Their Ex's Redrock Dawn (Texas Alpha Biker) (4 page)

Carly had no panties on, which she glanced around looking for. “But Zeb, my panties.”

He was bent over and just raising as his big hand latched on to one cheek of her ass, through her dress.

“Can’t say as I see that as a problem.” Her blush was complete as he straightened, but he bent to her ear. “You put that sweetness on my leather I’ll always know it’s been there.”

Then without asking, and with strength that amazed her, Zeb lifted her so she had no choice but to swing her leg over the seat. How the heck had he done that, because she wasn’t a lightweight?

“Zeb,” she complained, feeling herself intimately slide against his leather, while he sat in front of her.

She was seriously going to complain that she wasn’t doing it when he sharply turned his wrist on his hand, holding the handle of the motorcycle, and his leg kicked out. Vibrations from the bike started attacking her like they had before, but this time it was
very
different. Her complaint choked in her throat, as it felt like a large vibrator had been attached between her thighs.

A moan groaned from her.

“Yeah, baby,” Zeb said, as if he knew what she felt, while grabbing her hands to pull them around his waist.

He tugged, and her breasts were plastered to his strong back. Then he kept moving her hands until they covered the hard erection in his jeans. He did something on the handle of the bike that made the whole machine rumble harder, and she moaned out loud against his ear.

His hand tightened above her hand over his cock, and she was in blissed-out-motorcycle-vibrator-land. She grabbed the outline of his erection and squeezed, making him laugh, with a groan thrown in.

“Get us to a bed, sweetness,” he ordered.

Then she found out a woman could nearly orgasm on the back of a motorcycle speeding down the highway in the black of night.

––––––––

W
hen Carly could think at all, she knew with the festival going on, a rodeo in town, and a beauty pageant, which through work she was judging, that the only place there might be a room was the lower-class Rowdie’s Motel. And she could have picked it for not being seen too, because it would be good for that. Except—

“I know the owner. I don’t want him to see me by going inside,” she shouted into Zeb’s ear just as he pulled into Rowdie’s parking lot.

Thankfully, Zeb didn’t argue or disagree with her, because he rode the bike down to the far end. The motel looked partially full, and there was a dubious-looking group of men hanging around a parked pick-up outside an opened door to one of the lower motel rooms.

Zeb idled past them and back to the side of the motel office, where he slowed and kicked out a boot to balance the bike when he stopped.

He turned his head partially over his shoulder. “Not leaving you out here alone, Carly.”

Carly tried to gather her wits, but they seemed as blown as her hair coming loose from her ponytail. Talk about stepping on the wild side, she was leaping. But that still didn’t help her jumbled thoughts, which were centered on the rumble between her thighs, the smoking hot man she was clinging too, and what his mouth had just done to her.

“Um,” she muttered.

“What would you do about not going home if I’m not around?” he asked.

“Comp room at Redrock Casino Hotel. But my boss is boss there too,” she answered breathlessly.

She felt a growled rumble in Zeb’s chest, where she was holding him. “You can go in there, but you gotta be alone,” he surmised. 

She nodded. “But—”

“Show me where it is,” he interrupted, with a final order.

It seemed their rendezvous was screwed. She wanted to tell him he was wrong, but the fact he’d give up sure sex from her because he wouldn’t leave her outside a seedy motel alone just wowed through her.

But by the time they pulled up to a rear entrance to Redrock Casino on the hotel side, she was struggling with not just dragging him inside with her. But if she did, it would be known by her boss Vincent Whitehorse that she’d taken a man that wasn’t her husband to a room at his Indian casino’s hotel. It wasn’t even that she thought Vincent would judge her—maybe it was just the fact it would show how glaringly she’d failed with her husband, whom she wasn’t even back with for a couple weeks yet.

Zeb turned off his bike and sat quietly as she hugged him tight from behind, and his booted feet stretched out to keep the bike balanced.

“Where you going?” she asked with a whisper against his ear.

“That dive will work good for me.”

She nodded her chin against him. “Be hard to get a room anywhere else with all the events going on in town.”

His hand came up and clasped her hand over his chest. “You sure you can get a room here?”

“Yes, my boss keeps some open for code yellow—safe housing for abused young women.” Then she added, “It’s his charity. Where I work.”

Zeb twisted, lifted an arm over his head, cupped the back of her skull, and pulled her mouth to his.

“Have to tell me about that next time,” he muttered against her lips, then he kissed her long, slow, and very thoroughly.

When he was done and she was breathless and clinging, he edged from his bike, hitting the kickstand before he stood. As soon as he helped her to stand, she latched on to him again, full frontal with her arms up over his shoulders.

“Come in. I want you to come in.”

He grabbed her butt, pulling her up against him, and she could feel what she was leaving him with.
Twenty-one months.

“No you don’t, sweetness. Tell me how you’re putting your dickwad off?”

He changed the subject, but she wasn’t letting him. “I
want
you.” She rubbed against all that fine hardness. “I don’t care who knows.”

His large hands squeezed her buttocks. “Got a taste of you and one time is fucking not enough, Carly. But we’re being cool on your husband, until we figure him out. Now tell me.”

She sighed, exasperated. “I’m telling him for tonight I have a code red case that just came in. That means teen in crisis and could take all night.”

“Those happen often?”

“No, the guys always take those, but he knows I could be needed, so I just made myself fake needed.” Then she added, “I could fake this for a few days too.”

“Do it,” Zeb ordered immediately.

And Carly thought it was quite telling that she immediately responded, “Okay.”

He kissed her again, then he unlatched them, got in his saddlebags for her purse, which he handed her, then he took her hand and walked her to the back door. She rummaged through her purse, looking for a keycard.

“You work tomorrow?” he asked, stopping at the closed door.

She pulled out the keycard as she answered, “It’s Sunday.”

His hand cupped her cheek. “Is that Carly’s way of saying no?” She nodded with the beginning of a smile. “Breakfast with me,” he stated, another absolute.

Once again, she easily followed. “Okay.”

He pulled her up for a kiss. “We’re going to figure this out, sweetness.”

She put a lot into that kiss, trying to tell him how much she regretted them leaving each other, until he growled in his throat and stopped them.

“You keep kissing me like that I’m going to do you on my bike, sassy ass.” Then he took her hand with the keycard and put it in the slot, until it beeped. He pushed the door open. “I’ll be here at ten to get you.”

A few minutes later, Carly wandered down the back hallway pretty much in a wine-cooler-plus-vodka, no-panties Zeb Daze. Her husband’s existence had been blown to smithereens in her mind. There was just something about Zeb that fired her on all cylinders into turbocharge. Oral orgasms could be a tiny part of it. She was sorely lacking in anything but self-induced after her husband made another excuse not to go to bed with her.

Suddenly she stopped cold—then she sucked in a startled breath.

“He
hasn’t
got ED or early ejaculation problems,” she muttered, which were the theories she’d been working on for his lack of interest in having sex with her.

Even after he’d come back, asking for a reconciliation, they’d only had one stalled quickie to seal the deal. She’d been very disappointed to realize that attempt wasn’t the start of a better sex life for them, but put them right back where they’d been. So she’d been trying to figure out what his issues were, and had come up with the thought that maybe he had problems in bed he wasn’t admitting too. Like he was too quick or had ED. She’d heard around, talking to other women, that men didn’t like owning up to it, and she had evidence of both of them with him.

“But he’s doing
her
; that means all those excuses I was making are crazy.” She practically growled her realization, and her Zeb Daze pretty much vanished. “Why?” she wailed, with tears starting in her eyes that further startled her.

Then she heard footsteps and she quickly lifted her fingers, trying to wipe her tears away.

“Carly, are you all right?”

It was Sam Blackfoot, and he was one fine-looking Indian—and Vincent’s second in charge at Redrock casino.

She knew him to say hello, of course, but she didn’t really know him to answer his question, as he stood looking her over with concern in his black eyes. He was a big, muscular man, with nothing soft on him but the long ponytail of hair he wore tied and falling past his shoulder blades. His gaze pretty much halted on her breasts.

Yeah, well, he’d only ever seen her dressed for work mostly, and never dolled up for an outdoor festival where she’d really gone overboard leaving her house. She’d been trying to get her husband’s attention by the way she’d dressed—been trying to get him to perk up and go with her, but it hadn’t worked.

Lord help her, because instead of answering Sam she just started to cry, and amazed herself by falling against Sam’s chest to sob.

At least he didn’t push her away.

An hour later, Carly stood in the best suite the casino hotel had, and she’d just downed another vodka from the minibar, while watching Sam tap his phone to cut a call.

“Vincent needs some information on this, Carly,” Sam stated flatly.

He’d been very nice to her, letting her cry on him, holding her tight while she did it, then not asking any more questions when she said she needed a room. It looked like no-question time was over. She wasn’t surprised she was willing to do just about anything to keep Vincent from knowing her marriage was on the rocks. Again.

First off, if Vincent knew, then Cabe would know, and Cabe could not know about this. Not when he was freshly in love with a new woman. No. Cabe could not know, and Cabe worked with them at WTSF. Second, Vincent was just starting his new married life with his lady Tess, and Carly was not bringing more destroyed-marriage stuff around their new happiness. However, she knew the best way to find out what Rick was up to was Vincent, Cabe, and the people at WTSF.

But she just couldn’t go that route.

“What did you tell him?” she asked in a whisper without answering his implied question. She’d been too upset at the time to notice what he’d said on the phone.

“I left out the security footage I saw with a large biker making out with you hot and heavy by his bike, then halfway to the door, and then at the back door.” Sam said all of it without negative accusation, but still with a lot of some kind of emotion in his voice.

Carly gulped, and she knew she looked scared.

He sighed. “I’m not telling him either. You get to tell me what you want him to know.”

Wow.

Her heart squeezed.

“I look so guilty,” she whispered.

“True,” he admitted—it was harsh, but not said harshly. “But I know what kind of woman you are,” he stated, surprising her. “I’ll take faith on that.”

“Thank you,” she said, with tears starting in her eyes.

His gaze grew intense, and he walked toward her to put his arm across her shoulder with a squeeze. “Babe,” he uttered.

It was like he was giving her his back, no matter what, and she hadn’t known to find that in him. “I just have to figure stuff out,” she said. Then she added, and maybe it would tell him all of it, “I’ll need the room for a few days.”

His hand came up and nudged her cheek. “So tell Vincent you had a martial disagreement and left to stay at a friend’s, but your friend’s not in town so our comp room became your friend.”

Carly felt Sam’s compassion deeply, and then whether she should have or not, she turned and hugged him quickly, against his ear, saying, “Thank you so much.”

He gave her an impressive squeeze back before he stepped toward the door. “I’m here, you want to talk or need anything.” He paused at the door. “Just ask.” Then he was gone.

––––––––

Z
eb took his hard dick and went back to Rowdie’s Motel, while thinking sometimes a man had to work damn hard to get sweetness in his life. But he sure as hell knew that he had just tasted sweetness, and he realized now he’d tasted it that a man might think he had sweetness, but once he really had it, he damn well knew it. There was no doubt.

Before he’d been fooling himself.

He’d probably thought Tula was sweetness once, but he couldn’t remember thinking that exactly about her. She had excited him, for sure, and seemed so feminine and delicate at the time.

“Hell,” he growled as he pulled his bike back into Rowdie’s Motel parking lot. He’d been wrong about thinking she was real feminine too. He’d just had him some feminine that outdid all others he’d ever touched. A man just knew. Now he damn well knew.

Zeb watched the lowlifes at the end of the parking lot watch him park his bike and get off it. He wondered if he was going to have to make a point with them to leave his shit alone. He was not above doing just that. But for the moment he could see his bike out the motel’s office window, so he went inside.

“Nice ride,” a dude with a Mohawk haircut said, leaning around a lady standing in front of him at the front desk.

Zeb chin-nodded Mohawk, looking at the lady whose clothes said she had no business being in a joint like that one. Her ass was nice—he didn’t think it would outdo Carly’s, but the expensive slacks and designer blouse she had on proclaimed her a suburb kind of woman. Her hair was pinned up and was some kind of rich auburn color, and damn if she wasn’t wearing heels so high it probably made her short and curvy, not tall and curvy.