Checkmate With Bishop: A Hellions MC Novel (26 page)

Bishop blinked at the memory, one he hadn’t pulled out and examined before.  One that seemed to connect to the ones of him being a selfish prick who’d ignored whatever pain the club had inflicted on Dory.  And the fury at what Zip had announced, of how the old bastard had blatantly fucking admitted that he’d be taking Dory with or without either of the young couple’s consent created a flash fire within Bishop’s chest even so many years later. 

Why hadn’t he remembered that before? 

Why hadn’t he seen what his beautiful young wife had been facing?

The memory of him being served was clear, sharp and something he’d thought of again and again.  Just as much as he had of how he’d read through those papers later, while back at their empty apartment.   Reading them through before starting again, he’d studied them four times before his mind had finally accepted the words that she was well and truly gone. 

That his Dory was divorcing him. 

Had done everything legally possible to remove him from her life.

She’d taken everything she wanted from their apartment before she’d left and transferred all the rest of it into his name.

The only thing that she’d given him was $10,000 from when she’d sold her mom’s house, kept in a savings account that the papers said had been put into his name.

$10,000 to pay him off, is how he’d understood it at the time.

To prevent him from trying to find her.

And it was then his heart had finally realized their marriage was well and completely over.

A fact that he’d still had to face even after his resulting four-day bender had finally ended.  A bender only stopped by Trey and Trike’s interference by way of breaking into his apartment and slapping him awake.  And once he’d finally found consciousness, he’d seen the evidence of exactly what that realization had wrought in the fact that every single piece of furniture, every solitary dish in the place had been pounded to smithereens.  He didn’t remember any of it, though the cuts on his hands and feet more than told him who had a hand in apartment’s destruction. 

But it had been interesting to note he hadn’t touched the bedroom.  That he’d avoided its closed door and probably the memories the room contained in his drunken rampage.

Then the bitch had, thirteen years later, introduced him to their son before drunkenly pleading with him never to leave her again!

Something that should’ve found him laughing at the irony of his life, but didn’t.

Not in the fucking least.

Instead it found him lying next to his beautiful ex-wife, reliving a past with glimpses of the hurt she’d experienced, grateful to have a son such as J.R. in the next room and overwhelmed with emotions he couldn’t even begin to name.

And, without a thought, Bishop scooted until he was curled up next to her, draping an arm over her waist, his lips against her ear.  “I was wrong, babe.  Wrong to let you go that first time.” 

He found himself swallowing as he closed his eyes against the light and to give credence to the rest of what he needed her to know.  “It sure as fuck won’t happen again.”

Chapter Twenty

It was later.  Much, much later and into the time his Grandma had used to call the ‘wolf hours’ of morning that Bishop woke up.  But it wasn’t a abrupt wakening.

Slowly, was how it happened.  So leisurely that at first he thought he was still in the grips of his dreams.  Of his tongue tangling against something soft, warm and heated as his chest pressed against another one that held sharp pointed mounds that he knew would more than fill his palms.

“God, Stan…” came the breathy whisper when he’d pulled his mouth away, as she used his ‘real’ name and said it on a moan that he’d always remembered.  And as a memory, found him pressing his hard length into the juncture of warm, slightly wet skin.  Then the skin parted and he felt himself dropping between them even as hands slid over his ass to cup and pull.  “So goddamn good.”

As dreams went, Bishop considered this one of the best, especially when he felt the warmth of soft thighs press to his sides as he dragged himself through a shimmering wet heat.  “Love you, Dory,” he’d murmured as he knew he often did in his dreams, not that he hadn’t told her during his waking times.  But after so many years, the dreams were the only way he had to get with her again and again, eagerly anticipating being with her if only in his sleep.

“I know.  I’ve always known,” came the soft call.  One of the hands left his ass and reached between them to capture his hard length.  “But I need you inside, honey.”

She guided him, dragging his mushroomed helmet along the line of her wetness until he was aligned with her sodden opening.  “There, Stan.  Do me right there.”

So he did.  Sank himself into such tight heated depths that he saw stars on the inside of his eyelids.  Pulled back and pushed in again and again until, on the fourth stroke of in and out, he became fully aware.

Completely awake.

And found he wasn’t dreaming.

That he, after so long and after so many nightscapes of having her beneath him, of him again being in the grip of her moist core, was fucking his Dory.

Bishop’s mind would’ve named it ‘making love’ but he didn’t have any control over the way his hips moved between hers with a driving force, with a need that was done without his volition.  And on cock surges that he both couldn’t and didn’t want to restrain.  It was sexual pleasure at its most primal level, in how it wanted to both give and receive as their bodies bumped together, rushed up to join before pulling back in bliss to experience that same feeling again and again.

He grabbed her ankles and sat up onto his knees, his eyes automatically drawn to where they were joined.  But the view was almost shocking in its eroticism.  It was better than any porn he’d ever watched, better than anything he’d ever witnessed.  And caused the sharp shards of his orgasm to make themselves known in both his lower back and balls.

“Hot, babe,” he groaned, unable to take his eyes off his turgid length that was covered in the evidence of her desire.  “So fucking,
fucking
hot.”

“Need to…” she breathed and he watched as her neck arched before their eyes connected.  Christ!  In that position he could even fucking smell her, an aroma that was guaran-fucking-teed to send him over the edge for sure!  “I’m so close, honey.”

Without disconnecting their gazes, Bishop moved one of her ankles over his shoulder and reached for the swollen nub between her legs.  Using his thumb in a motion that he knew would find her hitting her bliss, circling and stroking, he coaxed her towards the edge.  “Give me that fucking beauty, Dory.  Let me watch while you hit it, babe.”

“Here, Stan,” she moaned, low and long.  “
Here
.  Take it, honey!”

And his Dory completely and totally began to unravel right before his eyes, under his thumb as her insides began to milk him.

Which happened about point zero-five seconds before his body released and jetted his completion inside her.  But that seemed to last for-fucking-ever as he continued to stroke out his bliss and in such a mindless way, he hadn’t even realized he’d dropped down to his elbows, snaking his arms around her neck and back, holding onto her tightly.

“Can’t breathe,” she squeaked and he’d shifted to his side, remaining imbedded and feeling apologetic but unable to fit two words together to give it a voice.

There were more than a few seconds of silence, ones that found them avoiding one another’s eyes even as the jangles of repletion moved throughout their bodies, being felt by them both.

“Holy shit, Stan.  That was…”she started after a time but let her words drift off as if unable to complete the sentence.

But Bishop could’ve with just using the words his heart supplied.  Words like: ‘wonderful’, ‘stupendous’ and ‘long overdue’.  Or even ‘remembered’, ‘wanted’ or ‘special’.  All of those would’ve been the perfect ones to say in that second.  A special moment to add to all the other ones he held so dear when it came to her.  But that wasn’t how she finished it, though.  And her remaining word, tossed up on such a dismissive note cut him to the quick and brought back his anger.

“…weird.”  She turned her head away before twisting to look at him.  “Have you taken up the habit of taking advantage of drunken civilian women?  Seems a little bit out there.  Even when one considers the weirder bits of all things Hellion.”

He searched her eyes, keeping everything to himself until he’d worked it out, saw how she was trying to hide behind her bitch-like speech.  One that was given with a chin-jut but that just didn’t match what her expression was exposing. 

So he gave it to her. 

Gave it to her as straight as he knew how and totally from the bombed out mess that he called his heart.

“Is that what you’d call it, Dore?  Seriously?” he challenged.  “Because seems to me that we were giving each other something that we both wanted and needed.”  He swallowed to give himself the space to formulate words, some that he hoped wouldn’t find himself being ejected from her bed, from the sweet peace that they both still shared in the connection of his cock inside her.

“I didn’t say it wasn’t enjoyed…” she started, but he cut her right the fuck off.

“Then stop with the attitude.  Just…” He sighed and moved to press his forehead to hers.  “God, babe.  Please stop.  Can’t we just admit that there’s still something between us?”  He felt a hesitant hand drift up his bicep before it slid along his shoulder, to cup the back of his neck.  And, for whatever reason, he took it as a ‘win’ even if she didn’t immediately respond.

“We do have a history,” he heard her admit on a winsome, soft voice after what felt like a long, long time.

“True.”

“And it seems we still know how to work it.”

“That too.”  He was surprised to note that his agreement earned him her thigh, one that snaked its way over his hip in order to allow her calf to drape across his ass.  A move which caused him to push an elbow in the mattress as he realigned his hips to hers, sinking himself even deeper and surprised to find himself still hard enough to do so.   “Christ you feel good, babe.”

He felt her hand on his braid, her fingers sliding down its length until she stopped at the elastic band he used to secure it.  In the light from the lone lamp that he’d left blazing before falling asleep, he saw her face, saw the softness of her eyes and the slow sexy smile that grew in intensity as she removed the band, sliding it over her hand and on to her wrist even as her fingers plucked at the twining loops. 

“When did you decide to let it grow, honey?” she asked softly, her eyes moving between what her hands were doing and his gaze which had thoroughly and completely remained steadfastly on her.

“After ol’ man Palmer died and I couldn’t find anyone else who could it cut it like I liked,” he murmured on an equally quiet note.  “When it grew long enough so I could put it in a ponytail, I liked how it felt.  How it stayed off my face.”

When all the loops were released, she shoved both hands into the long, long tresses, using her fingers as a comb as she spread it out around them, creating a canopy of sorts, a drape of his hair that shut out everything but the two of them.  “It’s beautiful.”

It was a simple compliment from a woman who was no longer simple and said with feeling.  So much so, Bishop didn’t feel the need to reply.  But the need to use his lips was there and without hesitation he rolled more fully onto her even as his mouth found hers.

He tried to keep it light, just staying to the surface of her still luscious mouth, but with how his cock was responding it was a struggle.  His tongue wanted in on the escalating action, demanding to play with hers. 

And when that goddamned want became a fucking
need
, Bishop gave up the fight and slanted his head.

*.*.*.*.*

I knew it wasn’t right when I first started it, when I first awoke to find Stan pressed tightly against me.  But I was still just drunk enough to blow off any of the cautions my mind was throwing around. 

It was the view of Stan though that started it all.  With his face relaxed in sleep, he looked more like he had when I’d been married to him, instead of the big bad-ass biker he’d grown into. 

Carefree. 

Wild. 

And more prone to laughter than not.

Letting my fingers lightly trace his features, I was overcome with the past albeit along a different trail than the memories that sometimes drifted through my mind.  Ones of us when we’d been alone, making each other so hot, so goddamn full of hormonal heat that we would shiver in delight as we touched one another.  Of eschewing TV in favor of playing our version of ‘Strip Rummy’, a card game that we’d invented just for us with the sole excuse of getting each other slowly naked.  And of the many, many times we’d made love in many, many places throughout our tiny one-bedroom apartment. 

We’d loved each other with a fierceness that had taken my breath away.  Had me clamoring to be joined with him, connected and held by nothing more than his cock inside me, at the way our bodies fit so sublimely together, as one.  And maybe it was because of those types of memories, because he was pressed so lovingly to my side at that moment or even that I had overheard he’d gotten J.R. another room that caused it.   Whatever it was, it provided me with both the opportunity and the motive to make my play.

It hadn’t taken much, not after I’d eased myself away in order to whip my t-shirt and panties off.  Especially after I’d discovered he was naked, still liked to sleep in nothing but the glorious skin God had given him.  And I took his rolling onto his back as approval for me to initiate, to start something that my body was clamoring to have just one more time.

It hadn’t taken much to get him involved.  A light kiss here, a stroking touch there were all that were needed to have him gathering me into his chest, to moaning as he rolled with me, getting me on my back as our tongues continued to duel.  I’d press and he’d touch,  I’d pull back and he’d follow until he was finally, freaking
finally
on top of me, his cock seeking and then discovering where it needed to be.