Craving Constellations (4 page)

She was spectacular—all legs and tits. I wasn’t sure why her legs looked so long ’cause she was actually pretty tiny, but I was sure her almost nonexistent shorts and high-heeled sandal things had a lot to do with it. She had a torn T-shirt on, and Jim Morrison’s eyes were staring at me from across her tits. Damn, the old boy had never looked so good. She walked in like she owned the joint, and I was surprised when she stopped to talk to some of the guys and their old ladies. I sure as hell had never seen her before. She didn’t look like one of the girls that hung around—too little hair and too little makeup—but she really couldn’t be anything else. This wasn’t Sunday brunch; good girls didn’t just show up in the middle of an Aces party. Didn’t happen.

She seemed like she was looking for someone, but she didn’t find whoever it was because, eventually, her head turned back toward me. I won’t pretend like we held gazes or any of that stupid shit. She was across the room, and I couldn’t even tell what color her eyes were for chrissake. I could tell she was looking at me though. After a few minutes, she turned completely away from me, and I got hard, just like that. The back of her T-shirt was cut down to her waist, and I could see a lacy green bra strap across her back.

Fuck. Me.

I just stood there, watching her, looking like a tool, as she gave hugs to the women around her—wondering how that fucking shirt stayed on. She actually hugged the boss’s old lady, Vera. Shit, that bitch was hard as nails. Who the fuck was this girl?

I followed her ass out of the clubhouse. It was like she was one of those sirens who lured men to their deaths. She was holding some sort of invisible leash, and I was tagging along behind her like a goddamn puppy. When I made it outside, she was sitting on the hood of her car with her heels resting on the front bumper of a 1969 red convertible Beetle.

I instantly pictured her naked and spread out over the hood of the bug while I feasted on her. Did the carpet match the drapes? Yeah, I was pretty sure she had that fiery red hair down below. No way that mop of curls on top of her head wasn’t natural. Or maybe she was bare—fuck, I bet she was. Most of the bitches that hung around here kept things bare or at least trimmed short. I loved it when women kept everything waxed. It felt so much better against my face and made them way more sensitive to the scratch of my beard.

She seemed surprised to see me when I walked up and stood right between her legs. The girls around the club knew the score. It wasn’t like I instantly crawled on top of her, but she acted like I had. She scooted back as far as she could until I caged her in with my hands resting on each side of her hips.

“Um, hey. Have we met?”

Christ. Her voice was sugar and spice and every fuckin’ fantasy I’d ever had.

“Nope. I would’ve remembered that. You’re fuckin’ gorgeous.” God, could I be more of an asshole?

“Ha. Thanks. You mind moving back a little? The hood of the car is still a little warm, and I’m burning my ass here.” She blushed.

Holy fuck. I was amazed that she actually just blushed at me. Then, I realized that her ass was still on the hot car. I quickly took a step back, but not before I hooked my hands behind her knees so I could pull her forward. She made a startled noise and grabbed my shoulders as her ass cleared the end of the hood. Perfect. She wrapped her legs around my middle, trying to get her balance, and I slid my hands up the backs of her smooth thighs, finally resting them just underneath her shorts on her ass cheeks. She was exactly where I wanted her. Now, I just had to get her horizontal or against a wall. It didn’t really matter to me at this point.

“Uh, I’m good, you know? You can, uh, just put me down anywhere. I mean, set me down. I can stand. No permanent damage.” She laughed nervously. “Really, we’re all good.”

I tilted my head down, so our faces were just inches apart. Damn, she was small. At around six feet tall, I was no giant, but I felt massive next to her. She was looking at me with these wide green eyes, all innocent. Her face was still rosy from her blush, and her bottom lip was snagged between her teeth. Damn, she was sexy. I knew I was freaking her out, but I couldn’t stop myself.

I lowered my head farther, and just when she thought I was going to kiss her, I turned my head and ran my beard and then my mouth down her neck. She smelled like cinnamon, and she tasted all tangy and fantastic. I wanted to fuckin’ consume her. So, I started with her neck. I bit and licked and sucked on her from her ear to her collarbone.

At first, she pushed at me like she was trying to get away, but I knew that wasn’t the case. These girls came here for this. They came for a chance to fuck an Ace—or twenty—and carve a few notches on their tiny belts. I was sure some of the bitches were hoping to find a man, but that didn’t happen often. Brothers didn’t want sluts for old ladies. Fuck, with this girl though? I probably wouldn’t care if she’d fucked every brother in the club.

I ignored it when she was pushing at me, but I sure as shit felt it when her body relaxed against mine, and her legs tightened around me. I had her. I strode to the corner of the building, still worshiping her neck and ears until we ran straight into a wall. And I mean, we ran into it. I was afraid for a second that I had hurt her until I heard a husky giggle in my neck.

“In a hurry?” she asked with a smile in her voice.

Fuck yes, I was in a hurry. Not only did I not want her to change her mind, but her legs were also wrapped so tightly around my back that they were digging into my tattoo. Her hands didn’t feel any better hanging on to my shoulders. I needed to pin her up against the wall to take some of the fuckin’ pressure off.

“I’m Dragon.”

I figured we should get the whole name bullshit out of the way. I wanted her to be screaming my name when she came—none of that generic shit and not the name I was given at birth. Everyone around the club started calling me Dragon the year before. The name came from a throw down I had with a local dealer. Dude’s name was Jorge, and I fucked his shit up. Bad. I did it quick, too. After that, the vice president of the MC, Poet, started calling me Dragon. Some shit about a story of St. George and the Dragon. I was fine with it. I earned it. New name. New life.

She’d call me Dragon, and she’d know exactly who was fucking her. “I’ve got a room in the house. Why don’t I take you in there and make you scream it?”

She blushed again even brighter than the first time and cleared her throat. “I don’t think that’s a good idea, Dragon. I don’t know you. You don’t know me. This was stupid. I don’t know what I was thinking. I don’t sleep with guys who I don’t know. I’m sorry. I’m sure I look like a total cock tease right now. Can you put me down?”

She was wiggling around, and her legs had dropped from around my waist, so I was holding her by her knees again. I probably would have decided she wasn’t worth the hassle. I didn’t have to beg women or even seduce them to fuck them. They came to me, always had. Now that I got my cut, I had a feeling they’d be even thicker on the ground. Yeah, I would have decided that she wasn’t worth the trouble, but then the word cock came slipping out of those rosy lips. It didn’t fit her; she didn’t look like she’d even said the word before, but it was erotic as hell to watch it form on her lips. Plus, who the hell said cock tease? Fuckin’ adorable.

“Christ, you’re sweet,” I mumbled, and I dove straight for those lips.

She had some sticky sweet lip gloss on, and I licked it off before pushing inside her mouth. I had barely gotten my tongue inside before she started whimpering and grabbing at my hair. It was like she couldn’t get my face close enough to hers even though she was barely moving her lips. There was something about the way she did it though—the desperation—that made my dick twitch in anticipation. She needed it, and she was waiting for me to give it to her.

As far as I was concerned, kissing was overrated—the kind of thing a man does to get a bitch in his bed. With her though, I could have tasted her mouth for days. She tasted slightly of beer, which I hadn’t noticed that she’d been drinking, and her tongue kept shyly reaching out from her mouth to rub against mine.

“Let me have your tongue, baby,” I whispered against her mouth.

I needed more of her. Where she was shy, I was greedy. I bit at her lips, sucking the top one and then the bottom. I groaned when she finally got more aggressive. When she sucked my tongue in her mouth, I thought I was going to pass out. Images of her sucking my cock the same way raced through my mind until her hands slid down my back. Even through the leather of my cut, her fingers felt like knives slicing through my skin.

I hissed. “Fuck!”

“What?” She looked up at me in confusion as I tried to ignore the tiny black spots dancing in my eyes.

“Nothing. Come on, we’re going to my room. I want you naked in my bed.” I dropped her legs and grabbed one of her hands, dragging her behind me to one of the side doors.

She tried to argue with me, but I didn’t pay attention. My back was on fire, my dick was hard as a fuckin’ rock, and I didn’t want anyone stopping us before I could get her naked.

Thankfully, the door closest to us headed directly to the back hall where my room was. The clubhouse was a rectangle with garage bays on the west side that connected to a large room where we congregated. Behind that space was a long hallway lined with doors that ran the length of the room. Mine, thank fuck, was only three doors in, but we passed Grease on our way there. He did a double take as we passed and then called my name as I opened my door.

“Stay here.” I pushed her inside, flipped the light, closed the door, and walked back toward him.

“What’s up, man?” I asked him distractedly.

“Hey, you sure you want to go there? Poet’s gonna fuck your shit up if you go there.” He was staring at my door.

“You really asking me about where I put my dick? Want to get a latte and fuckin’ gossip, too?” I shook my head. “I’ll see you later…hopefully, not until morning. Don’t come knocking.” I gave him a look that promised retribution if he ignored me.

I knew Poet didn’t have an old lady, and he didn’t seem to have a favorite with the other bitches either. Why the fuck would Poet care? I was just drunk enough and thinking with my dick, so I ignored the questions running through my head.

Then, I went back to her.

Boss dragged me back from five years ago with a few quick words.

“Dragon, quit fuckin’ daydreamin’, and get your ass out there with Poet. See what the fuck is going on,” he snapped at me. “You too, Grease.”

I shook my head and walked away from the Chevelle I was working on and out into the sunlight. I caught up to Poet pretty quickly because he had stopped in the middle of the forecourt, staring at a woman standing next to an old Corolla.
What the fuck?
That couldn’t be her. The lady was wearing a fuckin’ cardigan. Her hair was not the bold-as-hell red that I remembered; it was more of a strawberry blonde and sleek with no curls in sight. It wasn’t her. No way. This lady would never cut up an old Doors T-shirt, making sure that she didn’t mess up Morrison’s bone structure. She’d never fuck a man the first night she met him. She’d never spend hours lying on his chest, telling him about the constellations and their meanings. And I could never, ever see this lady down on her knees sucking a man’s cock like it was the best fuckin’ lollipop she’d ever tasted.

I didn’t realize how hard I’d been breathing until it started to slow. Poet was just standing there. This bitch must be lost. I thanked Christ and all the apostles. Poet mocked my thanks when he started moving—fast. He was across the forecourt in a matter of seconds, and as I watched, her mouth formed one word—
Pop
.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
I could hear my pulse pounding in my ears. Five years later, and she showed up out of the fuckin’ blue. No warning and no word for five goddamn years, and she just drove in like it’s nothing, like she didn’t leave her dad—or me—high and dry. Fury raced through me, but I couldn’t ignore the fact that my heart was beating hard against my ribs as Poet wrapped his arms around her. Then, I swear to Christ, I felt it stop as I watched her face pale and her body go limp.

After Brenna passed out, everything happened in a blur. Poet caught her, but as he started to walk past her car to bring her inside, his eyes caught on something in her backseat, and he hesitated.

“Dragon! Come get Brenna! Take her to my room, yeah?”

I was stepping forward to grab her when I realized exactly what Poet was looking at in the backseat—a kid. A kid who didn’t look anything like Brenna. At first, I wondered if she’d fuckin’ lost it and stolen someone’s kid. Why else would she be here? Shit. Not my problem. But I couldn’t move. I was frozen, standing by that piece of shit Toyota. Poet’s voice was nothing more than a buzz in my ears.

I think Grease ended up taking Brenna inside, but I couldn’t take my eyes off the little girl. After what seemed like hours later but had to be only minutes, Poet opened the back door and unbuckled the kid from her seatbelt. It was the strangest thing. She was crying, but she wasn’t making any noise or trying to get away. She just sat there on his arm. Stoic. She was a fuckin’ statue, except for those tears.

I couldn’t figure out why the fuck I was frozen. I was just standing there like an asshole, a lot like the way I had reacted to seeing Brenna for the first time. Poet just kept talking to the girl, trying to get a response, but she was as closed up as a bank vault. Her eyes were darting around the yard though, so I knew there wasn’t anything wrong with her. She was assessing the situation like a little general—finding all of her escape routes and possible enemies.