boy. And especially, I don’t do bikers.”

  “You’re in luck, then. I don’t do women. I especially don’t do women with thunderhead clouds of trouble following them around.”

  I’m wondering why he risked his neck to bring me here, then. I feel bad about that.

  I tell him again. “I’m not going to fuck you, scooter boy. It isn’t going to happen.”

  “You’re damned right it isn’t.”

  The rain hammers down on the shingle. It’s a noise that could drive you mad. The drumming echoes through the rough wood shack. His voice still carries, though, somehow. He’s not loud, just strong. Powerful.

  Inside it’s so bare. There are a couple of chairs, one small table and a cot. It makes me think about how good it would feel to be protected. Shielded. To have a man like him around me. Literally. Around me like a wall to keep all the trouble and danger out. A blanket I could be wrapped up in, comfortable and safe inside.

  If only.

  He says, “I don’t think you went to the Rusty Bucket just because you were looking for a job.”

  “No, scooter boy? What’s your theory?”

  “I don’t think it was an accident or a coincidence, you hiding out in the boardroom.”

  Oh. That. “I thought you bikers called it, ‘church.’ Don’t you?”

  “Church, where you were hiding in the Outcast’s clubhouse. Why was that again? There are easier ways to get yourself killed.”

  “I have my reasons.”

  He shrugs. Like he’ll let it go. For now. “The Outcasts are not my club. All clubs have their own rules. Laws and customs. Traditions.”

  “That’s what you scooter boys are all about, isn’t it. Codes. Honor and respect. Tradition.”

  “Somebody did you some harm, didn’t they.”

  I’m not ready for that. Sensitivity. I’m not prepared for him to show empathy and instinct out of the blue that way. What does he know? More than he lets on, obviously.

  Either way, I’m afraid. And I’m distracted. Through the sound of the rain, there’s something else. In the far corner, at the back of the cabin. I catch the biker’s eye. He heard it, too. There’s a feeling between us, communicating without words like that.

  I go toward the sound, to back of the cabin. He holds out his hand. Moves ahead of me. He’s about to speak. I raise a finger to my lips. He nods. I lift my hand and go closer to the sound. There’s a closet in the far corner. The sound scratches from inside of it. As I get near, it stops. Then it starts again. Scraping. Scuffling.

  I look ba
ck at him. He’s relaxed a little. Whatever it is, we both know it’s not a pack of bikers. It’s something else. Something small and alive.

  I’m crouched at the bottom of the closet door. I tell him, quietly, “You open the door, I’ll catch it.”

  “You’re crazy. You don’t know what it is.”

  “I know that it’s more afraid than you or me.” I take off my denim jacket. Hold it out, with the inside toward me. “Ready?” The scuffling stops. I hold the jacket out and nod. He opens the door.

  A blur, a rush of white and reddish brown. Pointed ears and beady eyes dashing out. It looks furry and fierce, but when I catch it in the jacket, what I feel is bony, shuddering.

  It trembles with fear. I hold it at arms' length. It’s a fox cub, red and white, and frowning in terror. Her mouth flaps open and shut.

  “Open the cabin door. I’ll let her go. She will be out of here faster than we can follow her.”

  His smile is soft and gentle as he opens the door and watches me. I’m not prepared for the big bump it makes in my heart.

  The fox is gone in a heartbeat.

  The biker’s laugh is infectious. It’s a moment before I realize that I’m laughing, too.

  Chapter Eight

  The way that she held that critter almost melted me. Her eyes glistened softly as she held the little fox through the denim jacket to the breast. She kept the vixen tight, but with a tender care that made my heart ache.

  When I opened the door, as she watched the critter scuttle out into the rain, into the forest where it would be free, her gleaming smile brought a lump to my throat.

  I ask her, “Are you always this good with wild animals?”

  She picks up the thread and as she stands, she’s snapped right back into her tough, hard-shell persona. “They’re all wilder and tougher than you, scooter boy.” but she says it was a twinkle that makes my heart bang.

  With all that’s going on, I still can’t keep my mind off the heavy rise and fall of her soft breasts. I always say, I can think about two things at once, as long as they’re both tits.

  When I close the door, it shuts out some of the noise of the rain falling outside, but there’s no escaping the feeling of the two of us, sealed in a cabin that’s too small. Shut in with the summer storm tap-dancing on the shingles.

  She shakes the jacket out, then pulls it around her shoulders, hugging herself and rubbing her arms. She looks up, like she’s been caught out. Like she’s let me see a vulnerability that she didn’t mean to show.

  It will do me no good, having warm and fuzzy feelings about her. She doesn’t know a thing about me. If she did, she’d be clawing to get out of this cabin too, and take her chances in the storm.

  A beautiful woman like her has no use for a deadbeat loser like me. My future is all in the past. I’m sure she can see that.

  I could help her stay warm if she’d let me, though. That’s about what I’m good for.

  Aside from the simple, rough furniture, the cabin has a bathroom, a stove, some canned food and a few packs of beer.

  I hand her a beer and take one for myself.

  “You seemed to know this place was here.”

  I tell her, “I spent a lot of time hunting on this mountain.”

  “Won’t the Outcasts know that the cabin is here?”

  “Sure. But there are a dozen cabins like this on the top of the hill. Plus, they’re better off staying farther down. Bringing the bikes up, cross-country in this storm, it could be a lot of fun, but it’s no way to run a manhunt. We could just sit up here and pick them off.”

  I’m looking around for somewhere to sit. The chairs look too small, like doll’s house furniture. Even the cot and the two-seat couch look miniature. “They can seal the mountain off, farther down. Wait out the storm, probably wait till morning. They don’t know where we are, up here on the top of the hill, but they do know all the ways down. They can head us off easily.”

  “So, what’s the plan, scooter boy?”

  “My plan didn’t go any farther than saving your ass.” I shrug.

  “Oh. Should I be thanking you?”

  “Nope. I did it because I wanted to. In fact, as I recall, you tried your damnedest to stop me.”

  I tell her to take the cot. “Get a shower if you want. I’ll get cozy on the couch.”

  “Getting cozy on that? That I have to see.” She said. “You got a name, scooter-boy?”

  “Everybody calls me ‘Iron.’ It’s my last name.”

  “Okay, Iron. I’m Tyler. Glad to know you.”

  She holds out a hand. Like for a civilian handshake. I just give her a nod. She’s still holding out the hand.

  She says, “And thank you.”

  I tell her, “There are candles, but I don’t think we should risk lighting them.”

  “Because we’d be seen. Down the hill.”

  She’s smart.

  She spends a while in the little bathroom. When she returns, I turn my back as she peels everything off except her tee shirt and panties. Then she slips under the thin quilts. There are two quilts, but I give them both to her.

  I took off my boots and jacket to lie on the couch. I say, “Good night, little wildcat.”

  “Tyler. G’night, Jimbob.”

  I smile as I close my eyes. Like I’m going to be able to sleep.

  Remembering that perfect curve of her shoulder, picked out by moonlight, under the tumble of blonde curls makes my heart ache. Over the smell of dusty wood and the dark aromas of the wet forest, I can smell her perfume. Her natural fragrances.

  I don’t think there’s anything cosmetic on her. Not anywhere.

  Being in the room with her, in the darkness, makes me swell up and harden. Lying down here is not going to work. I stay still as long as I can bear it, hoping it’s long enough for her to have gone to sleep. But then I have to stand. I’ll stand guard over her. I know the Outcasts aren’t coming, but I won’t risk it. I’ll watch over her. It will feel good.

  I should put something on.

  She’s asleep. She won’t care if I go to stand over her in my shorts.

  I stand and watch, daring to look at her perfect curves. I’m only taking care of her. I won’t touch.

  I reach out my hand. Just trace the air above her. Trace her shape. In the air above her shoulder. A few inches away. Just to feel the shape. Not her. Only the perfect curve of her. Just to track it in the air.

  Her eyes open.

  I freeze.

  I can’t make words come out. I want to tell her it was totally innocent. I wasn’t going to touch her. It’s true.

  But even though it’s true, there’s a lie underneath it. I wouldn’t have touched her, but I want to. So bad. I want her.

  Her eyes are steady on mine.

  She says my name.

  Then her arms open and the light in her eyes is irresistible. I try to hold back.

  “You don’t do bikers.”

  “That’s right, scooter boy. And we’re not going to fuck. Right?”

  “No.” I swallow. “I absolutely do not want to fuck you.”

  “Good. Right. Only… holding on to you on the back of the bike, pressing against you, feeling your body. Feeling your body between my…” her voice catches, “please, hold me, Iron.”

  “If I hold you, I will have to have you.”

  “Please…”

  “If I have you, I will claim you and make you mine. I will have you completely.”

  “Please?” her eyebrow trembles.

  “There’s no going back.” I’m warning her. I want her, but she needs to understand.

  Her breasts swell under the soft tee shirt. Through the softness of her skin, the little pulse in the side of her throat shows, beating.

  She turns onto her back. Her knee raises up under the quilt.

  I’m swollen so long and hard, the waistband of my shorts is pulled forward. Her moist eyes gleam as her lips part.

  I stand still as long as I can, looking in her face
. Breathing hard.

  Then I take her mouth with mine. Steal her kiss and seal her soft, yielding lips, pressed, flattened, taken against mine. Her mouth opens. My tongue finds her. They touch, trace, explore.

  Her arms wrap around me. I scoop her up. Pull her close as I take her breath and give her mine. I lay her back on the cot. Lay across her.

  The kiss is long. Hungry and deep. We become one. A single being.

  Under the tee shirt her nipples harden and push forward on the rising mounds of her soft breasts.

  I need her. I need all of her. Her curves, her moans. Her scents. Her hair.

  I run my hands over her body. Her hips, her back, her legs all jump and rise to me.

  She wraps herself around me. Her heat, her wet, eager lips scrape against the through her soaking panties, dragging on the clenched ridge of my thigh.

  Her legs wind around my waist. Her ankles scrape up and down my back. I take a long, deep, wet kiss from her breasts, through her tee shirt. Then I lift the cotton away. Pull it off, over the head. All the soft roundnesses of her womanly body make me harder. Longer. Aching.

  I find the cleft in her mound, the wet lips of her channel with my fingers inside her panties. She jerks, bucks like an unbroken horse, grinding against my hand. My fingers slip inside her. Her thighs squeeze me as I press, hunting for the rhythms of her body.

  Her fingers rake and scrape, up and down my back, over my chest. She plunges her hands into my shorts. Grips my thickening rod. Pulls me toward her.

  Her thighs spread, wide. Rocking against me. I hold her chin in my hand and take another long, deep kiss.

  I let my bulb slide into her channel. Scraping from the back, all the way to the front. Teasing her without mercy. Loving her agonized moans.

  Then I look in her eyes as I pop the head into her entrance, and she gasps.

  “Iron,” she moans, wriggling, rocking her hips. “Take me, Iron. Fuck me. Please. fuck me now.”

  “Then you’re going to be mine.”

  “Yes. God, yes! Do it.”