Outlaw's Bride (17 page)

I understood him – more than I ever thought he'd let me.

Slowly, I nodded, pawing at his wrist with one shaky hand, pushing him off. I didn't breathe again until both his hands were on the steering wheel, and we were leaving behind the grim memorial for good.

He was right about one thing – this was all happening
way
too fast. Still, I couldn't deny the spark that wouldn't stop flashing through my veins, my heat begging to mingle with his.

My core tightened, and I pushed my tongue against the roof of my mouth. Jesus, my nipples throbbed against my bra, hungry to be sucked, just like my clit. I never knew the need for sex could truly make me
ache
until now.

Sure, we could keep up the safe, sane, careful act as long as I could stand it. But sooner or later, I knew I'd wind up straddling his cock, pulling him deep inside me and letting him take his rightful place there as the only man who'd ever fucked me.

Hell, the only one I ever
wanted
to. Now, it was just a matter of how long until the fire making me sweat and choke on my own breath threw me on my back and spread my legs.

Roman had already taken me over with his brand and the not-so-subtle marriage promise he'd made back at his mother's place. He'd taken me so fast my head was spinning, whirling off the anger and bitterness I'd had when he stormed back into my life.

Soon, he'd take what was his in bed, and I'd give it all over, everything that tensed and exploded when he bit into my ear and growled the word
mine.

I
woke up in a cold damned sweat two days later. My kid snored in his crib, oblivious to everything, even as I smacked my forehead and sweated out the last Jack in my system for the first time in years.

Goddamn it. Every fucking night in that house was hell when I wasn't waking up next to Sally.

I woke up alone, stretched out on the floor in my sleeping bag, my dick drooling pre-come all over my boxers. It'd been too long since I'd had pussy, and the girl I wanted most was only a wall away.

I'd heard brothers talk about sexual tension over the years 'til they were blue in the face, especially when they got their pricks bent outta shape over some woman they wanted to call their old lady.

Me? I had it worse – way fucking worse.

I'd already claimed her, and she wasn't saying no, but she was off limits 'til she said the magic word.

I had an old lady I couldn't fuck 'til she wanted it as bad as I did. I'd done a lot to smooth shit over the last couple days, but nothing compared to getting nasty with her underneath me.

I couldn't fuck her 'til she moaned in my ear, pressed her skin against mine, made me feel her temp rising over a hundred degrees. And I couldn't go back to cockhounds like Twinkie, good for emptying my balls and nothing else.

I wasn't fucking this up.

I'd die before I made the same damned mistakes my old man did. I wasn't gonna say it to her face, but Sally already had my cock pulsing in her hand. I couldn't think about letting that greedy motherfucker have his way with anybody but her, her,
her.

She must've done some black magic when I wasn't looking. Nothing else made sense.

Shit, women used to come easy, and I had no problem getting hard for a stranger with a rocking body. Now, it was like every other pussy on the planet turned to ash, bronze prizes my balls wouldn't ever accept. I had to go for the gold, and fuck her so hard her hot, tight, golden cunt remembered the shape of my dick 'til we were dead.

Fuck.

I got up and started to dress. Yesterday, I hit the Jennings' place, mostly to check in with the crew and see if they were any closer to moving her asshole cousin to safety before the cartel hacked him to bloody bits.

He was a stubborn bastard. Honorable, but rigid as a goddamned mule.

Brass was there, looking pissed as all hell. He told me Stryker and Asphalt chased a suspicious truck outta the fields after midnight. They would've caught up to the fuckers too, if only Beam hadn't taken a wrong turn, and crashed his damned bike through a ratty old farm fence.

I didn't like that sonofabitch, and not just because he'd tried to muscle in on my girl. He wasn't battle hardened. His whole attitude sucked, and I couldn't tell if him or Stryker were more wet behind the ears, too damned new at this for their own good.

Too bad I had to get used to it. I had to deal with their fuckups, their disrespect, their rookie errors while they shared the patch. I thought of it as practice. Long as Blackjack needed manpower, the club was gonna have a lot more greenhorns patched in who really needed more time to learn the ropes.

Their voting rights bothered me more. The club's charter gave the vote to every full patch member. That might be a problem when these kids had to take the grenade between their teeth, and make a damned decision that would affect the whole club.

I sighed, brushed a hand over my sleeping son's forehead, and headed for the bathroom.

I showered quick, fighting like hell to ignore the raging wood between my legs. My dick was gonna fuck a hole through the wall and take me with it some night if I didn't get between her legs soon.

I walked out shirtless, toweling off. Sally stood on the landing, quirking an eyebrow when I stopped and stared at her.

“You know, this really isn't fair,” she said, frustration in her voice.

“What the hell you talking about?”

“Yesterday. You told me not to tease you unless we're going all the way...well, I want the same thing. You
could
put on your clothes before walking through the house.”

I threw my head back and laughed. “No fucking way, babe. There's a difference between teasing and giving up the chase. Long as I've got a pair of balls between my legs, I'll never stop showing off the goods, making you fucking want this.”

She threw her hands out and shook her head, trying not to crack a smile. “Whatever,
Travis.
Just bring Caleb down for breakfast.”

Before she could turn and get a step away, I ripped off the towel, showing her the mean, throbbing dick that hadn't gone away all morning. “That's what you get for using my real name, babe. Take a good look. I don't wanna hear that shit unless you're moaning it in bed. Preferably later tonight. I'm Roman every second I'm not in you.”

She watched me, shock glimmering in her eyes. I wrapped one fist around my dick and gave it a quick pump, smiling as her jaw dropped.

Yeah. You'd better fucking want this,
I thought.
I'm turning into a maniac every second I'm not blowing my load inside you, woman.

Let those worries go. Let's fuck tonight.

Fuck me like my old lady. Ride my dick like you missed it for two goddamned years. Fuck me and don't look back.

I'll bite your little lip 'til you come on my cock. We'll fuck it all out 'til you can't remember how to breathe.

Her hand trembled a little as she hit the staircase and started down, desperate to get away.

“I'll have the kid downstairs as soon as I'm dressed!” I growled after her, reluctantly throwing the towel back around my waist. Fuck, this sexual tension shit was killing me, minute by minute.

Probably for the best she beat a retreat. I would've come like a young buck getting his first taste of a woman's touch if her hand wrapped around my cock just then – let alone anything else.

I had to eat and get the day started. Blackjack wanted me at the clubhouse to debrief with some Prairie Devils dudes coming down from Montana. They were covering our northern flank, making sure the cartel assholes didn't slip past and start fucking up supplies.

They'd always be Prairie Pussies to me, but I guess the bastards hadn't been half bad since we buried the hatchet between the clubs to fight the Mexicans. They'd helped us take down that destructive fucking psycho, Fang, and put Blackjack in as President with me as Enforcer.

A man couldn't argue with results.

It was just four of us in the meeting room. The Prez, the Veep, me, and the Devils' own giant, a big boy almost as tall and wide as me named Tank.

“You sure you can trust all your guys to collect the heavy arms?” Tank asked, staring at the Prez and then looking down at Brass and me.

“What's that supposed to mean?” Blackjack stubbed out his smoke in the ash tray and flattened his hands on the table, giving our guest the evil eye.

“Lotta rumors about rats in your club. Don't know how the hell the cartel could embed any fuckers in an MC. That's what Blaze thinks, and the Prez knows the lay of the land better than I do here.”

“It's bullshit.” Blackjack waved a hand, dashing the concerns away. “Tell your Prez to stop second guessing. There's no clause in our little treaty about telling another MC how to do its job, and you know it. You handle the supply run, and we'll handle pickup on our end. Simple as that.”

Blackjack looked to me and Brass. The VP quietly nodded, and I did the same – except with a lot less confidence.

For an outsider, Tank knew an awful lot.

“Prez is right,” Brass said coolly. “Your job's to make sure the deliveries go smoothly. We're happy to have you in this clubhouse, Tank, but you can go home and tell my brother-in-law everything's cool here. We're kicking their asses back across the border a little more every day. Soon, we'll be talking new deals with Canada and abroad. All this shit'll be behind us.”

The Veep's voice rumbled whenever he mentioned Blaze. He'd been forced to accept his sis marrying the Devils' Prez awhile ago, but it still wasn't one big happy family. Just an understanding.

“That's not what I hear,” the big man said, leaning back in his chair. The tough line in his jaw was an obvious challenge.

I slammed my palms down on the table, leaning toward him. “What? More rumors? You'd better spit 'em out before we all get the wrong idea about what's going on down here,
friend.
”

Tank's eyes narrowed. “We know the cartel's been sniffing around your own turf here in Redding. Boys come back from runs through Idaho and Washington, delivering our shit to Vancouver. They hear things from your boys up north. Word on the street says mother charter's about to get fucked six ways from Sunday. Everybody knows there'll be another civil war in your club if that happens.”

“It won't,” Blackjack snapped. Just in time, before I fucking exploded. “Frankly, I'm disappointed. I'm
pissed.
Blaze shouldn't be putting so much stock in hearsay, and he definitely shouldn't be passing it along to his boys.”

“Prez doesn't pass along shit,” Tank said. “We hear it firsthand and bring it home to him. You've done a good job locking things down here in NorCal, guys, but your brothers up north in Washington are waiting to pounce if this charter gets its skull split by some Mexican's machete.”

Brass looked like he was about to flip the table over. Tank's words pissed me off too, but the bastard was telling us the truth, and that was always something Blackjack prized above everything else.

That was the new way. Running the club off bullshit was done and buried with Fang, even if we'd been one united club under him, ruled by fear instead of the new path the Prez forged.

“Then they'll have to keep waiting. We're not going anywhere, goddamn it, much less dying on some cartel bastard's bullets.” The Prez stood up, clenching his jaw tight as the old leg wound peppered his brain with pain. “We'll do the usual pickup tomorrow. Same time, same place. If Blaze has a problem with that, he's welcome to call me. Roman, show him out, and make sure he's set up somewhere for the night.”

Tank looked at the Prez and nodded, then got up to follow me. I walked him down the long corridor. The guest rooms were already filled by several guys who'd come up from SoCal, so I had to put him in my old room instead.

“You need anything, just say it. You're welcome to join the bash tonight out back. Booze, smokes, and girls if you're interested.”

The big man smiled and shook his head. “Girls? Fuck no. Maybe a couple drinks. My old lady would kill me if I even touched another chick. I've had one too many fucked up brushes with the reaper for that shit. Besides, we're working on our first kid soon, right after we're officially hitched. Here.”

I watched him fish out his phone and tap a few keys. He shoved the screen toward me, showing off a pretty blonde girl in scrubs who had her hands on their clubhouse bar top, grinning at the camera.

“She's hot,” I said. “I gotta thing for blondes too.”

Yeah, a thing. More like a fucking stick of dynamite in my balls that's gonna blow my guts out my head if I don't fuck my girl's blonde pussy soon.

Tank nodded thoughtfully. “I'm gonna crash for a couple hours. I'll be out for some whiskey later. Shit, I barely get fucked up anymore since she walked into my life. Can't wait to get home from this run. Just between you and me, I'll keep the shit I hear to myself unless Blaze really needs to know.”

“Good. There's no goddamned threat. We've got this shit under control, Tank. You guys can worry about your own biz up in Missoula. We'll finish off the cartel by Christmas.”

“Hope you're right. Watching your war's about all we do when we're not taking care of our own biz. It's been too quiet the last few months.” He frowned, and then shrugged his huge shoulders. “Can't say I miss the bullshit. Long as my old lady's happy and my brothers are safe, life's good.”

I gave him one more nod and then stepped away, closing the door behind me. Most of my shit was cleared out now that I'd officially moved in with Sally.

The Devils were always a softer club than the Grizzlies. But something in his tone told me he wasn't bullshitting when he talked about peace.

I didn't know what the fuck that was since the time I was patched in. I'd fought, killed, and served time behind bars for this club. I was ready at a moment's notice to shred any asshole who fucked with us.

Shit, my fists lived to beat, lived to shoot, lived to kill. But ever since she walked back into my life with our kid, all that was changing. The same crazy fucking tingle wasn't there anymore – not even when the whole damned world was collapsing on my head.