Forbidden Beauty (Coffin Cheaters Motorcycle Club) (13 page)

Chapter Sixteen

* * *
Carter

She looked hot
as hell, pressed against her bike in the fog from that evening, her red hair
flying behind her in the wind. I couldn't help but be distracted, whenever I
glanced into my rearview. It just felt so good to have a woman—especially a
woman like her, strong on the street and supple in the bedroom. I know we were
in danger, but it was so hard to keep my mind (and my cock) from swiveling back
toward the afternoon, when she'd lain below me and begged for it. How good it
had felt, knowing I had her.

So that's what
I was thinking about, when I heard the rowdy crew come in behind me—my old
lady's sweet ass, or that stern little expression she made as she tried to
think something through. I admit, I could have been more alert. But being with
her, I never could focus on the dangerous stuff. I was just imagining her tight
little package, and everything I planned to do to it once we were completely
clear of all the MC bullshit.

I saw it first
in the check-out guy's eyes—the unabashed fear. And then I felt breath on my
neck. I didn't even have to turn all the way around before I figured it was
another one of those masked psychos, here to make trouble.

“I remember
you,” the voice behind me gargled. “You're the real piece of work from the
other night. Funny story—what are you doing so far from home? We're not so
close to Miami, tough guy. Hey—and how's that slash on your arm?”
All healed
up, you son of a bitch.

But I didn't
say a word. Just looked straight at the cashier. Poor scared kid—looked like he
could have wet his pants.

“We don't take
too kindly to lone riders around here,” spat some other asshole. I could tell
they were circling me from behind, the vultures.

“Yeah! Don't
you know whose turf you're on?
Little boy
?”

I took a deep
breath. My eyes still clamped on the clerk, I nodded my head very slightly,
indicating the space below the counter. I waited to watch a glimmer of
comprehension move over his face. Once I felt sure that he knew what was about
to go down, I blinked. Long and slow.

I thought, for
another second, of my old lady. Gisele Owens. Her sister wasn't the only one
who could draw blood to keep her safe. I counted down from three in my head,
and then—I moved.

Chapter Seventeen

* * *

Gisele

Carter tore out of the store so fast that it almost seemed
like the right sounds came after: a loud clanging, shouts, what might have been
gunfire. He ran for his bike, and I anticipated his movement by gunning my own
idling engine. We both kicked away from the ground simultaneously, and I never
looked back. I never figured out quite how close we'd come to a deathly run-in
with Satan's Refuse.

Carter's bike set the pace, driving up from seventy to
eighty to a cool hundred in the span of moments. Neither of us feinted
backwards, but it didn't sound like we were being followed. I listened to the
roaring of my engine cede to the quieter sounds of the swampland around us, and
after some minutes passed, I began to feel at ease again. I dropped speed, and
gave myself the luxury of a quick glance to the rearview. I saw no bikers.

Some more minutes passed, and Carter signaled for the
shoulder. This was a lonely, open stretch of roadside. It seemed that there was
nothing around us but cicadas and humidity. Shaking, I dropped gears, coasting
to a slow stop behind my leader. My heart was racing, but it was definitely
quiet. I dismounted, and ran towards the man.

“What happened in there?! Are you alright?” My fingers
fumbled for his helmet, his chest, his arms. I needed to touch him, to
ascertain that every part of him was safe.

“Baby! I'm fine! You think a few freaks in a Checker's are
really going to throw me?” I knew he was joking because his voice shook. I
clawed at the fabric of his wifebeater, suddenly desperate. If something had
happened to Carter, I don't know what I would have done. Coming so close to
danger only made my feelings more clear.

“Gisele! Are you crying?”

“Don't you dare make fun of me, Knox.”
“I'm just concerned that you don't think I can handle a bunch of goons in
masks.”

Knox tossed his helmet into the soft grass beside us. I saw
that he was laughing, and yet again that liquid, lovely feeling spread across
my skin.

“Listen, Carter: I overheard one of those guys mention
Flapper—that's the name of a big honcho in my crew. Now I smell a rat. Do you
think they were on their way to the Styx camp? I'm worried that those masked
freaks and my club are somehow...working together.”

And just as quickly, his smile balled up.

“Jesus,” Carter breathed. “I never thought of that.”

Cicadas whirred all around us. And though we were deep
inland by now, I found my thoughts drifting to South Beach—the smell of the
salty air, the faces of the pasty (or excessively tanned...) tourists milling
around Miami proper. So much had changed in just a few short weeks.

“Okay, I'm thinking. There's a motel ten miles up the lane.
We should camp there for the night.”

“But we have to get to the Styx first, Carter! Isn't time
kinda
of the essence
?”

“Gisele,” he said softly. Was this the voice of defeat? Were
we throwing in the towel? Putting our own hides before our brothers? In spite
of everything, I hoped not.

Chapter Eight

The motel Carter mysteriously knew about (why, I did not
ask) was pretty grim. The lobby and hallway were striped in this hideous
burgundy and orange pattern, and the carpet was flecked Berber knock-off, the
color of milky coffee. While Carter conferred with the ancient night desk
attendant, I took stock of my reflection in the gilded lobby mirror. I still
looked a little peaky and haggard from the events of the past few days. Plus, I
couldn't fight away the sensation that somehow, Carter and I had already given
up on our noble quest. So many hours had gone by since the Cheaters had kicked
off from camp—it seemed impossibly wishful to imagine that we could still
prevent my corrupted club or Satan's Refuse from finding the Knights, and doing
God knew what with those innocent men.

Silently, I followed Carter up the dingy hall, my eyes
hewing close to his slumped shoulders. It occurred to me then that he must have
been exhausted, too. He'd been so brave. So kind, to take care of me. It wasn't
like living happily ever after with this amazing man was some kind of worst
case scenario, I reminded myself. It was just that my dream of our glittery
future together was clouded by our present. I wanted us to flourish on our own
terms.

My old man grabbed my hand before pushing open the thin door
to our room. He turned to face me, full-on.

“Gisele, I know you wanted to find the MCs tonight. But we
aren't much use to anyone with our strength down. Do you trust me?” He got the
most adorable little furrow in his brow when he was worried, or upset.

I nodded. Of course I did.

Carter nudged me toward the room head first, guiding my
shoulders into the gloom. I fumbled across the wall for a light switch, but his
breath tickled my ears first: “Don't.”

Instead, my old man crossed to the window in three brisk
strides, and fumbled with the pull string for the shades. Outside, a big fat
moon was glaring down at us. Its glow filled the shitty motel room with the
loveliest kind of light.

“Look. Now you're an angel,” he said, nodding at my pale
skin. But I could barely register these words as they slid through space. I was
too busy looking at Carter in the moonlight, and I mean
really
looking
at Carter. I think it can be easy to fall for someone, when they're handsome
and willing and strapping and saving you from certain death on a Miami highway.
But with a new clarity, I understood that I would have fallen for this man in
any time, in any place. His eyes—so hopeful and direct all at once, both
vulnerable and tough, equal parts 'softie' and 'biker'—it was as if I could
fall into them, and experience a whole gamut of humanity in the process. So I
did. I fell into his purplish gaze and felt safe, reassured, adored, sure about
everything. A piece of damp, dark curl fell across his forehead, and Carter
flicked the tendril away with a shake of his head. He was so goddamned cute.
Impossible words were bubbling up in the base of my throat:

I love you, Carter.

But it was something else, too. There was some other
conviction, peering at me over the small divide of the grim double bed, the
paces between us on the floor. The feeling was related to love, but more
complicated, too. His warm eyes, his slick grin...how safe he managed to make
me feel, in the direst of moments—yes. Wait. Recognition. There was something
about Carter that wasn't just spellbindingly strange and new—there was
something
familiar
about him.

“Carter,” I whispered into the darkness. “I feel like I know
you. From a long, long time ago.” I studied his face, waiting for the inevitable
laughter, or tease—but this didn't come. The biker just stared at me, though I
think something about his gaze urged me on.

“I was little,” I continued, fumbling around the dusty
corners of my brain as I spoke. I'd never had a great memory—trivia was really
more Tati's department. But Tati—yes, wait, Tati had been there, too. Some
dream was materializing. Something from long, long ago.

“That night,” I repeated. Behind his face, a cloud drifted
briefly over the moon. Darkness: another clue to the past. “The night my father
died. You were in my room then. I just saw it on your face. When me and my
sister were little—it was you who saved us, wasn't it? From the Knights of Styx
raid? Were you our mystery savior?”

He still didn't say anything, but the corners of his mouth
twitched a little. The moon slid away from its cloud coverage, and I saw the
full of his face again. At the same moment that I understood the truth, we came
towards one another. We came together on the bed.

Chapter Eighteen

* * *

Carter

I guess I was
waiting for her to look at me like that. To remember who I was, and realize
we've been connected for so much longer than these past few weeks.

I move towards
the parts of her I can see, the pieces of her bright, pale skin that are illuminated
by moon. And she looks like an angel. The first part of her I put my mouth on
is the smooth place where her long neck curves into her shoulders. I feel a
kind of ripple moving across her at my touch, a pulse drifting just below her
skin.

I work my way
up her neck, and pull her face towards mine so I can finally get a taste of
those sweet lips. There's an echo of sugar and salt in her mouth. When I push
my tongue inside, begin hunting for that perfect make-out motion, she puts her
hands on my hips and pulls me toward her. I feel my cock stiffen in my pants.
Her pretty fingers slip further down, so they've come to rest on the flat of my
ass; she pulls me towards her again. I open my eyes for a moment to see her
face in the moonlight, and yes, she's glowing, pale and perfect. I kiss her
eyelids.

I press my
hands against her cheeks, I push my fingers through the hair at the nape of her
neck, and in that moment I enjoy the feel of her head in my grip, cradled
between my palms.

“Carter,” she
murmurs into my ear, breaking away from our kiss. “Carter—I think I'm falling
in love with you.” My erection pushes harder against the taut fabric of my
riding pants. What would the Knights of Styx say, if they saw me now?
Look
at this softie
, maybe.
All hung up on a piece of ass.
Fuck 'em, if
they say so. I don't want to tell her now, but I love her, too.

I kiss my old
lady, instead. I kiss her, and I move my hands down so they're resting on her
perfect, round tits. How magnificent that I own this woman. She is my property,
as beloved as my bike. Gisele Owens is mine, all mine.

She tilts her
head back when I start fondling her, and I watch her chin, her fluttering
lashes. I love watching her love it. I squeeze harder, find her raised nipples
through her shirt. Bend low and start to suck on her tittties through the
cloth. She puts her hands on the back of my neck, helps me burrow into her
cleavage. “Yes!” she cries, already. “
Yes, yes, yes
.”

In another
minute, I need more—so I peel the shirt away, yank her bra off and toss this to
the side. Her body looks perfect in the moonlight, like it was designed to be
seen this way. I kiss up and down her bare chest, and then, 'cuz I can't help
it, start to rub myself through my pants. She sees what I'm doing and drapes
her own fingers over the outline of my cock, fumbles for a minute with the
zipper. I reach up and flip off my own shirt, flex my muscles so she can see my
pecs stand out. She's so excited she can't seem to get the button undone, so I
reach down and help her. Pull myself out of my pants, put my manhood into her
waiting fist.

Now it's my
turn to lean back and love it. She works me good and hard, her fingers moving
quickly up and down my shaft. I push my hips into her touch. I already have to
try my hardest not to come, but I hold myself back. I want to last for her. I
want to fuck her all night long.

“Do you want me
to kiss it?” Gisele asks, slightly timid. I can barely nod, but as her head
bends down, I press my palm into the back of her head. When she takes me into her
mouth, I moan like something wild.

“That's right,
baby,” I murmur, over her head. “Suck it good and hard. Take me all the way
into your throat.” Her hands still gripping my base, she plays with my tip,
massaging me with her tongue. I can feel her breath tickling my balls, and I
feel myself grow just slightly harder. God damn, is my old lady a good fuck.

She wants me to
come, but I'm not ready yet—so I pull her away from my crotch and tell her to
get on all fours. She obeys, and I'm so excited I can hardly wait to start
pulling off her jeans. When her big round ass is in the air, I push my face
into it. For a second, Gisele recoils, but then I can feel her begin to lean
in. I flick my tongue back and forth over the raised mound of her asshole, back
and forth, back and forth, until she's cooing, wanting more. Then, I push a
finger down towards her entrance. Play with the outside of her pussy for a
second.

“Is that good,
baby?” I whisper into her folds.

“It's so good,
baby,” she whispers right back, and as if to confirm this, the girl starts
rocking against my hand and mouth, humping my touch.

My finger finds
her clit, and I watch her back arch up like a cat's. I rub her in little
circles for a few minutes, feeling her get wetter and wetter beneath my hand. I
move my mouth downward, so I can push my tongue inside. I go slowly, but she
rears back again. She tastes so sweet.

I pick up the
pace a bit, moving one hand down so I can tend to myself again while she moves
above me. God, I'm close. My dick is so hard it feels like wood. Gisele is
moving fast against me now, slamming herself into my face. I can feel her about
to explode.

“I'm gonna
come!” she gasps. “Oh god, yes. I'm gonna come so fucking hard for you.” It
really sends me, how she talks so dirty. She starts to scream, and her ass and
legs clench up around my tongue, and my free hand. And I'm on the tip of it,
too. But instead of drinking her down, I quickly move my cock up to her, slip
myself inside just as she's pulsing, and feel the sweet grip of her orgasm
around me, just as it happens. God it feels so good I want to shoot off, too—but
I bite my tongue to prolong the pleasure. I push into her instead, she’s wet
and ready for it, still shaking from how hard I made her come, but now it's my
turn. I pick up speed, thrusting in and out of her, in and out, faster and
faster and faster...

She peers over
her left shoulder and smiles at me, meets my eye for a split second. And it's
then that I come. I come harder than I can remember ever coming before. I push
my fingers deep into the flesh of her ass, and I drip down her legs with a
shudder. Her light hair has gone damp with sweat, and her skin is cool. When I
pull out and lie down beside her on our soiled little bed, she sits up and
stares at me. Runs a hand down my body, pausing at moments to tangle her
fingers in my chest hair. I reach over and slap her good and hard on the ass
cheek. Make her yelp.

“You're my
family,” I murmur into the darkness. I'm still a little crazy from the o, so
I'm not a hundred percent sure of what I'm saying. Naturally, I'm drained from
the stress, the sleepless nights, and now, this delicious fucking. She smiles
at me some more. She really does look like Claudette Colbert—at least to me.

“And no matter
what happens with our MCs, I want you to know that I'm going to take care of
you.”
And your whiny bitch of a sister,
I murmur under my breath, to
myself. This makes me chuckle a little. She laughs when I laugh.

Gisele yawns
then. She nods. I struggle to think of something important outside this room,
some danger or obligation—but the outside world has grown murky. Even my
brothers seem insignificant here. I open my arms across the comforter, so she
can burrow up into the crook of my armpit. I love how she smells. Like fresh
rain, and dirt. The earth.

I wait for her
to fall asleep before I whisper the rest into her hair, once her breathing has
grown long and serious, once her eyes are fully closed. “I love you, too,
Gisele Owens.” It's easy to say, actually. It's been true now for years and
years and years.