BLAMELESS: MC Biker Romance (Black Thorns, #3) (5 page)

I just been staring in the mirror thinking Ax is right ‘bout me not being no spring chicken no more.

Damn wrinkles are coming in good now. My hair’s looking good as usual, spiked with gel.
But
I can see the gray there. Gotta dye it again. Hell, if the boys knew I been doing that for a couple of years now, I’d never hear the end of it. Would be hilarious to ‘em all.

Worst of all is this messed up thing with the whores at the club not doing it for me no more. I figured I were just bored of the same old pussy. It’s why I been heading down to Brockford and screwing ‘round at
Temptress
so much lately. But even those different tits and ass weren’t getting me going.

Is this some kinda mid-life crisis bullshit?

Most shocking thing is that mousey, shy Sarah,
did
get my dick hard. The woman barely even touched me and she had it ready and raring to go. What the hell’s that all ‘bout?

And why can’t I get her outta my head?

Those real soft lips of hers. That mouth. The way she tasted so damn sweet.

Waking up and finding her sleeping in my arms, her hair all over my chest, were a shock and a half. In a good way. Didn’t wanna move, cuz I didn’t want her to wake up and take her warmth away. It were all new to me. The innocence of it all. Weren’t ‘bout no down and dirty sex stuff. It were just…nice.

I gotta get a grip here. It were just different. That’s all. I’m just gonna chalk it up to that.

I blow out a breath and lift my t-shirt. Been a week or so and my damn stab wound’s aching like a bitch. Persistent day and night. Can’t sleep at night without downing half a bottle of Jack just to get me numb enough to ride it out.

I need something to take the edge off. Just for one fucking night at least. I just need a break.

Before I realize what I’m doing, I reach out and open Rox and Ax’s bathroom cabinet.

Right there, I see ‘em. The pain pills Smiter gave Ax when he got shot a few months back. For his shoulder. They ain’t that strong. Don’t give you much of a high, but they get the job done of killing the pain for a few hours.

Might be okay then. No high. If I don’t feel that it should be all right. It’s the high that messes with my head.

I reach for the bottle.

As soon as my fingers wrap ‘round it, I jerk my hand back quick.

“Jesus Christ,” I gasp, real freaked that I just did that.

I step back and slump against the wall, closing my eyes tightly as I fight to get a grip. I’m sweating.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

A knock at the door scares the crap outta me.

“Runner? You okay in there?” Rox calls.

Fuck.

“Yeah. Fine,” I call back, my voice strained and raspy. Great.

“You sure?” she presses, clearly picking up that I ain’t.

“Can’t a man take a piss in peace, darlin’?”

“Sorry. You’ve just been in there a while.”

“I…yeah…stab wound. Hard to move.” I need her to go so I can get my shit together. That’s why I add, “Takes a while to get my cock out, Rox. You wanna give me a hand, I ain’t gonna say no.”

Ax is gonna kill me if she tells him I just said that shit to her.

But it works like I knew it would. I hear her cursing me, then taking back off down the hall.

Thank fuck for that.

Jesus, I gotta get outta here and clear my damn head.

Chapter 6

~Sarah~

I’m wiping down one of the tables when a knock at the door startles me. Do people not read the
CLOSED
sign?

I spin around and I’m more than a little startled to see Runner at my door.

I find myself grinning like a fool just at the sight of him. Oh God.
Stop it.

Dropping my rag on the table, I cross to the door and open it. “We’re closed. I’m sorry, Runner.”

“See that, darlin’.”

I step aside and he comes in. I lock the door behind him and turn around to see him scanning the diner at a loss. He seems…anxious. Not himself.

“Ain’t here to eat,” he tells me.

That’s a weird statement for someone standing in the middle of a diner. I’m not sure what to make of it.

“Why are you here then?”

His brow furrows as he looks at me. “Ain’t really sure,” he says quietly. Again,
quiet
isn’t like him either. What’s going on here?

“All right. Well…I need to clean up.”

“Sure,” he answers walking over to one of the booths. His usual booth in the far corner.

I just stare for a moment, trying to figure out what’s happening here. And then I get myself together and remember that I have a job to do. I head into the back to get some paper towel and a cleaning spray.

When I come back out to the main floor a few moments later, I catch sight of him struggling in the corner. He clearly thinks no one’s watching, because I see him panting and grunting as he fights with his cane and his body to pull himself into the booth until he’s half leaning and half laying along it with his legs up like it’s a couch. His arm is resting on the table, propping his head up.

“That wound is still giving you a lot of trouble, huh?” I say, as I walk over.

He looks up at me and flashes me a smile that I can immediately tell is fake. “Nah. All good.”

I watch him reach into his jacket pocket. And that’s when I first notice that he isn’t wearing his cut. Just a brown suede jacket that’s so worn it looks like he’s had it for years and years. He pulls out a flask and starts downing it.

Well, this isn’t happening.

I head over to the counter behind me and grab one of the display cakes and two plastic forks from the drawer beneath the cash register. I walk back to the booth and place them on the table.

He pulls his lips from the flask and eyes the cake as I slide into the opposite side of the booth.

“What’s this?”

“A cake.”

He rolls his eyes. “I know
that
. Thought you were closing up.”

“I am. But you need to eat
something
if you’re going to drink
that
.”

He just stares at me for a moment. And then he eyes the cake. “Chocolate.”

“Chocolate
chunk
.”

Grinning, he says, “Well, I can’t be passing that up now, can I?”

I lift the lid off and slide a fork across the table to him. “Dig in.”

He hesitates. “You ain’t gonna cut it?”

I laugh. “Where’s the fun in that? Take as much as you want.”

He does that intense staring thing again for a few seconds, before he puts the flask away, snatches up a fork and digs in. “Hell, this might be one of the best things I’ve ever had in my mouth.”

I swallow a mouthful and answer, “Me too.”

As soon as the words are out there, I realize the embarrassing double meaning of them.

Runner wiggles his eyebrows at me. “Yeah? That right?”

“I…no…I didn’t mean…I just....” I ramble, blushing like crazy.

His hand covers mine, startling me. “Just messing with you. Know what you meant. Weren’t nothing dirty in it. That ain’t the kinda girl you are.”

He doesn’t let go of my hand. Instead, he starts drawing soft, slow circles on the back of it with his thumb. Just that slight touch from him sets me alight and awakens things in me that’ve been on lockdown for a long time. My eyes flutter closed for a moment and before I can stop it, a moan leaves my lips. Oh my God. Embarrassing.

Mortified, I go to pull my hand away.

But he holds tight. “Nothing to be shy ‘bout. You like it, yeah?”

I make the mistake of looking into his eyes. The heat there is enough to scorch me and I quickly cast my glance down at the table.

“Sarah?”

“Yeah?” I rasp, biting my lip nervously.

“Want me to stop? Will if you tell me to.” He grunts then and his grip on my hand loosens. “Thing is, you don’t and you’re gonna have to come over here, yeah?”

I look up at him then and find him grimacing.

He growls with frustration and pulls back his hand and brings it to his side. “Fuck,” he grits out, adjusting his weight. “Sorry. Damn thing,” he mutters, getting more pissed off by the second.

I slide out of the booth and cross to his side. He looks up at me, his eyes wide with surprise, as I inch my way between the table and him lying there. My butt bumps it and I mutter to myself, “Stupid big butt.”

“Nah, you got a fine ass, darlin’.”

My gaze snaps to his, caught off guard by his blunt remark. “I…stop it.”

“Stop what?” he laughs.

“Commenting on my…stuff.”

“Stuff? You mean your sexy ass, your curves, those hot tits you got going for you?”

Oh my God! “Yes. That. Stop that.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re…it’s making me blush and I…hate it.”

“I don’t. It’s cute.”

I shake my head to myself and focus on the task at hand. It’s the only way I can handle being this close to him. “Lift your shirt.”

He does as I ask and I clear my throat as I get a flash of his amazing abs.
Focus. Focus.

“Uh…okay. Hold it there.”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

I realize that I can’t get a proper look standing like this.

I climb onto him, straddling his legs.

“Jesus,” he groans as I shift on him, leaning down so I can get a look at the wound.

“Sorry. Am I hurting you?”

“You’re making my cock hard. That’s what you’re doing.”

“I…I didn’t mean to…I’m sorry.”

“Sorry?” he asks with a chuckle. “Fuck me, you’re cute.”

This is incredibly awkward. In fact, I can’t remember ever being in a situation as awkward as this one.

“Just…don’t move.”

“Christ, you keep rocking those hips of yours and I ain’t gonna have much of a choice. My cock’s gonna be in the driving seat.”

I scoff. “Very funny.”

“You think I’m kidding?”

“I think…” I say, distractedly as I finally manage to get a good look at his stab wound, “…I’m not exactly your type and you’re full of crap here.” What? Did I just say that? I really shouldn’t talk when I’m trying to concentrate on something else.

“I’m hard as steel right now, darlin’. Think that’d be possible if I were just
full of crap
?”

My eyes dart to his, taken aback by his words.

I don’t know what to say.

Back to the task.
Stay on task. Stay on task.

He sucks in a sharp breath when I press my fingers to the wound.

I trace my fingers over it. “You ripped the stitches at some point? The ones I put in?”

“Yeah. Got outta bed too fast the next day.”

“You’re not taking care of it properly. You’re putting too much strain on it. Have you even been resting at all?”

When he doesn’t answer, I look up and find him with his head thrown back, his eyes half closed and his lips parted blissfully. Oh, hell.

I take my hand off him quickly.

“Fuck, no. Don’t stop, darlin’. Jesus fucking Christ.”

“Zeb—sorry—Runner…”

“Fuck it. Call me whatever the hell you want.
Zeb
it is. Just don’t fucking stop,” he breathes, closing his eyes.

That has me freaking out. It’s too much.

I scramble off him quickly. “I…I can’t….”

He grunts and struggles to sit up. “Sarah?”

“I’m sorry…I can’t…I mean…I don’t know how to…never mind.” I turn away and walk over to the table where I left my cloth. I start scrubbing it furiously, trying to distract myself.

“Dunno how to what? Fuck?” he asks.

I can hear his cane grating on the linoleum. He’s walking over to me.

“Nothing.”

He reaches the table that I’m cleaning and stands opposite me. “You a virgin?”

I don’t answer. I just keep scrubbing the table.

“Sarah? Are you?”

Urgh. He’s not going to drop it until I say something. “Not really, no.”

“Not really? What the fuck’s that mean?”

His harshness ignites my agitation at the entire situation and I end up blurting out, “He made me, okay? He beat me, tied me up and took it from me!”

“Jesus Christ,” he gasps. “That fucker, Torvin?”

Hearing that name when I’m already in a state just drives me over the edge. I sink to the floor and cradle my face in my hands and break down crying. “It just hurts. Doing that…sex…just hurts. That’s all it is. Hurting. For the girl. And I don’t want to do it again. Ever. Ever! Ever!”

His arms wrap around me suddenly. He’s standing in front of me, holding me against his legs as I sit there, a crumpled mess on the floor. He starts stroking my hair. “Shh, sweet angel. I’m sorry. Real sorry. I’m a dick.”