Chapter Seven
It took more like half an hour, but I packed a lunch, a blanket to sit on and some condoms (carefully zipped into a pocket in my purse), just in case. Horse handed me a black helmet that looked like what a German army guy would wear—you know, the kind that flares out a little around the edges? I wasn’t quite sure how to adjust it, but he put it on my head and fixed the straps carefully, like I was fragile and precious. I loved how that made me feel. Then I got on the bike behind him, which was an experience in and of itself. The Harley was big and wide, and I had to spread my legs around his hips. My naughty bits didn’t miss the symbolism there. I wasn’t quite sure where to put my arms, but he grabbed my hands and pulled them around to his stomach.
“Hold tight,” he said. “Tap my stomach if you need me to stop for some reason and watch out for the pipes. They get hot.”
“Okay,” I replied nervously.
Then the bike roared to life and we pulled down the driveway.
How do I describe that first ride?
Well, for one thing, the bike vibrates. A lot. I suppose over time it would numb your rear, but for those first few minutes it felt like sitting on the world’s biggest sex toy. It didn’t hurt that my arms were wrapped tight around a hot, muscular guy who’d made it clear he appreciated my assets. I squeezed him tight as we pulled out onto the highway, holding on for dear life as he opened the throttle.
I’d promised to show him the sights, but he had his own agenda and apparently knew the area well already. After about half an hour, we pulled off the highway and headed up into the hills on a gravel road. This was much slower going and before long it turned to dirt. The next thing I knew, we turned down a narrow track that barely deserved to be called a road. It dead-ended at a turn-around. Horse killed the engine.
I dropped my hands, accidentally grazing his erection. I jerked my hand away, embarrassed, but he grabbed it and pulled it back, rubbing it up and down his length.
“Missed that, babe,” he said. I didn’t reply, feeling strangely shy, but when he let my hand go I didn’t stop touching him. I thought about his dick, how big it was, how hard it’d been the last time I’d seen it, all for me. I shifted on the seat, tilting my hips forward into the hard leather. It felt good to have my legs spread so wide… But I wanted to feel his shaft in my hand. I reached for his fly.
“Shit, babe, not gonna f*ck you in the parking lot,” he said, laughing. I squawked, jerking my hands away, embarrassed. “Got a better idea. C’mon.”
I hopped off the bike, knowing my face must be bright red. Horse grabbed our picnic stuff and one of his saddlebags, holding out his hand. I took it and he pulled me along a trail through the brush.
Now, you have to realize that eastern Washington isn’t exactly the garden of Eden. It’s mostly desert and scrubland, with low, rolling hills. But as I followed him along a gully between two of those hills, more and more green appeared, along with a little trickle of water. We hiked along the stream for about half an hour until we reached a small, round pond that gave off wisps of steam.
“A hot spring!” I exclaimed with delight. Horse looked smug as I ran to the edge, reaching down to trail my fingers through the water. “How did you know about this? I grew up around here and I’ve never heard of this place.”
“I know all kinds of interesting things you don’t,” he said, waggling his eyebrows suggestively. I snickered. But I stopped laughing and started running when he dropped the picnic stuff and lunged toward me. I screeched and giggled as he caught me from behind, pulling me back to the ground on top of him and tickling me. He lay on his back, arms around my chest, legs around mine, and held me in place as he reached down for the hem of my tee. He jerked it up and over my head, pausing to tickle me again every few seconds.
Then his hands went down to the fastening of my jeans.
“Don’t you dare!” I yelled, but he just laughed and ripped them open. He got them loose and pushed them down over my hips. At that, I bucked hard and he let me go, which pitched me forward. Before I could even think he was on me from behind, jerking my jeans down my legs. He stood up, holding them out of my reach triumphantly.
“You’re gonna pay for that!” I yelled, still laughing. I stopped laughing though and started running as he dropped the jeans and lunged toward me again. That worked just about as well as it had the first time, which was not at all. He caught me up and threw me over his shoulder, carrying me over to the spring, giving my butt a little smack, saying, “Quiet, woman.”
I screamed “No!” before I hit the water with a splash.
It was like jumping into a hot tub—not too deep, but deep enough I wasn’t in any danger. I surfaced, scowling at him and dropping my head back into the water to get the hair out of my face. Then I popped back up to glare at him some more.
Horse doubled over laughing at me.
I splashed him as hard as I could, which made him laugh more, then turned away to pout.
Mistake.
The splash he made jumping in nearly knocked me over, and then his arms came around me, pulling my back into the curve of his body. He’d stripped down to his boxers. His hands slid over me, stroking my curves, and I melted.
“Baby, you’re cute when you’re wet,” he whispered in my ear, sliding a finger down into my panties. He pushed my bra down with the other hand, rolling my nipple between his fingers as he toyed with my *. I shuddered and arched my back as he flicked his finger faster and faster, playing me like a guitar. I guess I’d been in a constant state of arousal all morning, because I came like a firecracker.
“Holy shit…” I moaned, collapsing against him.
He kissed the back of my neck, then turned me around to face him. I wrapped my legs around his waist and my arms around his neck, kissing him with everything I had. This time it was my tongue taking over his mouth as I dug my fingers through his hair. My bra was pushed down below my breasts, nipples chafing against his chest, and everything between us was all wet and slippery and delicious.
Finally he pulled away, sucking in a deep breath. I used the opportunity to reach down between us and grab his cock. He loosened his arms, making it easier for me to reach, and I pushed the fabric of his boxers down below the length of his erection. I cupped the underside of his penis, drawing the heel of my hand up and down along the edge of the ridge around the head.
“F*ck, baby, that feels good.”
Encouraged, I gripped him and started pumping up and down, faster and faster, until his hands tightened on my hips and his breathing grew ragged. I slid my hand down below, cupping his balls, rolling them in his sac, then drew them back up and squeezed him tightly around the base. He shuddered, grabbing my hand in his and jerking it up and down along his cock, way rougher than I would have done on my own.
“F*ck me…” he muttered, resting his forehead against mine. “Like that, babe. Keep going, don’t stop.”
I pumped him as fast as I could, savoring his little grunts of desire and satisfaction. Then I felt a throbbing deep inside his shaft. His seed shot out between us through the water, and he grunted violently as he came. I caressed him slowly as he softened until he pulled my hand away, drawing it up and around his neck.
“You’re so f*cking hot,” he whispered, lifting me and kissing the below my ear. “I can’t believe how hot you are. I hated thinking about you all slutted up and going out without me, letting some other guy hold you.”
“Well, I spent the night listening to Jeff moaning and barfing, so that was sort of a bust,” I whispered back. “None of them would have come close to you anyway. But I still wish I’d had more time to visit with Cara.”
He shrugged.
“Jeff did what he had to do.”
His words struck me as odd.
“What do you mean?”
“He needed you at home, so he asked you to stay even though he probably hated keeping you in, that’s all.”
“Oh,” I said. “Yeah, you’re probably right. He’s been so good to me, it was the least I could do.”
I laid my head against his shoulder and we sat there in the hot water, savoring the moment, urgency gone.
Then his stomach grumbled so hard I felt the vibrations.
“Hungry much?” I asked him, smiling.
“I ate breakfast six hours ago,” he replied. “Wanted to get here and see you. Would have come last night if I could’ve.”
“I hate to end this, but maybe I should feed you.”
“I won’t argue. Your cooking’s almost as good as your hand jobs.”
“Horse!” I sputtered, blushing. I leaned back and splashed his face. He dunked me and we wrestled a little bit before finally climbing out to get some food.
Fortunately it was in the nineties, so even sopping wet we weren’t too uncomfortable. It felt sort of strange sitting down to a picnic lunch in my panties and bra, but I figured it wasn’t much worse than wearing a bikini. Besides, my undies were pretty—black, with eyelet lace and polka dots, and just a hint of a push-up on top. The panties were boy cut, high in the back across my butt, and I enjoyed feeling Horse’s eyes on me as I set everything up.
It wasn’t anything fancy—just some chicken sandwiches, veggie sticks and watermelon, with cream-cheese brownies for dessert—but he seemed to appreciate it.
“Jeff’s lucky to have you around,” he said between bites. “I wish I had someone taking care of me like this.”
“You live on your own?” I asked, trying to sound casual. I didn’t think he had a girlfriend, but we hadn’t actually talked about it. Probably should have asked that before grabbing his dick in the pool.
Oops.
“Been on my own since I got out of the service.”
“Army?”
“Marines. Two tours in Afghanistan, that was enough. Came back, bounced around for a while, joined the club.”
I wanted to ask how it had been overseas, but it wasn’t exactly a question you just blurted out, so I just gave him a questioning look, hoping he’d volunteer something. He caught my eye and smiled, eyes crinkling just a little bit around the edges. Seeing those tiny wrinkles reminded me that I didn’t even know how old he was.
Hell, I didn’t even know his real name. Double oops.
“What’s your name?”
“Horse.”
“I mean your real name,” I replied, shoving his shoulder playfully. “I don’t know you at all, it’s weird. Tell me something.”
“My real name is Horse, that’s what I go by. That’s what the people who know me use. But if you want to see my driver’s license, have at it.” He reached over, snagging his jeans and dragging them toward us. He pulled out the leather wallet attached to his pants with a chain, flipped it open and slid out his license. I took it and giggled when I saw his name.
Marcus Antonius Caesar McDonnell.
“Seriously?”
“Seriously,” he replied, grinning. “Mom had me while Dad was serving time. Wasn’t a long haul, but damn she was pissed at him for leaving her alone while she was knocked up. She loved history and was reading this whole big series about Rome, so decided f*ck it and named me after some Roman general. Worst part? She didn’t even get the name right. Marcus Antonius Caesar wasn’t a real guy. Dad shit himself, but by the time he got out it was a done deal.”
“I can’t decide if that name kicks ass or is the scariest thing I’ve ever seen,” I said, giggling.
“It’s my name, therefore it kicks ass,” he replied gravely. “Seriously, though, I never used it. Dad’s the one who named me Horse, first time he saw me.”
“Wow, even back then?”
“Even back then,” he said, looking smug. “It stuck. Mom hates it.”
“So it says here that you’re thirty years old and live in Coeur d’Alene, Idaho.”
“Correct.”
“And that’s where the club is based?”
“That’s where my charter is. The mother charter is down in Oregon, we’ve got seventeen overall. Not the biggest, but we’re dominant in our territory, which goes a long way. We’ve got nomads all over the country too, and even some guys overseas fighting. The Reapers were founded by Marines after ’Nam, and that’s still where a lot of our prospects come from.”
Wow, Horse was suddenly a font of information. I decided to push my luck.
“So what do you do?”
He cocked his head at me.
“I’m in a motorcycle club, babe.”
I laughed.
“No, I mean what do you do for a job?”
“I work for the club, mostly. We have different businesses, pretty well established in our area. Got a pawn shop, a bar, a gun shop and a garage. I do the books.”
That surprised me. I couldn’t see Horse stooped over a ledger, counting money.
“Hey, don’t look at me like that,” he replied, laughing. “Just ’cause I’m the picture of manly perfection doesn’t mean I don’t have a brain. I’m actually pretty good at math, took a few classes through the GI Bill and now you see me, a regular f*ckin’ accountant. Our finances are more complex than you’d think.”
“So my brother’s doing website design for your businesses?”
The smile on his face died, and he shook his head.
“That’s club business, babe, and not the kind we talk about. Enough questions.”
With that he reached and caught me behind the neck, pulling me in for a kiss. I dropped my food, but I didn’t mind because he draped me across his lap, lips exploring mine slowly. When the kiss ended, I smiled up at him.
“I like how you change the subject.”
“Glad I could be of service. Let’s get this cleaned up, there’s something else I wanna use the blanket for.”
Worked for me.
I rolled off his lap to my knees, collecting everything up and putting it back into the bag.
“Hey, why aren’t you helping?” I demanded playfully.
“Enjoying the view. Love that sweet ass of yours.”
I shook it at him, smirking, and he crawled over to me, cupping my cheeks in his hands, rubbing the inside curves where they met my thighs with the pads of his thumbs.
“F*ckin’ hot, babe. Can’t wait to get inside.”
I shivered, pushing back at him.
“So goddamn sweet,” he muttered, dropping his head down to kiss the small of my back.
Sweet.
Sweet ass.
Sweet butt.
“Horse, what does sweet butt mean?” I asked suddenly. He stilled. “I know you said you call me that to piss me off, but it means more. I know it does. Tell me.”
“Doesn’t matter, babe, you’re not one of them.”
Uh-oh. I pulled away from him, cooling a little. Didn’t like the sound of that at all. I sat down, facing him, knees up to my chest, arms wrapped around them pointedly, and waited.
“Drop it, babe,” Horse muttered, sitting back on his heels. “We’re in a good place, let’s just let this flow like it should. You’re thinking too much.”
“When a man tells me I shouldn’t think, that’s a bad sign,” I said, narrowing my eyes. “Explain. Now.”
Horse ran a hand through his hair and shrugged.
“You don’t know much about the Reapers, do you? Or motorcycle clubs in general?”
“I don’t know anything about them,” I said.
“Well, bikers—bikers like us, part of a club for life—are a different culture,” he said after a short pause. “We’re not regular citizens, we’re more like a tribe that shares territory with citizens but only answers to our own kind. Everyone who’s part of the tribe has their place.”
“Okay,” I replied, wondering where this was going.
“F*ck, this is gonna piss you off and then you aren’t gonna let me stick my dick in you,” he muttered.
“Do you have to be so crude?” I snapped.
“Have you met me?”
“Who says I’d let you do it anyway?”
“Babe,” he replied in a low, rough voice, raising his eyebrow at me. I blushed. Okay, yes, I’d planned on it.
But that could change.
“So tell me.”
“Well, there’s two kinds of people, those who are in the club and those who aren’t,” he said. “If you’re in the club, you’re family, and we’ve got each other’s backs. You got a cut and three patches, you’re a member and you vote. We got prospects too, who aren’t full members yet, but if they don’t punk out, they will be eventually.”
“What about women?”
“No women in the club,” he said, shaking his head. “Women hang around the club, but they aren’t part of it.”
“Sounds pretty sexist.”
“It is what it is,” he replied with a shrug. “Don’t have to like it, but that’s the reality in the MC world. Remember, we don’t live in your world, we live in ours and the rules are different. Some clubs let women ride, ours doesn’t. We’re old school. Seriously old school. But that doesn’t mean women aren’t important to us.”
I didn’t like the direction this was headed.
“A man takes a woman, means to keep her, she becomes his property,” Horse continued. “We covered that before—it’s a sign of commitment, of respect. It means he’ll protect her and everyone else better keep their f*cking hands off her or be ready to fight him and all his brothers. You do not want to f*ck with a man’s old lady.”
“Sounds messed up, Horse.”
He shook his head, clearly frustrated.
“You’re judging it by citizen standards, but we’re not like you,” he said. “Remember, we’re a tribe. We live together, we die together and what’s ours is ours. When times are good, we’re all good. Bad times, we may eat shit but we eat it together. Most people can’t handle that level of commitment. It’s like when you’re in combat and taking fire—you have to trust that your brothers would rather die than let you down. You feel that kind of brotherhood during war but when you come back home people expect you to sit down and work in an office like it never happened. Men—at least men like me—don’t work like that. I turned into something else in Afghanistan and I can’t just pretend it didn’t happen. In the club, they don’t ask me to.”
“That’s intense,” I murmured.
“No shit,” he said. “I know this is hard for you, but I want you to understand. This is a different life, and we have our own rules and our own justice, but it’s not bad. In fact, it’s pretty f*ckin’ good. I got a nice house, make good money, have a great time almost every f*ckin’ day of my life. I’m alive, babe. Ninety-nine percent of men are okay with following the rules and doing what they’re told. We’re the other one percent, so we built our own world with our own rules. You don’t f*ck with us, we won’t f*ck with you. But once you f*ck us, you will pay.”
I shivered, even though the air was warm. I reached over and grabbed my shirt, pulling it over my head. Horse’s eyes followed me, holding an expression I couldn’t begin to fathom.
“So finish it,” I said, breaking the silence. “You’re telling me this for a reason, I guess. What does sweet butt mean?”
“Well, not all women attached to the club are old ladies,” he said bluntly. “Being an old lady is a big deal, like I said. You don’t want to take some skank as your property if you aren’t ready to throw down for her. But a man’s still gotta get laid. That’s what sweet butts are for.”
Oh, I didn’t like the sound of that.
“Continue,” I said, my voice cooling.
“We got women who want to be old ladies,” he said. “Or just like hanging around bikers. Maybe they want a place to crash for a while. They come around the club house and if they make themselves friendly enough we let them hang around. They clean up, take care of shit, and we sort of—”
He paused, looking away.
“You’re really not gonna like this,” he muttered.
“Tell me. Now.”
“Well, they’re pretty much public p-ssy,” he said. “Man needs a woman, that’s what they’re for. Entertaining the brothers. Those are the sweet butts.”
I saw red.
“You jerk!”
I got up and went for my pants. He reached for me, but I slapped his hand away, yanking up my jeans.
“You think I’m a whore!”
“No. I do not think you’re a whore. I told you, I like pissing you off sometimes, it’s hot. You aren’t a sweet butt either. You see any other guys around here? Not exactly lookin’ to turn you into Chinese handcuffs, Marie!”
“WHAT?” I didn’t even know what that meant, but I knew it wasn’t good. I finished getting dressed and grabbed my purse, pulling out my phone. Great. No service.
“F*ck,” Horse muttered, pulling on his pants and tee, then grabbing his cut and jerking it on. “You won’t even listen to me. You aren’t like them, babe. I know that. The guys know that. It doesn’t mean anything.”
“Then why did you all call me sweet butt the first time we met?” I demanded. “It’s not like we had anything between us then, so you didn’t do it just to piss me off. Explain that, Mr. Badass Reaper!”
He looked away, rubbing a hand along the stubble on his chin, then turned back to me.
“Because that’s what you looked like,” he said finally. “You were waiting outside that trailer decked out like a f*ckin’ wet dream. We knew Jeff didn’t have a woman, at least not one in particular. Just assumed, babe.”
“Take me home.”
“Babe, please.”
“Take. Me. Home.”
He turned away and kicked a rock, sending it into the hot springs with a splash, running his hands through his hair again. I wished he’d stop doing that, because it just made him look sexier and I didn’t need to think about him being sexy right now.
I needed to remember the man was a pig.
“Okay, I’ll take you home,” he grunted, turning back toward me. “But I want to show you something first.”
“By all means!” I declared grandly, throwing my arms wide. “Please, do whatever it takes to get me out of here and away from you.”
Horse stalked over to the leather saddlebag he’d brought and opened it. He stood there, staring down inside it for what seemed an eternity, then glanced back at me.
“You need to know that I didn’t just bring you here to f*ck you, Marie.”
I snorted, rolling my eyes.
“Don’t give me that shit,” he growled. “I can get laid whenever I want, I don’t have to drive four hundred miles round trip to get off. Women see the bike, they see the tats and the cut, they’re all over that shit. p-ssy is just p-ssy, but you’re different. That’s why I had this made for you—I wanted to ask you to come back with me, give club life a shot.”
He pulled out a black leather vest, much smaller than his, and held it up. On the back were two embroidered patches, reading “Property of Horse, Reapers MC.”
Holy shit.
“Are you kidding me?” I demanded.
His face tightened, eyes growing cold.
“Never offered this to anyone else, babe. Not a joke.”
“Well, don’t offer it to me,” I hissed. “I hardly know you, but what I do know is that you’re a sexist pig and you can go f*ck yourself and your stupid club.”
“Don’t insult the club, Marie.”
Something in his tone stopped me mid-rant. All traces of my sweet Horse were gone and the scary biker stood in front of me in full standoff. My anger disappeared, replaced with terrible unease. I’d forgotten how terrifying he could be.
“Let’s stop this,” I said after a pause. “What we’re doing, there’s nothing good here. Let’s just stop talking and leave before things get worse.”
“Works for me. Get your shit.”
Funny, but hiking to the spring had taken about thirty minutes. Hiking back felt like ten hours. The ride home was even worse. I worried about falling off the bike the whole time, but I’d be damned if I was going to wrap my arms around him and rest my head on his back like before. I held the sides of his hips, trying to keep my lower body from touching his, which was all but impossible.
When we reached the trailer he didn’t even bother getting off his Harley, let alone watch to see if I got in the door all right.
Horse just roared away without looking back.