Forbidden Beauty (Coffin Cheaters Motorcycle Club) (15 page)

As I fumbled to cock my gun, Flapper reached for his. The
old rider was quicker. I heard the shot slice across the enclosure, at close
range, and I screamed louder than I've ever screamed when I saw Carter slump
forward in pain. For a heartbeat, the world seemed to stop.

The ground was littered with the corpses of Satan's Refuse,
and the corpses of the Knights of Styx, and the corpses of my fellow Coffin
Cheaters. I could see Dog hunched behind an upturned bike, shooting off a round
at two masked men. Wolverine and a few of his brothers were rushing towards my
old friend's aid. An alliance had been formed from enemies, but at what cost?
Flapper was gasping, spewing blood across my beloved bike. The knife in his
shoulder looked to have punctured a lung. I took all of this in, but I ran
through the bullets for Carter.

“Baby!” I cried as I reached him. His body was weakening
before me. All of the color had drained out of his face.

“Hey, old lady,” he wheezed. “Ain't this funny. You protect
me, I protect you...you protect me...” But as my savior trailed off, his eyes
slid shut.

I never got to tell him, he had it all wrong:
he'd
protected
me
first. He'd always been the one protecting me. For all my toughness,
I was always the one getting lucky, getting saved—and my loved ones were paying
the price. I held my lover's head in my lap, and I cursed the sky.

Epilogue

* * *

Dear Gizzy,

Glad to hear everything's on the up and up. I know it was
a rough summer. :-(

I've come to a personal decision: it's time to quit the
groupie life. Me and a couple of the other girls are actually thinking of
striking out on our own, music-wise. Lord knows I don't play an instrument, but
I think I can carry a tune. My girlfriend plays guitar alright. And that's the
thing about all these dumb boys: it's mostly confidence that gets them through
the gigs, cuz it's not like anyone's a
genius.
And girls have an
advantage, presentation-wise—if you're foxy, you can pretty much pack a house.
I think I'm just tired of feeling second fiddle to a bunch of
as-you-would-call-them “pasty musician types.” I'm a badass bitch, too! Oh, and
that reminds me! Remember how I hooked up with Scotty a while back? You know,
that fat old bartender from Casablanca? (Also remember how you've sworn to
NEVER TELL ANYONE ABOUT THIS?!) Well he and I write old-school letters back and
forth, too, and he's told me if I ever got a group together we'd be welcome to
come play as the house band at his new club in the city. I'm thinking that
would be pretty amazing! I could be close to my favoritest twin in the world
(badumCHH), and stay off the road! Just something to think about.

It sounds totally fucked up, but I have to say—I kind of
miss our little summer adventure. It was really nice to spend so much time with
you again, and remember how to ride a motorcycle, and be around the old gang. I
guess I just wanted you to know that because though I talk a big game about
leaving the crew, those old suckers are still my family, too. And I love them.
And I understand why—in spite of everything—you've decided to stay. I'm proud
of you, did you know that? I'm sure Dad would be, too.

Running out of space so xoxoxoxoxox, Tati

Smiling, I slide the letter into my pocket, then lock up our
P.O. Box. It's time to race home—it's not like I can hang around town much, as
there's a warrant out for my arrest (well—me and everyone else in my MC). So I
gun it homeward, against no one but myself, buoyed by the Southern winds. It's
technically hurricane season, but nothing big has hit land yet.

Before I kick off, I remember to check my tires for debris.
Sure enough, there are a few pebbles lodged precariously in my hubcap, from a
more recent trip to the beach. There's some sound advice I've never forgotten.
And it's time for my own pang: thinking back to the first day—I met Knox, I
still manage to get goosebumps. Well, I should say: the second day. I'm talking
about the second time I met Carter.

I hop the moat to the den, as usual, and am greeted
instantly by the hollers of my brothers. On the porch, a fresh band of ashtrays
(Monika, Kelliye and Janet) are idling, waiting for their old men to come in
from a day of lord-knows-what. Since this summer, I've managed to redefine the
'den mother' position to suit my particular interests and needs: now there's a
lot less silly paperwork, and a lot more decision-making. Our new President,
Dog, is pretty open to changing the infrastructure since the shoot-out. These
days in my MC, folks fend for themselves. We're still a family, we still
operate out of one home and one mass fund, but people are free to spend their
days as they wish. And though there are responsibilities for every man in the
club, I've discovered that severing certain relationships with violent crime
groups in Miami has been great for morale, over all.

I nod to my brothers, but I don't stick around to chat. Instead,
I gun it through camp, towards my new and improved quarters. This summer it was
out with the bunk beds, in with a big wide double and some adult furniture. I
peel off my helmet, toss it into the dust, and storm inside. The wind's still
whipping. Better board up these windows before the rain hits.

He's waiting for me.

“Hey, baby. You get the movie while you were out?”

Tati's right—between the makeshift physical therapy and a
long rehabilitation period in the ICU (all under an alias, to avoid police suspicion...)
it hasn't been an easy summer. But these days, we're just about back on track.
He walks with a small limp (which he finds infuriating and I find heroic), and
it's been no picnic weaning him off the morphine—but we've been for rides
together. I've shown him around his new home. And doctors (yes, actual doctors)
have informed me that he should be fully up and at 'em by this fall, provided
we do our best to stay out of trouble...which'll be a difficult promise to
keep.

“Shit. I forgot it. I forgot the movie.”

“Are you serious?”

“Yes—fuck. Do you want me to go back and get it?” The wind's
already at a fever pitch outside, so I don't know why I offered. He's crazy if
he thinks I'm driving all the way back into the city to pick up something we
could bootleg watch online. Of course, my old man won't
hear
of that.

“Guess it'll have to wait.
Again.
” He mock-rolls his
eyes, but I can tell he's a little disappointed. We've been talking about this
old flick for the whole duration of our relationship, so I guess I can kinda
sorta see where he comes from.

“Poor baby. What can mama do to make it better?” I toss my
hair coyly, I bat my eyes. Sometimes this makes us laugh—but not today. Guess
he's not in a laughing mood.

“You can get on the bed. And wipe that schoolgirl grin off
your face.” A little trill runs down my spine, but I do what he says. Even
wounded, Carter Knox is still much stronger than me.

I sit down on the bed, facing my lover—who still insists on
those trademark leather pants, despite his injury. He bends low, so he's close
to my face. Looking dead into my eyes, he reaches down and cups my crotch—firmly,
but not too hard.

“Ouch,” I say anyways. It's more like I breathe the words.
Because now, still staring straight into my eyes, he's kissing me—he's brushing
his stubble-framed lips against mine, and pushing hard against me. I tilt my
head, so he can slip his tongue into my mouth. I reach my hands up, to cradle
that perfect, perfect face.

“No. Lie back,” my lover commands. Guiding me, he presses a
hand into the center of my chest, until I'm flat against our pillows. I try to
lay perfectly still, but quiver a little with anticipation. Carter, moving
slowly above me, peels a strand of sheet away from the bed, and loops this
lightly around my ankles. He lopes toward the headboard, and pulls each of my
wrists to a corner of the four poster. There, he secures my hands with
conveniently placed ties.

Right. Like this biker has ever in his life worn a
neck-tie.

Returning to face me, Carter just looks at me for a moment,
pegged to the four corners of the bed. He ministers to my ankles, making the
bonds a little tighter. I gasp, and then he reaches down and lightly places a
hand at my throat.

“Bad little girls need to be punished,” he says. A part of
me wants to laugh, but a slightly larger part of me wants to follow his every
instruction. I close my eyes.

He begins at my neck, leaning forward so the bulk of his
weight sinks across my frame. I love that feeling, of a man pressing down on
you from all sides. It's hard to breathe, though, especially once he starts
kissing a trail along my collarbone. His mouth is light at first, but the
pressure increases with his desire, and soon he's sucking on me. So hard I just
know he's going to leave marks on my pale skin.

Rising to his knees, Carter straddles me on the mattress,
gripping my torso tight between his thighs. I'm breathing harder now. With that
same firm, pressing hand as before, he first cups my right breast, then my
left. Bends low so he can massage them both, with increasingly strong,
demanding strokes. I lift my hips a little, leaning into his touch. And it's
then that I feel him: hard, demanding, pressing tight against the leather from
both of our pants. We squeak as we move together, me writhing below him as he
starts to hump me gently. I cry out—for the first time.

Smiling above me, Carter places both hands at the collar of
my thin t-shirt and then yanks, sharply—ripping my tee in a ragged line down
the middle. My breasts seem to lift toward him in the light, and I feel myself
dampen, looking at him looking at me. He bends low, eager for the taste of me.
Begins to suck hard on my nipples, his hands roving around my rib-cage. And
though I'm still bound tight, I grain towards him like a trapped wild thing. He
peels off his own t-shirt, then encircles my naked upper body in his arms.
We're so close now that I can't tell where his sweat ends and mine begins. This
is also when I first peek the long train of a scar, the one that begins at his
hip and winds down his left leg. A battle wound that he secured, when fighting
for me.

“You want it now, baby?” Carter breathes hotly, his voice
urgent in my ear. I discover that I've briefly lost the ability to form words,
so I just nod into the crook of his neck. He snakes a hand up the back of my
body and pulls my hair backward, just enough to hurt. “Say it. Say that you
want it now.”

“I want it. I want it now.”

He sucks my neck hard for that one. I've been a good little
girl.

Then, he moves his hands down my body in slow trails—his
touch grazes first my neck, then the swells of my breasts, then my stomach,
then the very top of my mound. He pushes down my pants, fearsomely strong and
determined. He leans back for a second, feeling how wet I already am. I don't
know why he still gets so surprised about this. The fool should know he makes
me wet from basically the moment he walks into a room.

Still, looking pleased, I watch his face as he slides a
finger inside of me, manipulating his thumb to rest lightly on my clit. He's a
master at making me on the outside and the inside at the same time. I press
against my bonds on the mattress, raising my hips towards him for easier
access. He sinks his mouth into my neck once more, nibbles lightly on the patch
of me where he's already left a bruise.

I open my mouth in a silent scream.

Carter pushes another finger deep into my pussy, and I can
feel my walls begin to clench around him. His touch should be familiar by now,
but I never stop getting excited. He presses a third finger inside me, then
begins moving back and forth, fingering my hole. I try to wrap my pegged knees
around his arm, but struggle against my binds.

His mouth has returned to my breast, where he flicks his
tongue back and forth across my nipple, his stubble grazing my bare skin. I'm
sweating all over now. And the pad of his thumb is pressing harder and harder,
in perfect tandem with the thrusts of his hand, and I can feel myself soaking
through layers of fabric.

“Please,” I croak. “Baby, please come inside.
I beg you
.”

He grins above me, and some of that wonderful laugh, (my
favorite laugh in the whole wide world!) slips out into space. He unbuttons his
pants, eagerly. I wish I could help him, but my hands are tied—so I just buck
against the mattress, instead.

With the same fervor with which he ripped off my shirt, Carter
snakes my leather pants down my legs, then extracts my feet from bondage so he
can slip the clothes onto the floor. Then, he follows suit with his own pants.
I help the leather travel to the floor with my feet, and once that awkward
dance is done—I look at the whole of him. The whole of him, belonging to the
whole of me.

He scoots up on the mattress, resting his taut ass on my
chest. His dick is hard as a rock already. As he nudges himself towards my
mouth, I bend forward and suck on his tip. Now it's his turn to rock on the
bed, to rear back with pleasure. His pink nipples, nested in their blanket of
thick, curling chest hair, stand erect. I move my lips around his shaft, so as
to swallow more of him down.

He grabs a hank of my hair in his hand, and tugs gently. He
presses further into me, so I can feel him pushing against the back of my
throat. With his free hand, my lover reaches down, between my legs, and pushes
against my wetness.

After a few moments' thrusting, Carter peels himself away
from me and lifts his lips. I press my knees upward, so they're resting against
his ass. We rock back and forth like this for a gentle moment, enjoying one
another's skin, our weight. The mattress creaks below us. I cannot fucking
believe this is my life now.

His cock is flat against his belly now, thick with energy. I
nose my knees wide on the bed, so he can enter me. And after hovering another
second on the edge, his hands still fluttering against my pussy, he presses
inside. As usual, it hurts for a moment before I adjust—but the second thrust
is pure magic.

* * *
Carter

I fuck her good
and deep that way, watch her eyes go rolling up into the back of her head as
she begs and begs for my cock. She's so wet it's hard to find friction, but I
push and push and soon, we've fallen into a favorite, familiar rhythm. Though I
love the look of her all tied up and begging for me, I lurch forward on the
bed, I fumble at the knots around her wrists. I want to feel her hands on me,
like usual.

When she's
free, she folds her pale, beautiful, body all around me, like a spider—even
lifting her draped feet, so her heels dig into my ass. She guides me further
inside, so I'm pushing against her walls, she wants more of me now—and I give
myself willingly. I push and push and push her into the bed—
our
bed—until
I'm thrusting so hard and fast I could come any second. But then, I pull out.
Flip her over, so her ass is in the air. Her body is drenched with sweat, and I
dig my hands into her back, massaging her damp shoulders for a moment while we
shift positions. Then, once she's ready, I enter her from behind.