Reprise Page 15

  She pulled away suddenly, and he noted that she was breathing heavily. His eyes fell to her cleavage, and his cock surged again.

  She let go of him and pushed his shoulders back to his seat, then leaned across him. Her breasts crushed to his chest and he exhaled loudly, hand sliding along her hip to her lower back. Fuck, she wasn’t soft or flabby at all. It was round, sure, but still so firm. He dug his fingers in as she found the lever on the side of the bench seat and the whole thing slid back.

  “Mal—” he exclaimed, but she straightened up and kissed him again, hands feeding through his hair. Both his palms smoothed over her back, arms squeezing tight. Shit, to be holding her again.

  “Wait,” she gasped, pulling away. He tried to grab at her but she was lifting her skirt and tucking one knee close to his thigh. Then she slid the other leg over his lap, her foot hitting the horn and eliciting a short honk. “Shit,” she gasped, laughing.

  He grabbed her hips, laughing too. “What are you doing?” he grumbled playfully, watching her hands slide over his chest, the T-shirt moving and bunching up.

  “You got bigger,” she breathed, hands running down his arms. His own vanity made him flex his biceps, and she squeezed them like he wanted her to.

  “Fuck, Mal. You got sexier.”

  “I wasn’t the only one.”

  Her hand tugged the hair on the back of his head, and he brought his face up to kiss her again. She ground herself down on his lap, one hand returning to his chest, running down to his stomach then back again. Fuck, she was killing him.

  He unbuttoned her top, parting the halves and pushing his hands around her narrow waist to her back. Her skin was hot under his hands and so impossibly soft. It brought her closer, and those amazing tits against him were incredibly distracting, even with her sweet tongue in his mouth.

  Their breathing was loud already, and as one of his hands left her back, running down her thigh to tuck up under her skirt she also whimpered. Another sound he absolutely loved.

  She scooted her hips back enough that he could brush his hand between her legs, earning that whimper again. He pressed again over her underwear and she ground against his hand.

  Still gorgeous, still hot as anything.

  He slid a hand into the leg of her panties, his seeking fingers almost immediately finding wet skin. But just skin.

  “What the hell?” he chuckled, parting their mouths.

  “What?” she was panting, sounding pissed off.

  His hand ran over her mound, completely smooth. “You wax?”

  She huffed. “Are we having this discussion?”

  “You didn’t used to.”

  “That was before.”

  “Before what?”

  She glared at him, the heat still in her body, He could feel it. She wasn’t totally shutting down on him. “Before...I found a white hair. Okay?”

  He frowned. “What?”

  “I found a white hair. Down there. All right? So now I wax. Can we continue?”

  He stared up at her, his hand still. Then he threw his head back and roared with laughter.

  “Fuck you, Harlon!”

  He couldn’t stop, though.

  “That’s it. Take me back to my truck.”

  He caught her hips as she tried to pull away, holding her in place. When it appeared as though she was staying put, he reached up and freed her hair, letting it all fall around her shoulders, smooth and gorgeous. He ran his hands through it, and her eyes closed. So she still liked that, too.

  “You’re not the only one that got older, baby.”

  “Men get distinguished.”

  “With grey pubes?” he joked. “You wanna see how distinguished my cock is?”

  Her eyes came open. “Sure.” She rocked her hips down again.

  “Fuck, Mal.”

  “Please,” she whimpered, kissing him again. Her hair trailed over his face and shoulders, shrouding him in the scent of her.

  He shoved his hand under her skirt again, rubbing at her over her underwear until she started moving with him. Then he pushed the crotch out of the way, sinking two fingers into her, groaning at that wet heat as she whimpered into his mouth. Damn, hotter than any tart he’d had in a long time. Her hips started riding the motion of his hand, and he added his thumb’s pressure to her clit because he wanted to make her come, not provide the means to do it herself.

  One of her hands clawed at his shoulder, the other clutched his hair and she pulled her mouth from his, head flying back as she let go loudly. Her hips continued to roll, and he worked with that until she gasped out “Stop, too much. Stop.”

  His cock was aching. Fuck, it really hurt. But he pulled his hand free carefully, making sure she watched him lick her from his fingers. She quivered.

  “The same,” he muttered. “You taste the same.”

  “Harlon...”

  “Don’t say anything. Stay right how you are,” he instructed, reaching into the back for his leather. Inside pocket, condom found. “You’re sure?” he asked.

  She nodded.

  “Wanna hear it, baby.”

  “I’m sure. Please, Harlon.”

  His name was what did it. She leaned back on the steering wheel avoiding the horn this time, and he sprung his tortured cock free of his jeans, pushing them down his thighs a bit, then grabbed her hips.

  “Take your shirt off,” she whispered, her breathing still raspy.

  He grinned and did as instructed, then pulled her into position. Her hands were all over him, and he’d never been so glad that Fritter and Jayce had kept up with weights. It kept him going back to show them up, and Mallory seemed quite enamored with his results.

  “Say what you want, baby.”

  “I want to fuck you.”

  “Good.” He wrapped his arms around her back, pulled her against him, and then eased her down onto him. She let him do it, and he watched her face. That was his favourite part; the way her eyelids fluttered in the green glow of the dash lights, her head falling back as she held her breath, then moaned as he was seated deep inside.

  He groaned, too. Damn, to be back with Mallory again. This was the gold standard for him. The best he’d ever known.

  She started moving, and he used his arms to lift and drop her. She began whimpering each time she took him inside again, and her efforts to keep up stopped. He liked moving her, being in control even if she was on top. She remembered.

  Her hands were braced on his shoulders, and they clutching tighter, nails scraping his skin, and he moved one hand to her bra, pulling the cup down under her breast. He groaned again, pulling her nipple into his mouth. Now a hand went back into his hair, keeping him there. Her nipples were very sensitive. She used to get turned on just by him looking at them.

  “Fuck, Mal,” he mumbled around her skin, licking at her breast.

  “Harlon,” she gasped it out.

  Not another word was said, just gasping and moaning. When she started moving again he returned both hands to her hips, holding her up so he could surge up into her. Just an inch or so, but he did it hard, and it brought her over within seconds, crying out nonsensical things, leaning back away from him, back to the wheel again.

  He pressed his hand to her lower tummy and kept thrusting, the change in angle a fucking revelation. Her head shot up, her eyes wide, mouth open, and she leaned back even further before crying out again, “Holy fuck. Holy shit, Harlon!”

  He was smiling, watching her ride out another orgasm before the last one was totally through her. Her body clenched around him tight and that’s when he came too, roaring out in a bestial manner, eyes slammed shut, seeing fucking sparks on the backs of his eyelids.

  In the quiet after, his breathing mingling with hers in a comfortable way, Tiny was at peace. Usually he was after a good fuck but this was more. In his hometown, with the only woman he’d ever considered “his,” blissfully enjoying the afterglow, this was something different. He could have had this all along if he hadn’t been such an idiot
.

  But now he was a Red Rebel. That wasn’t something to trade off for anything.

  “We should go,” she whispered, just as there was a knock at the window.

  She shrieked and scrambled off of him onto the other side of the cab, pulling her shirt across her chest. Tiny stuffed his cock away, yanking his jeans up and throwing his truck door open.

  “Harlon!” Mal shrieked, and he looked back to see that someone was shining a light in the passenger side of the truck. They were trying to get in but the door was locked.

  “Stay inside,” he growled and slammed the door shut, then blocked it with his body, turning to face the prick that had just scared the shit out of Mal.

  He’d known it wasn’t a cop, but seeing three men in denim and Dirty Rats leather was decidedly worse. For the first time in a long time he felt fear, but it wasn’t for him. If they so much as touched her—

  “You’re enjoying the mild weather I see?”

  Tiny focused on the Rat with the Vice President patch on his chest. This was likely the ranking officer in the group. “We got a problem?”

  The man smiled, revealing a few missing teeth. His scruffy beard was patchy, hair hung down lank and greasy. He had a nasty scar on one cheek that resembled severe road rash. “Check the aggression, grandad.”

  Tiny bristled but didn’t give him an opening. He had to think about Mal.

  “We know your crew,” the grease ball said, keeping his eyes on Tiny. “Red Rebels run product for Sachetti, right?”

  “I don’t know who that is.”

  He laughed, exchanging a look with a shaved-head Rat to his left. “This guy’s a fucking stone wall.”

  “You got a beef? Let me get my friends and make it even.”

  “Nah. Leave them to their pretty women. That one looks like she might be enough for all of us. Even if she is a bit past her best before.”

  Tiny stepped forward but two sets of hands held him back. With a grunt he shook them off and they stepped back. Interesting.

  “I said relax. Don’t give yourself a heart attack. I got a message for your president.”

  Tiny swallowed hard. “Yeah?”

  “Yeah. We moved into this county with a special blend of pot, it’s got something in the mix that moves through your county by another Rat chapter.”

  Tiny frowned. “You sure you should be spreading that around?”

  “Just listen.” Now the guy had lost a lot of his aggression. He almost seemed reasonable. “We were patched over six months ago, when this pot suddenly arrived and they needed someone selling it.”

  “What’s in it?”

  The guy licked his lips, eyes darting around. If he was a tweaker this would all have to be taken with a grain of salt. “You know that orange Oxy you got in Cali?”

  “Yeah.”

  “The ingredient in that. Thebaine.

  Tiny tensed. He knew that name, of course. Movement of the synthetic opiate had been causing them grief in Markham for over a year now. “Yeah, I know about Thebaine.”

  “It’s in the pot. Makes the high intense, makes the pot a lot more addictive.”

  Tiny swallowed, flicker of anger snaking up his neck. “That shit’s dangerous. People take it with booze or anything else stronger and could kill them.”

  The guy nodded. “That’s the problem. They’re sloppy with how they doctor it.”

  “Really? Drug dealers with slipping standards? Your customers know what you’re adding in there?”

  With a look to his SAA the vice president in front of Tiny shook his head. “Nah. They just crave it.”

  “That’s shitty. Pot’s nothing. Thebaine is pretty hardcore.”

  “Not as hard core as the chapter pushing us to move this shit.” The guy moved a bit closer, but his aggression was completely gone now. “We want out. But the only way to do that is by dying, and I don’t care enough about pot to die getting rid of it.”

  “How else are you getting out of it?”

  “Changing patches. Finding a club with the kind of backing that keeps a Mexican drug cartel from retaliating.”

  Tiny surveyed the men that had, at first, seemed so menacing. Now he saw men who were pleading; their posture, their eyes, the way they shifted foot to foot. He saw bikers, sure. But in all his days wearing a patch he’d seen men who could give a shit if they lived through the next day. These were not those kind of men.

  These were men like the Red Rebels. They did what they did for themselves and for others as well. A brotherhood of the road, a reason behind their enterprises. Not just an excuse to get violent and break laws.

  These were not Dirty Rats, just a small club stuck in the middle of a bigger problem.

  “You asking to patch over?” Clarity was absolutely necessary.

  “Yeah. We know you have a nomad chapter now. Wondering if a Montrose chapter was a possibility. No need to cut us into any of your work, we don’t want it. All we want is that patch and the distant threat of Michael Sachetti keeping other clubs the fuck out of our town.”

  Tiny had to nod. “I’ll take it to Jayce. We’re leaving in the morning—”

  “Ask him tonight. We don’t need any immediate turn around, but we want to know if we should plan for a change. We’re armed, the Rats are good about that anyway.”

  “I’ll see if we can call in a vote tonight then. Left some of the club back home.”

  “Sounds good.”

  Tiny offered his hand. “Tiny Gray.”

  “Odell Davidson. Guys just call me O.”

  They shook, then Tiny was introduced to men named Babe, Yank, Jock, Nan, and Ben, who didn’t seem to have a road name but it was obvious his patch was fresh. “This the whole club?” He knew the answer. No one here was wearing a president’s patch.

  O shook his head. “There are a few more. Three for sure will fight the patch over, but we got another two that’ll back the change.”

  “Your president?”

  Now the men shifted their feet again. “Transplant from Dirty Rats’ Vegas chapter. It was a hostile takeover.”

  Tiny shook his head. “Shit man, that sucks.” And it would. It was easy to use violence and fear to cow a group of men in their home community, full of people who meant something to them.

  “We can take care of him on our own. All we need is a mother chapter’s endorsement.”

  This was a complication, and just as Tiny’s brain cramped on the possible problems they could be bringing up he had another though. “You’re making bank selling pot in Colorado? Isn’t it legal here?”

  The men gave a laugh that eased even more tension. “Like we said. This stuff is stronger, enhanced, and a hell of a lot more addictive on account of the Thebaine. Government pot can’t really touch it, and no one’s really worried about having it in their house.”

  Tiny nodded. “I’ll go to the hotel right now, talk to the Prez.”

  “And don’t worry about your girl,” O assured him. “We know her, we got nothing against her. She’s civilian. That’s one rule we kept from our old bylaws. Nothing touches civilians that they don’t bring down on themselves.”

  With an understanding nod Tiny shook O’s hand again. “Appreciate that. And I believe you.” He did, too. At least sixty percent believed it. Mal was still staying in his sight until he was out of town, though.

  Without much more discussion the Dirty Rats of Montrose dispersed on foot. They headed towards the same narrow trail that Tiny had driven to get here, which explained how he hadn’t heard six bikers sneak up on the truck.

  He waited until they were well away then pulled open the truck door. The dome light came on, showing Mal half turned on her seat, shirt closed and straightened, biting her lip. Her hair was still down. “What happened?”

  He pulled his T-shirt back on over his head, then with a grunt he climbed behind the wheel. “Nothing. It’s fine.”

  “What the hell did they want?”

  Tiny started the truck. “Mal, you gotta trust me th
at it’s fine.”

  “Tiny—”

  “There are things we’ll discuss and thing we won’t, baby. Don’t push.”

  There was a gulp as she started him down, then she sat back in her seat. “Okay. Take me home.”

  “Gotta make a stop first.”

  “What?”

  “I need to go see Jayce.”

  “Harlon—”

  “Mal, this is what we’re doing now.” he slammed the shifter into drive. “I don’t want you alone until I know those guys won’t hassle you.”

  “Why would they?”

  “Just trust me. I’m going to make sure you’re okay.”

  She wanted to argue with him, and half of him kinda hoped she would. She used to argue about everything. Instead, she pulled the seatbelt across her chest. He took that as agreement.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Harlon parked at the curb of the only hotel in town, and Mal undid her seatbelt. The evening had certainly taken an unexpected turn. Going for a “drive” with Harlon had absolutely led to where she’d expected it, and not a single part of her was sorry for it. Then the truck being surrounded by a bunch of bikers had really knocked off the afterglow.

  Now she followed Harlon up the concrete steps to the second level of the Cleary Motor Inn. He headed for a room right where the two wings branched off, not saying a word. Truth was, she was a little bit scared of him at the moment. He’d never used the tone he’d used in the truck before coming here, and while it was intimidating it also made her believe him when he said it was for her own protection.

  He rapped on a door, then waited, casting her a look. She tried to smile, knowing it missed the mark, and his arm came up to drape over her shoulders. With a tug she was tucked under his arm and her hair caught in his stubble as he kissed the top of her head. “Sorry, baby. This won’t take too long.”

  With that simple statement her trepidation melted. She leaned into his side, letting her eyes close, just as the door opened.

  The man she’d met called Jayce was standing in the doorway in just jeans and a snug-fitting white beater. He had a small pink teddy bear in one hand, totally killing the otherwise badass vibe of his variety of ink. “What’s up?”