Neither This Nor That Box Set 1

by MariaLisa deMora

  “What, darlin’?” His beard moved with the sound of his words, the question that he surely already knew the answer to.

  “Make everything better?” Now his beard moved again as his lips curled up on the corners. “I love you.” It was the first time she’d said the words in this room, in this bed, and she hoped in affirming what she’d told him weeks ago, he would know what it meant. I’m yours, Bell.

  “You just gave that to me.” Not a question but a statement, and she nodded, no disquieting barbell to tug against the sheet. Just a smooth glide of her skin on the cotton. “I got you, baby.” She moved slightly, adjusting one knee, and his eyes darkened, tension returning to the muscles of his face in a way she recognized. “Still wanna fuck?” Her nod was faster, and he made a noise far in the back of his throat, not quite a growl but a sure sound of desire. “You got it.”

  As he moved, she closed her eyes, feeling the mattress shift and then the heat of his hands hit her back, gliding up in a solid touch. Firm. Steady. Stroking up her skin, they curled around her shoulders, pulling back, nestling her ass against him, feeling his cock riding between her cheeks up and past her anus, blazing heat from his sac resting against the lips of her pussy. “Gonna play.” This was a promise because it told her he would be teasing her, pleasing her, and eventually be inside her in the way they both loved. But first, he would see how hot he could get her to run, how heated her blood could get, stoking the furnace within himself with each movement.

  It took some time, but he worked at it, inching her back to where she’d been before their heart-to-heart, before he took the final piece of fear lodged in her away. With fingers and tongue, he eased into it, lapping and tweaking until she squirmed on the bed, wishing he’d give the command to move so she could wrap her fingers around her own pussy, thrusting and rubbing herself over that edge he had her riding.

  He moved behind her, hair on his thighs bristly against her legs. Resting his forearm across her hips, he cupped one cheek, tugging and holding her open. Penny tensed; this was something they’d avoided since the nearly disastrous moment in the truck that first night. “No, baby.” His voice was soft, caressing her as surely as his hands. “Wanna see, not fuck your ass.” Assurances given, she trusted him and gave him that, relaxing against him and liking his chuckle as he recognized her compliance. “One day, but not tonight.”

  Her eyes opened, and she bent her neck, staring at him over her shoulder. He knelt behind her, tall and strong, head tilted to look down. One arm extended, holding her hips in place, holding her open as he said he wanted. The other hand between them and she knew what he was doing when she felt the probing, prodding tip of him at her entrance. He swiped across once, and then thrust slowly until the head of his cock was firmly embedded inside her, filling her, but only barely before he withdrew completely. The sound she made brought his eyes to her, and she shivered when he smiled, that smile so wicked she didn’t know if she liked it or feared it.

  “Fuckin’ tight, sweetheart. Gonna play.” So this isn’t the fucking part of the night yet, she thought, feeling the tip of him push in again, fractionally farther, then he withdrew completely. God. Again, and this time, her pussy lips were so sensitive she felt them fold around him, felt as the ridge of his cockhead slipped inside, felt herself stretch to accommodate, then registered the emptiness as he pulled out.

  “Tight.” He groaned, his arm moving as his hips shifted back and she watched him stroke himself. Hand to her pussy, he trailed a finger down, circling her clit, pressing hard all around but not touching. Her turn to groan and he grinned wickedly again. “Wet.” Finger to his mouth, he tucked it between his lips and sucked. She tensed all over, the ghost of that pull echoing throughout her body. Threads drew taut again while nipples and clit tingled.

  Hand back between them, the tip of him prodded, pushed until she felt the engorged head of his cock slip inside. “Fuck, baby. Breakin’ through to you is heaven.” A short stroke that stole the breath from her body, lungs suddenly airless, mouth gaping open, those threads pulled near to breaking. “What do you need, Penny?”

  You, she thought, unable to voice her desire. Always. To be yours forever. Pressing her forehead to the sheet, she squeezed her eyes closed. To know I’m alive, to know I’m yours. As he often did in this position, he called her name, patiently waiting without moving until she turned to look at him again.

  “Tell me what you need.” Demanding now, and the shift from question freed her.

  “To belong.” Her torso bowed, curving so she could rest her head on the mattress and still see him. “Belong here. To know I belong here.” He moved and she hated the thought of losing him again. Shifting without conscious intent, she shoved backwards, hands releasing their partner and pressing tight to the bed to anchor her efforts. Taking him inside on a single stroke, she watched as his neck tilted, head arching back on a long groan. Something he gave without fear of what it might say, never holding back on the noises or reactions she triggered in him. Back bowing his hips outward, towards her, inside her finally.

  When his head righted, his eyes came to her, and she felt quiet laughter through his cock, still buried inside her. “My baby is bad.” Then he proceeded to give her everything she needed, just as she knew he would. Moving inside her, forcing her to find the peak again, Bell's words rang through the room. “Two.”

  He snapped forward, hands on her hips pulling her back fast, the pace brutal and glorious and bringing her up a mountain she’d never climb on her own. Her fingers clutched tightly at the sheets. She was desperate to be anchored because a blinding need coiled deep in her belly. Strong, so strong, the potential nearly terrifying with the strength of what he built in her. He held her suspended for long minutes before pushing her past, forcing her into freefall, knowing she was safe in his bed. “Three.”

  With one arm in the bed, the other curved under her, fingers to a nipple, pulling and tugging, pinching hard, drawing those threads taut again. Stroking deep inside, his hard thigh pressed tight to her legs, and the bed was shaking and rocking beneath her as he took her there again. “Four.”

  Pressing into her, the heat of him enveloped her back, pushing her to the mattress, following her down. Then the sound of his groans covered her skin in goose bumps as he found his orgasm, coming hard, bucking into her again and again, each reaction pulling a matching one from deep inside her and finally, what she longed for more than anything, her name graced with the title she loved. “My shiny Penny.”

  That was a month ago, and now…was now.

  Texting and calling futile, his phone answered that first night by an Incoherent prospect at the clubhouse. With noise of a party in full swing in the background, the man had been more interested in how big her rack might be than telling her where Bell was, laughing when she couldn’t remember his club name at first, disbelieving when she said she was waiting at Twisted’s house, asking him to pass that message along.

  Bell had been careful not to have her meet any of his brothers, keeping them at bay in a way she knew probably had to be strange. Evidence all over his house shouted that he had company over frequently, but since she’d been with him, it had only been the two of them. Just them cocooned in a world he created two days a week. Her off the road, him away from the club, just them, exploring this thing between them without outside influence.

  It probably helped she was gone five days at a stretch, and that her runs were steady. Leave out on Sunday, back in on Thursday night or early Friday morning. Putting her at home directly in the way of what were usually club party nights. And he’d spent every one of them with her. Nearly two months, they’d only been apart the nights she was on the road.

  She’d woken Saturday with him gone, which wasn’t usual, but not unusual. Then she’d waited until the early hours of Sunday morning to call his phone, not wanting to be the bitchy ball and chain. Handing him space she thought he must need, since he didn’t come home to her. She made a quick call to dispatch on Sunday night when
he still wasn’t home, to give away her load. I’m sick, used as an excuse, but it was true. She was sick to her stomach in a way that no pink liquid could soothe. Monday, more of the same, a longer phone call to dispatch filled with excuses followed by a day of nothing. Laundry done, truck clean, Bell’s house was clean, even his garage straightened. A day full of doing, but no Bell. Nothing that mattered.

  Last night she’d abandoned any notion of restraint, digging through his desk, his medicine cabinet, the drawers in his dresser and nightstands, sorting through the kitchen, compiling a list of people and numbers she thought went with the names. Having no sleep, she knew she wasn’t in a good place in her head, but she needed to know why he was staying away.

  There had been bikes rolling past his home for the previous two days, some rumbling fast, clearly on their way somewhere, but some had slowed. Slowed until it sounded as if they were going to turn in, but then they throttled up and rolled on. She wondered if they were scouts for him, checking to see if she was still hanging around. If she was still there, in his house, not getting the hint that they were done. That he was done with her. Something she didn’t understand, couldn’t comprehend, it just didn’t ring true, not after the time she’d spent with him, in his arms, talking, laughing…loving. So she gathered names and numbers, trying to plot a path.

  Jimbo. His grandfather, someone she knew was dead, but his name still on paper in the kitchen’s junk drawer. Long gone, he would no longer provide a possibility to find out what was going on. That left her with two options. An Incoherent member named Whitewall. Retired from active involvement with the club, but still someone Bell had spoken of fondly. Or, Po’Boy, the Incoherent veep, and Bell’s closest brother. This name recorded a number of times, old numbers crossed out, new ones written in, scraps of paper boasting even more phone numbers noted with PB.

  Penny looked down, staring at her phone, willing it to ring. Nothing. Ball and chain, she thought, straightening her shoulders, deciding to take the chance that she was wrong. Tapping it awake, she got to the phone app and then paused. I could call Ty. He would know which of the two men she could trust.

  “Hey, doll.” Penny squeezed her eyes shut tightly, holding herself still. She’d abandoned her perch in the kitchen for this call, seated herself on the floor in Bell’s bedroom. Knowing there wouldn’t be anyone here to catch her if she fell, she needed to give herself firm footing, even if it came with memories. Control what you can, she thought, then heard Ty’s voice again. “Penny?”

  “Yeah, hey.” She belatedly joined the conversation initiated by her. Ty had left her alone since she told him she was moving in with Bell. He didn’t counsel her against it, just stopped texting or calling, and she suddenly remembered the pain he’d expressed when she told him about Gollum. “Got a minute?” She heard the quaver in her voice and scrunched up her nose in response, knowing he’d be sure to hear it, too.

  “Anything.” That one word was low and forceful, resonating in a way she knew was dangerous because she was about to break the hope it held. She knew if she broke him often enough, he would stop picking up, no longer willing to be party to his own pain. The threat of losing his friendship tore at her, but she needed to know, and he might hold information.

  “You…” Stupid to think he talked to Bell on a regular basis, but he might have knowledge from friends. “…hear anything through the rumor mill about Bell?”

  Cautious now, he asked, “What do you mean, Penny?”

  “I dunno. Anything.” How much should I give him? “I’m…he’s been gone a while.”

  “Doll, you know if there’s club business, he’ll be focused on that. Did you need him for something? Anything I can do?” He must think she needed a jar of pickles opened or a lightbulb changed.

  “No. It’s not that. He’s been gone since Saturday morning.” Chin jerking, the last word took forever to make its way out of her mouth. She couldn’t have kept the tremble out of her voice if she’d tried, and knew he realized she was crying when he answered.

  Alert, but soft, so soft it broke her heart, he asked, “Saturday morning?” Then he followed with something that told her she had cause to be afraid. “Are you sure? You didn’t see him Saturday night?”

  If he’d expected her to see Bell Saturday night, it meant something had happened, and Ty knew about it. “What happened?”

  “Doll, he didn’t come back to you Saturday night?” Ty’s voice was quiet, intense in a way that set her on edge.

  “Ty, what happened?” Tears rolled down her cheeks and she no longer cared if he knew, sniffing hard and wiping at her nose with the heel of her hand. “Tell me.”

  “There was some club business. He left once it was done. The word is everyone thought he was coming to you, and when he didn’t show for the blowout after, assumed you had your own,” his voice hardened, and she winced, “private party.”

  “I got in Friday, everything was normal, went to bed. Woke up Saturday morning with a text on my phone from him, telling me he’d be late.” She straightened, pressing her shoulders deeper into the wall, firming her spine. “He didn’t come back." She swallowed hard. “He didn’t come home.”

  “You’re there now?” Ty’s question was abrupt. It sounded like he was on the move and she wondered where he was. “I’ll come to you.”

  “Yeah,” she said, “I’m at Bell’s place.” Ty knew she would be, knew she’d moved in, which meant his question now was about verifying access. “Tell me what happened.”

  Tone curt, all he said was, “Business.”

  God, she hated that word. Something Bagger had used to keep her at a distance from a lot of his life from the time she was young. Club business held secrets he didn’t want her to know, things she had no place learning based on her sex more than age.

  “What kind of business?” There was business, as in the club owning things and funneling that money into member’s pockets to support them or supplement what they could earn on their own. Then there were aspects of club business that never hit the edge of legal. Outlaw territory, a place Bagger warned her off again and again.

  “Penny.” Her name was a growled warning, one she chose to ignore, pushing harder for information.

  “Tell me. Ty, tell me, dammit.” She pushed with her legs, her back sliding up the wall until she was standing. “I’ll call Po’Boy.” She had a thought and took a chance, jumping without a chute. “Or Retro.” When the suck of his next breath was audible, she knew she’d hit something. “Retro remembers Bagger. He’ll talk to me.”

  “Penny, dammit.” A roar, pipes burbling and echoing. She closed her eyes because that was Ty’s bike. He’d parked it years ago—she assumed he’d sold it—but the exhaust was distinctive. If he was riding to her, then that meant he was bringing business to her door. “I got an hour between you and me. You sit tight, hold on. I’ll be there.” His voice muffled, difficult to make out over the noise of the bike, but she heard him say, “Fuckin’ sit tight.”

  The call disconnected and she was left alone again in the dark of Bell’s bedroom. Her phone buzzed, and when she looked, Ty had texted, Sit tight.

  She stood there a minute, turning over what he’d said, and what he hadn’t said. There was business Saturday, something Bell felt he needed to protect her from. Business successfully concluded, so he’d felt safe. She knew that, or he wouldn’t have left without every brother knowing exactly where he was headed. They assumed he was coming to her, which meant they knew about her, knew who she was to him. Knew enough that Bell being out of touch for three days wasn’t worrisome, except maybe to those men who had been rolling past for two days, keeping watch. Ty didn’t want her calling Po’Boy, but more didn’t want her calling Retro. One she knew, one she didn’t, and she suspected that was why. He wanted her here, alone, and wanted to control the information. Yeah, right.

  Fifty minutes later Ty rolled in, but he wasn’t alone. Forty bikes were at his back. Not what she expected, either, because they wore a mix of cl
ub colors. Some were CoBos she knew, some she didn’t. Incoherent cuts were expected, but what she didn’t expect were women on the back of two bikes. Property of patches. Ty wanted her to have someone here to help her hold it together and brought POs. It was a sweet thought, but she wouldn’t be hanging back at the house like the little woman. Bagger taught me better.

  She met them outside, leaning against the seat of her bobber, boots and leathers on, as ready to roll as any of the men looking at her sideways while they were heeling and toeing down their kickstands. Before she could move, there was another roar of bikes, and she watched as Ty’s neck turned, his head swinging to track the bikes pulling into the driveway. His chin dipped, and he stared at his boots for a moment and then turned to look at her. “Couldn’t just fuckin’ wait for me, could ya?” Interesting how his language changed given the audience. In the truck, he talked like the college-educated guy he was. Here, he’d developed an accent that blended Cajun and Texan. “Had to go and make that damned call.”

  “If I were missing, would you sit on your ass and wait for someone to come to the rescue?” That was the word she’d settled on. Missing. Bell was missing. “I called Retro. He didn’t give me anything, just said he’d meet you here.” She gestured to the long-haired biker swinging off his ride, “He’s here.” She gestured to Ty. “You’re here.” Tilting her head, she lifted her chin to a man standing nearby, watching her with a curious expression.

  His nose had been broken more than once. There was a bruise shadowing one side of his jaw, and his bottom lip had a healing scab on a split from what had to have been a vicious blow. For all that, he was handsome in a rough-edged way, a dangerous way. He was broad, muscled, and powerful looking. Not someone you’d fuck with. Short hair, short beard, the battered aspects of his face spoke of his willingness to do battle, and she knew from Bell’s stories they’d stood back-to-back through more than one fight where they’d come out the winners against overwhelming odds. She didn’t know him but knew who he had to be.