“I’m fuckin’ talkin’ to you, ain’t I?”
A smile tugged at my lips, and I bent down to press a kiss between his shoulder blades. His warm, smooth skin twitched beneath my mouth, and a shiver shook through Deuce.
“We can talk about it if you want,” I whispered. “Don’t let it fester.”
Deuce sighed heavily, his big body lifting off the mattress. Flipping onto his back, he folded his arms beneath his head—a move that caused his impressive biceps to shift and swell beneath his colorful skin.
“There ain’t shit to say,” he muttered. “You know I hate this fuckin’ city, hate this fuckin’ house, hate this motherfuckin’ room. But those are my demons, darlin’, and you’ve got bigger shit to be dealin’ with.”
I stared at him a moment, hating him for clinging to things that couldn’t be changed, while also loving him at least a hundred times more for always being so glaringly, unapologetically him.
“I don’t want to deal with my own shit right now,” I told him. “Right now I want to pretend that I don’t have any shit to deal with at all.”
“That still don’t mean we should talk about mine.”
We fell silent, watching each other in the semi-darkness.
“Are you coming with me tomorrow—back to the hospital?”
“That’s a dumbass fuckin’ question, Eva.”
Again the silence stretched between us, my gaze wandering away with my thoughts.
“He loved her, you know,” I said suddenly.
“Babe.” Deuce’s tone gentled. “He ain’t never stopped.”
I nodded distractedly. “She loved him, too. I know she did.”
When Deuce didn’t say anything, only continued to watch me, I bent down and pressed a kiss to his lips. His large hand cupped the back of my head, and his mouth covered mine. Demanding lips, rough strokes of his tongue, he nipped my bottom lip before breaking the kiss.
“That was so fucking hot,” I told him breathlessly, eyeing him hungrily. “What gives you the right to be so old and yet so fucking hot?”
He snorted. “You are one crazy bitch.”
Straightening, I laughed at him. “That’s all you got? I’m a crazy bitch?” Brow lifted, lips twisted, I blew him a kiss. “You are getting soft, aren’t you? Old, and soft, and sweet.”
Grabbing my wrist, he set my hand on top of the bulge in his boxers. “Yeah? That feel soft to you?”
I shrugged. “Kinda…”
Deuce let out a low growl, and a heartbeat later I was laid out flat on the bed, his big body hovering over mine. His hips dipped and mine arched, and our mouths met in an explosion of need. Clothing was shed, as were any reservations. Frenzied, we touched each other in ways we hadn’t touched in years. My staccato breaths joined the fray.
I couldn’t remember the last time I’d felt like this, so turned on, so crazy needy. Nothing more than a thrashing mass of flesh and bone, desperate for more of him.
“I wanna see you,” he said, reversing our positions.
Straddling his hips, I watched as Deuce’s eyes traced a greedy path over every inch of my bare skin. Lips parted and breathing hard, his hooded gaze met mine and the way he looked at me? I felt young again. And beautiful. And oh my God, so fucking alive.
One hand planted on his chest, I rushed to guide him inside of me. And as our bodies connected, a gasp and a growl collided in the space between us.
I bent to kiss him. Our mouths fused together, I snapped my hips forward, eliciting a throaty groan from Deuce. Panting and eager, I began to move.
His thumbs hooked beneath my hip bones. Calloused fingertips dug into my backside, stilling me. My eyes fluttered opened, finding his.
“Babe,” he said, low and raspy. “I want it fuckin’ slow.”
Shivers raked up and down my spine, and I sighed against his mouth.
Then I gave it to him slow.
Epilogue
A light breeze blew lazily past me, bringing with it the scents of freshly cut grass and newly blossomed flowers. Several strands of my hair lifted, and the remaining tears on my cheeks dried up and disappeared. A short ways off in the distance a small flock of geese had congregated, occasionally honking as they shuffled through the cemetery.
Preacher’s funeral had ended hours ago, and it had been a service any biker would have been proud to receive. Bikers from all over the country had come to pay their respects. Personal stories had been shared—some happy, some sad, and others so vulgar I’d felt compelled to cover my young son’s ears. Then my teenage daughter Ivy had sung one of Preacher’s favorite songs a cappella, only managing a few lines before everyone else joined in.
Later at the graveyard, hundreds of motorcyclists had lined their bikes along the narrow pathways, engines revving. “Preacher!” they’d shouted, their fists raised. “Preacher, Preacher, Preacher…” Louder and louder they’d chanted his name as if the louder they shouted they might somehow reach him.
I glanced over my shoulder, scanning the remaining motorcycles parked along the cemetery path. Only family and Silver Demons remained now. They talked quietly amongst themselves, leaving me to my grief.
Turning back to the simple cement tombstone before me, my gaze traced the engravings. Beneath Preacher’s name and the years he’d lived, BELOVED BROTHER AND FATHER was inscribed. And below that, “Ride forever free” had been etched in scrawling cursive.
My eyes filled with tears for the hundredth time today.
Memories assaulted me.
Preacher lifting me up onto his broad shoulders, showing me the world from new heights.
Inside the clubhouse, Janis Joplin on the stereo, standing on Preacher’s feet while we danced around the living room.
The first time I’d ridden on the back of his motorcycle, putting on a brave face while my hands fisted in his jacket, squeezing him as tightly as I could.
My chest grew suddenly tight, and my vision swam. Unable to catch my breath, my hands flew to my chest and I gasped, forcing my lungs to fill.
When you’re little, your parents are your whole world. But as you grow, you change. You become your own person, create a family of your own, and you start to forget. What a cruel, cosmic joke the world plays on us, causing us to remember… by taking them away.
“Oh, God, Daddy,” I whispered, swiping at my wet cheeks. “I don’t know how to do this. I don’t know how to be in this world without you.”
“Mom?” Ivy’s familiar hand slid into mine and squeezed. I squeezed her back, always glad for her company.
“I’m okay, baby,” I lied, fighting back another wave of tears. Kids will do that to you—force you to be strong when you feel anything but. Although as I looked over at the beautiful young woman beside me, I could hardly call her a kid anymore.