Torched (33 page)

It was probably with me, judging by the scowl that preceded him waking up.

“Hey,” he croaked, “what the fuck are you doing over there?”

“Couldn’t sleep.” I rarely got more than four or five hours, and with the lovely nap we’d enjoyed before the party kicked off, I hadn’t been able to sleep for much longer later that night, despite the enormous amount of vodka I’d downed. Torch was a sound sleeper though, so I’d gotten up, taken a quick shower, and done my makeup. That had been a couple hours earlier. Since then, I’d been sitting in that chair, just watching and ruminating, mostly wondering how to keep the winds of my past from fanning this controlled burn into a raging wildfire. If I was calculating it right, the chances of my shit
not
wreaking havoc on his life in some way were about twenty percent. For the first time in a very, very long time, I struggled to figure out the right move.

Agreeing to spend the next few weeks teaching Biff the tricks of my trade—free of charge—definitely wasn’t going to help my predicament. I couldn’t remember how much I’d drank exactly, but it must have been damn near an entire bottle for
that
to sound like a good fucking good idea.

Torch lifted the sheet that covered him and held it up. “Get your beautiful ass over here.”

God, I fucking wanted him. He was just one of those rare breeds who epitomized the outlaw-with-a-heart image. Hard on the outside, sweet and caring on the inside, I didn’t stand a chance. As the saying went… all women wanted a bad boy who would be good just for her.

I shook off the nagging voices in my head and climbed back into bed, the warmth from his body shutting them down immediately.

“What’s on your mind, baby?” he asked, tucking me into his arms and kissing the top of my head.

“That I need some fucking coffee. Pronto.”

He chuckled and pulled me in even tighter. “Spend the weekend with me. I’ll take you out to breakfast.”

“Sounds like you’ve had a busy couple of weeks. Maybe—”

“Maybe after breakfast we should go back to my place and spend the next two days doing nothing but fucking, sleeping, and eating? Sounds good to me, sweetheart.”

“That’s
not
what I was about to say.”

But fuck, it
did
sound good, unlike the time when what’s-his-face had proposed essentially the same thing.

“I think my idea’s better than whatever the fuck you were about to say,” he declared.

“On one condition,” I insisted. “Let’s get out of here before the lunatics of the asylum wake up. I’m too hungover to deal with all the testosterone out there.”

He grinned at me. “Deal. You’re gonna have to give me a minute to calm down though.”

“You look pretty calm to me.”

He unraveled himself from me and lifted the sheet again, drawing my eyes to his enormous hard-on.

“Oh,” I laughed. “Well by all means.”

I scooted off the bed to give him the minute he’d requested and looked around for my jacket and shoulder bag. By the time I made it to the door, he was dressed and right behind, his grabby paws tucked down the back of my jeans.

As I pulled it open, a naked and unconscious Grimm—along with two naked and unconscious redheads—tumbled into the room like they’d passed out mid-orgy against the door.

“Now that’s just fucking unsanitary,” I mumbled, stepping over the bodily heap.

Torch just laughed. “Better get used to it since you’ll be spending a lot of time here.”

“Yeah, about that—”

“You already agreed, baby. Drunk verbal contracts are binding.”

: : : :

After breakfast at John John’s, a local diner serving up the most delicious French toast I’d ever taken a bite of, we headed to Torch’s house on his Harley. I wasn’t particularly fond of not having my own transportation if the need arose, but I couldn’t exactly complain about a biker courtesy shuttle that garnered looks of respect from most of the locals we passed in town.

The Serpents patch seemed to be powerful thing around these parts. It was yet another intriguing clue into who this man and his club actually were. Police and media be damned, I’d seen a fun and caring side of them—drunk fights aside—and from my seat on the back of his Harley, I could tell that the majority of Linwood residents were very accepting of the MC’s part in the community. They smiled, they waved, they gave acknowledging nods, and in the diner they’d come up and introduced themselves. Whatever the club was doing to earn them the peoples’ support, they were doing it well.

Another surprise awaited me as we pulled into the driveway of a 1960’s ranch-style house on the outskirts of the city, where neighbors were spaced a little further apart. I didn’t know what I’d been expecting. A converted warehouse or grimy bachelor pad maybe? I definitely hadn’t expected to see this little retro gem sitting on a full acre of grass, trees, and brush, never mind that it was so pruned and polished.

“Wow… This is yours?” I asked, as we dismounted and headed toward the front door.

“Paid it off a couple years ago. Real estate’s dirt cheap out here if you’re willing to remodel. Figured there would be less neighborly bullshit to deal with too. I get my fill of crowds and people up each other’s asses at the clubhouse.”

He unlocked the front door and held it open for me, then gave me a quick tour. Directly off the entry to the right was a living room. The hall on the left led to three bedrooms and a bathroom, straight ahead was the kitchen, and to the left of that a sunken family room, another bathroom, door to the garage, and stairs to the basement. Just like the outside, the interior was clean and cared for. No trashy posters or beer signs, just some comfortable furniture and a few little knick knacks here and there.

“Doesn’t look like you spend a lot of time here,” I thought out loud.

“Not the past few weeks, but I do when we’re not busy. It’s quiet.”

He led me into the garage and flipped a light switch.

“Holy shit—”

“This is where I spend a lot of quiet nights,” he grinned.

I could see why. There were half a dozen vintage Harley’s in that four-car garage he’d obviously added himself, along with a silver F-150. I walked around and touched all the motorcycles, but was particularly drawn to a dark red one in the corner.

“That’s the next one out the door. 1947 Harley Knucklehead,” he explained. “Restored the entire thing. Already found a buyer in Evergreen.”

A smile broke out on my face. “When does he want it?”

Torch looked at me like he knew that I was up to no good. “Next week. Why?”

“You should call and see if he wants it today. Come on, you’ve gotta let me ride it,” I pleaded, shamelessly rubbing his stomach and dipping my fingers under his belt. “I promised I’ll make it worth your while.”

“Jesus Christ, woman,” he groaned, his dick instantly getting hard. “You think I’m
that
easy?”

I pressed my body to his and lifted up my heels so my tongue could wet his neck . “Aren’t you?” I whispered.

“Liiiiv,” he growled.

I gave him a nudge backwards until he was leaning side-saddle on the motorcycle and worked both hands. One in his hair, the other scrambling to unbuckle his belt and unzip his jeans.

I leaned down and pretended to be going in for a kiss, but stopped short. Instead, I lowered myself to my knees. By the time he opened his eyes to see where the fuck my mouth had gone, it was wrapped around his cock.

I yanked his jeans down and out from under him, letting gravity handle the rest, and took him all the way in.

“Fuck, baby…” He reached down, brushed my hair away from my face, and fisted it at the back of my head.

I worked it, hard and slow, getting his dick so wet that I could feel it dripping down to his balls. I cradled and stroked those too, every once in a while switching up and taking them in my mouth as I stroked his shaft.

Just before his moans turned into what I recognized as a point of no return, he fisted my hair tighter and pulled my head back. He stood up and kicked his jeans away, then reached around my waist and yanked me close, kissing my neck as he fumbled with my belt. He tossed it aside and pushed my jeans off my hips, before tearing off my shirt and tossing that too.

The next thing I knew, he swung his left leg over the bike and sat down on it backwards. He pulled my hand, clear on where he wanted me. I reached across and hovered over him to squeeze the handbrake—trying not to dump or roll the thing—and swung my leg over. “So… Fuck, there’s not even a word for it,” he croaked. “You’re gonna be the death of me, Livia Ash.”

He strained to raise his head, so I met him halfway. “I hope to hell not,” I breathed, then kissed him.

As our tongues did their rehearsed waltz, I slowly lowered myself onto his cock, moaning and savoring every inch as I stretched out to engulf it.

At first, I let him lean back and enjoy, grinding my hips back and forth slowly and letting my swollen pussy get reacclimated with its new best friend.

But pretty soon, we were all caught up and lifted his upper body. I almost lost my balance as his teeth clamped down on my earlobe and he took it into his mouth, his hot breath on my sensitive skin making me tremble. Frustrated and ready to erupt, I increased my pace. His hands were all over me—cupping my breasts, clawing my back, tangling my hair.

By now, I was practically hypnotized into delirium and could barely breathe. But I couldn’t stop, I couldn’t slow down.

“That’s it, beautiful,” Torch said, the hoarseness in his voice giving away that he was almost there too. “Come for me.” He slid his rough hand between us and started rubbing circles on my clit.

“God… Damn it… Baby!” I cried out, closing my eyes and tossing my head back.

Torch followed, leaving us clinging to each other—sweaty and heaving—to keep from toppling the bike.

When my heart finally slowed down long enough to move, I peeled myself away from his chest and grinned down at him. “So how about making that call to your buyer?”

: : : :

Nietzsche once wrote, “For every man there exists a bait which he cannot resist swallowing.” The guy knew his shit.

For me, there had never been a bait quite like Torch. Revenge, money, men, none of those had ever caused me to go temporarily insane. But Torch? Torch ripped through my life like a fucking hurricane. One minute I was a cautious, controlled, and patient woman, the next I’d thrown all shits to the wind.

He’d ended up begrudgingly making the call, and we spent that Saturday afternoon out on the road, riding side by side through twisty mountain terrain. He’d said that he wanted to stay off the highways for the scenery, but I was pretty sure he was just worried I’d get hit by a truck. On the way back, riding bitch on
his
bike, we took the highways.

He’d also made another call. I didn’t know who was on the other end of the line, but they’d been instructed to avoid calling him that weekend unless it was an “absolute fucking Chernobyl-level emergency.”

His phone didn’t ring until Monday morning.

In the meantime, we spent the weekend fucking, sleeping, and eating, as he’d requested. In hindsight, I should have run like hell when he’d asked me to spend the those two days with him, because by the time we rode through the club gates together on Monday, I’d apparently been given a lobotomy in my sleep. How else was I supposed to explain the next few weeks?

Despite my frequent reminders that I considered what we were doing to be nothing more than physical—comments he either scoffed at or blatantly ignored—every day I found myself getting more drawn in, more involved, and more at a loss.

We fell into a schedule. During the day I worked with Biff, while Torch did his thing in the garage. At night, we ended up at either my place or his. On weekends we partied, we stayed at the clubhouse. All the voting members had assigned rooms and there were three spares for whoever needed a place to crash. It really was a biker frat house, with the added bonus of hot women who happily kept the place tidy in exchange for the chance to prove themselves old lady material. And to complete the college experience, Torch and I snuck off every chance we got. Sometimes in his room, sometimes the paint shop, sometimes behind the bar when no one was looking.

The only thing we enjoyed more than sex in the heat of the moment, was sex after a fight. And fight we did, almost everyday and always about the most inane shit. Thankfully, it seemed Torch had dropped whatever curiosity he had about my past, although I had a nagging suspicion that he was still working some kind of angle, maybe hoping I’d get so worked up that I’d drop a hint or two. Or maybe it was just all about that rush and make-up sex for both of us, in which case, I couldn’t tell who the bigger instigator was.

And it wasn’t just him pulling me into the chasm, the entire club lent a hand. The old ladies were especially welcoming, stopping by the garage almost daily, taking me out to lunch and even hosting a last-minute cookout in the parking lot. Not to be outdone, the men were just as friendly and kind. Grimm finally pushed the wrong button and got a Torch-sized fist to the jaw, but other than that, everyone behaved. Well, as much as this group of shit-talking hooligans could. Even the girls who hung around turned out to be pretty cool. With the exception of Nadia, who was a master of the stink eye and luckily hadn’t been around much since getting shoved to the side, no one else seemed to have any bad feelings.