Silver Biker: The Silver Foxes of Blue Ridge

by L. B. Dunbar

  “My Peach,” he mutters, tipping his head to see where his fingers have disappeared. Even he can’t fully see between the darkness of the night and the cover of my jeans, but he knows. Just from the sensation of touch, this man knows what he’s doing to me. I’m melting. “So juicy for me. Want to taste that sweetness, baby.”

  Jesus. His mouth has gotten so dirty, and I hate how much I love it.

  “Not here,” I whisper, warning him. He cannot tug down my pants and taste me here.

  “Not going there, baby. Just gonna make you come on my fingers, make you remember only these fingers can touch you like this. Only my fingers know where to press, how to please. Only these fingers know the spot.” He moves so he’s rubbing my clit with the pad of his thumb while he delves forward, filling me and tapping a place difficult to reach, but causing another rush of excitement. “This belongs to me.”

  Ohmygawwwd. I break against him, fingernails digging into his shoulders while my mouth comes to his neck, open but holding back a scream. Pinpricks of silver dance between my closed eyes, and I sway to the right a bit, but James catches me, holding my body pinned between the hood at my backside and the firm length of him straining in his jeans. If we were alone, I don’t trust what I’d do, but I know it’d involve dropping to my knees and taking this man to the back of my throat. I want him helpless and wanton like me.

  “Fuck, baby. You are a sight.”

  My eyes slowly open, and I pull back to watch him toying with me, rubbing softer circles on the nub that is still sensitive.

  “You should stop,” I whisper, loose-limbed from the first orgasm.

  “But you don’t want me to,” he says, looking down where his hand disappears in my jeans, his fingers still moving against me. “Got one more.”

  “I don’t want to be selfish.” He gave me an orgasm the other night, coming in his own jeans. He gave me one now when I can’t reciprocate. And he’s working on a second one.

  “My girl has never been selfish,” he says, surprising me. Then his mouth drops to my neck, and his hand works me slower, but determined, I give in to another release.

  When I come down from the second wave, I almost collapse back on the hood, and I would have if I didn’t recall our obvious position again. James slowly removes his fingers from my jeans, and my hand instantly comes to the button of my pants, brushing my knuckles along the firm length of him. He hisses as he lifts his hand and places his fingers in his own mouth, sucking at them a second before dragging them forward.

  “Not as good as having my mouth on you, but good enough,” he says, closing his eyes like he’s savoring a favorite treat. A giggle clogs my throat. It’s not appropriate to squeal like a schoolgirl, but I want to toss myself on my back, like a teen hitting a bed, making angels in the sheets.

  I’m ridiculous, and my brain is slow to catch up to what’s happening.

  Then reality slams into me.

  I’m so foolish.

  Hastily, I button my jeans and right my zipper, shifting my eyes from side to side, worried people will know what we’ve done. I’ve never been so public, not even when James had me against the exterior wall of the Pub. I consider the first time we had sex, against the side of a camper, and I accept that James just pushes all my limits. He might be the risk-taker when it comes to extreme sports, but he’s my greatest risk.

  And I need to get ahold of myself again.

  “What’s this?” he demands, watching my fingers fumble and my body shift.

  “I can’t believe I did that with you,” I mutter.

  “Do not erase this,” he warns, and I look at him, watching his face harden. I don’t want to erase it, but I still can’t believe we’ve done this again. I’ve given in to his kisses, and he’s brought me to orgasm faster than you can spell Harrington. I don’t understand myself, but then again, I do. My attraction to James from the start was undeniable, and it’s why it hurt so much when he forced me away from him.

  “I need a minute,” he adds, shifting his leg. I should offer to take care of him, but he quickly steps back.

  “You can’t leave me out here,” I state, looking around the circle of trucks and cars, finding some people in positions similar to our own while others sit in small gatherings, chatting it up like it’s no big deal people are making out near them.

  “I’ll be right back,” he mutters, slipping a hand in his pocket.

  “James,” I warn. I am not staying out here in the dark yard, where I don’t know anyone, especially after Rusty Miller just approached me and James reacted to that approach.

  James grabs my hand and tugs me behind him, walking us quickly back to the house. He leads me up the stairs to a bedroom, and I stumble into the room with a double bed, covered in rumpled sheets, and a comforter pushed to the edge of the mattress.

  “I’ll be just a minute.”

  Before I can answer him, he’s gone, and I’m sensing he’s at the edge of his control with me. James would never ever hurt me physically, but he’s a sexual being, and he needs relief from the strain in his pants. Waiting him out, I walk around the room, noticing there are no pictures anywhere. Other than the large motorcycle boots near the bed, there isn’t a hint as to who’s room this is. I’m stepping up to the window when I hear laughter outside the bedroom door, and it bursts open. A large body is guiding a woman within, blocking my view of her, and then they are against the wall, kissing.

  Oh, my God. I need to get out of here, but I don’t know how, other than clearing my throat as a means to draw attention to myself. When that doesn’t work, I decide to slowly make my way toward the door and then call out, “Excuse me.”

  A silver head of hair pops up, and his body turns. He covers the woman at his back.

  “What are you doing here?” Justice barks.

  “James put me in here, but he’ll be back in a second. I can just . . .” I point toward the hallway. “If I can just . . .” I wiggle my finger, implying I need to get by them.

  “Get out,” Justice snaps, and he doesn’t have to tell me twice. I scramble for the door, struggling with the handle at first as it’s locked. Once I have it open, I turn to face the menacing man to apologize and catch the eye of a woman hiding behind his back.

  I pretend I don’t notice her, and I’m assuming she wouldn’t want me to know she’s with him.

  “I’m sorry,” I mutter, taking myself into the hall and closing the door behind me. It immediately locks, and I hear giggling on the other side of the barrier before I hear a thud and then silence.

  I shake my head, wondering what I’ve gotten myself into being in this house, being with James. He’s so different than he used to be. We both are.

  Deciding not to wait on James, I head back down the stairs and out the front door.

  14

  Adrenaline Rush

  [James]

  When I exit the bathroom off the hall, I find the door to Justice’s bedroom locked.

  “Evelyn, let me in.” Flat palmed, I pound on the barrier. I pushed her too far, but she’s just . . . her, and when she told me about her man without telling me about him, I lost control. I need her to know she’ll never feel the way I make her feel. I’ll never feel again the way I feel with her.

  “Jesus,” Justice mutters, yanking open his door. He stands before me in a state of disarray, missing his shirt, jeans open at the waist. His body blocks the entrance. For half a second, I have the worst thought. “You and your woman are driving me nuts. She isn’t in here, so get that look off your damn face.”

  The door slams in said face, and I turn about, wondering where she could have gone. The bonus is, she can’t leave as she rode here on my bike, and we are too far from town for her to walk. Still, I race down the stairs, two at a time, and scan the old ballroom, now party central. When I don’t find her blond hair among the others, I spin for the front door, finding it open, and step outside. I scan the yard covered with bikes and beer cans and find who I’m looking for standing off in the dista
nce.

  Stalking toward her, I slow my pace as I near. Her back is to me. Her arms wrapped around herself, holding the sides of her shirt. It’s cool in the mountains during a mid-September night, and she isn’t wearing a jacket. I shrug out of mine and close the distance between us. Slipping the leather over her shoulders, she flinches at the touch, craning her neck to glance at me over her shoulder.

  “Hey,” I say.

  “Hey.”

  “Don’t run off like that.” My heart still hammers with thoughts she might have found a way to leave the party after all, and I didn’t want her to go. There’s so much unresolved between us, and I’m not talking about what happened years ago, but the present day, too. We keep coming together like a thunderstorm marked by lightning, and then the rain. So much rain. Thankfully, Evie isn’t crying. She’s just standing there, staring off in the dark distance.

  “Someone wanted to occupy the room,” she says with a soft laugh.

  “Yeah, I heard.” I reach for the back of my neck, scratching nervously at it. I shouldn’t have walked away from her, but I needed a minute. There’s no way I could get my dick to rest, and I knew it wouldn’t take long. Just imagining her, recalling the feeling of her under my fingers, the taste of those fingers on my tongue, and I lost it.

  “I saw Justice last night,” she blurts, which was not what I expected her to say next.

  “You what?”

  “He told me about your adrenaline addiction.” She glances at me again over her shoulder as I stand at her side.

  “Back up. Where did you see Justice?”

  “He was coming out of a room at the Lodge.”

  Huh. So that’s where he meets up with her? Justice and Corabelle Conrad have a thing happening. They’re trying to be discreet, but after what she pulled, roping the Rebels into riding for funds, it’s become more and more evident to the public that something’s happening between those two.

  “And?”

  “He asked me to have a drink with him.”

  What? “What the fuck?”

  “When did your language turn so crass?” Evie asks.

  “When did you become a prude?” I tease. She’s never minded how I speak. Although I had the highest of education offered here in Blue Ridge, I hang out with a lot of mountain people. The search and rescue team had rough language, and the fire department isn’t much better. “Answer the question.”

  “I’m not a prude,” she says, a hint of the socialite she could have been peeks out in her statement.

  “Not that question, the other one. What did he want?”

  “He told me about your adrenaline addiction,” she repeats.

  Dammit.

  “Actually, he called it a death wish.”

  I scratch nervously at my nape again. “It’s not a death wish,” I mutter, looking off in the distance. When Michael died, I didn’t know how I’d go on without him. I wasn’t one for pulling my own trigger, and I’d never been afraid of risk, so I purposely put myself in danger. I would have rejoined search and rescue if they didn’t think I was a head case. It took all I had to prove to the fire department I was okay to continue working, but I always volunteered for the toughest situations.

  As the local fire department often assisted search and rescue, I’d go down steep cliffs and deep ravines. I’d jump with wingman suits, flying into places for an aerial view or hike through rough terrain, risking everything.

  “James,” she softly drones.

  “I just . . .” I don’t know why I did it. I can’t seem to live without my son, and I can’t live with my wife. Death on my own does not seem like an option, but I won’t deny it coming for me if it wants to take me.

  “You just what?” Evie snaps, turning to face me in the dark yard. “Do you want to die?” Her voice cracks. “Do you want to leave me in this world without both of you? Do you want me to carry on every day wondering what foolish thing you’ll do in hopes to what? Join him?” Her voice strains higher. Pain fills her face.

  “Peach,” I groan, unable to answer her.

  “Then stop it,” she states, arms still crossed over her middle with my jacket over her shoulders, dwarfing her frame. “Do not leave me alone without you in this world.”

  “Evie.”

  “I mean it, James. You’ve always been a risk-taker, and I understand that about you. It’s in your blood to push limits, and it was worrisome enough being your wife, wondering every time you went out if you were coming back. But this . . . with the distance between us . . . I cannot be worrying about what stupid thing you’ll do to put yourself in harm’s way in hopes of something happening.” Her voice rises again, octaves escalating.

  “I don’t want you worrying about me, Peach. I can take care of myself.”

  “Clearly, you can’t,” she states, huffing as she does.

  “I’m doing just fine on my own.”

  “Really? You’re happy with all this?” She waves out at the decrepit house.

  “Hey. There’s nothing wrong with these people. They’re good men, and they’ve been good to me.”

  “Because no one else was good to you?” she shouts.

  “Because they understand me.” My arms flail out to my sides before my hands come to the top of my head.

  “And I don’t.” Evie’s eyes sparkle in the dark, and it seems easier to look at them without light emphasizing their shape and color.

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “You don’t have to. Six years of separation says it clear enough.”

  We glare at one another in silence.

  “I killed our son, Evelyn,” I state, recalling the most painful words I ever had to say to her.

  “It was an accident.” Her calm unnerves me. It always has. She doesn’t understand.

  “I’m lost without him.”

  “You think I’m whole?” Her voice cracks once again as she points at her own chest. “How can these men understand you better than me? I am Michael’s mother. I was there, standing beside you when we buried him. They were not.” Tears fill her eyes, but I find anger in her again. Her lids keep those tears within, blurring the aquamarine to liquid.

  “They were there at the lowest point,” I admit, looking down at her feet between us.

  “I should have been,” she states, and she isn’t wrong, but I didn’t want her to see me like that. The rock I was supposed to be for her had crumbled to gravel and sand. “Who was there for me?”

  Her quiet question lifts my head, and I stare at her as she swipes at an errant tear crossing her cheek. I reach for her face, but she flinches away from me, stepping back to put space between us.

  “Who was there for me?” she repeats, lowering her voice.

  “You went home,” I remind her. She ran back to Savannah to her parents’ house. I’m certain they celebrated my failure although they mourned their only grandchild.

  “My home was with you.” Her words hit me like a sucker punch to the gut. Evie suffered, and I tossed her out. Instead of allowing her to cling to me, the rock I promised to be, I cast her aside.

  “I couldn’t help you, Evie.” I just couldn’t support her grief as I was buried under my own. It made me selfish and weak, which buried me deeper in self-hate and shame.

  “And these men did?” Sarcasm drips from her tone. “How? How did you meet Justice?”

  I turn away from her, uncertain I should share this story.

  “I was drunk.”

  Evie huffs.

  “I’d been at the Ridged Edge, no longer able to face the cheer of the Pub.” I reference my brother’s establishment in town. “I wanted to disappear.”

  Evie continues to stare at me, and the weight of her glare pins me in place. I’d had the same sensation that day. I couldn’t move my feet.

  “I wandered to the tracks in town, waiting on the three a.m. train.”

  “James,” she hisses.

  “I was just standing there, hearing the sound in the distance. The light was coming for me.�
� I close my eyes and see it as I always see it in my dreams. The roar of the engine. The blinding luminescence. The vibration of the track.

  “Then I woke up in a bed in this house.” I tilt my head toward Justice’s place behind me.

  Evelyn doesn’t blink. Her wide eyes remain focused on me.

  “Justice says he tackled me to the ground where I hit my head and passed out. He called Giant, but I refused to see him. I stayed here and just sort of fell into things.”

  Evie’s face has gone white in the blackness around us. Her mouth hangs open while her body trembles. Then she launches herself at me, knocking my jacket off her shoulders. Her arms wrap around my neck, and her knees come up to my hips. I catch her under her thighs, stepping back with one foot to catch my balance from the sudden advance of her.

  Her body quakes against mine as she tightens her hold and squeezes her legs around my waist.

  “Don’t you ever, ever, EVER! Do that again,” she mutters near my ear. “James Peach Harrington, you will not die on me. I cannot live in this world without knowing you are in it. Even if you don’t love me, I cannot bear the thought of you not existing.”

  My hands move from her thighs to her back as she’s mostly holding herself against me. One palm skims up her spine and into her hair at the nape of her neck while the other smooths down to her ass, hitching her upward to adjust her weight. She shifts with me but doesn’t loosen her hold and her words sink into me.

  Even if you don’t love me, I cannot bear the thought of you not existing.

  Even if you don’t love me.

  My God, it’s not that I don’t love her. I pushed her away because I love her. I didn’t want to take her down with me, and I was going down. I was slipping under my own guilt and grief with no light above me, not even her.

  I cannot bear the thought of you not existing.

  Not existing.

  For years, all I’ve done is exist. I don’t live life to the fullest like I once did. I keep to myself, hang with the club, and drink.

  I wanted Evelyn to live. I wanted her to have a life, and I knew it could no longer be with me. I couldn’t look at her, but I also couldn’t allow her to look at me. What must she see in me?