Forbidden Beauty (Coffin Cheaters Motorcycle Club) (8 page)

But Knox was shaking his head slowly, his eyes still merry.
He reached up and brushed away a few of my straggling tears. By instinct, I
attempted to set my chin, appear tough: but in another moment, I gave up the
ruse. So what if he saw me cry? On some deep, unspoken level, I knew I had
earned his respect. I thought of the slap from the other day—the look in his
eyes when he'd realized how furious I was at being duped. Something about that
brought me away from the dark thoughts. I broke into a smile.

“I'm so glad you're alright,” I whispered.

“This is going to be
really
hard, you know,” he
murmured to me, his eyes suddenly more alert, his voice grave. “And what makes
you think
I'm
worth it? I'm a stranger.”

“Hard, but not
impossible.
And hey, I like to think
we already know some of one another's deep dark secrets. You're no stranger to
me.” While Scotty clanked away in the far corner, his movements made jerky with
fear, I felt a hand on the back of my neck. My weakened soldier pulled me
towards him on the couch, guiding my lips towards his own with the sureness of
a pro. Keeping his eyes open so I could see the intensity of his gaze, he
kissed me. It was a kiss both long and too-quick, simultaneously hard and soft.
I remembered some other platitude of Tati's, told to me as her tan legs kicked
back and forth against the moat:
You know you're in love when it bowls right
over you. Nothing makes sense, yet you have no questions.
Was that what I
was feeling, already? What on earth had pulled me to this man?

Come hell or high water, I was in this now. There was no
backing down.

Chapter Nine

* * *

Once we'd eased a nervous Scotty back to bed, Knox and I had
what felt like our first,
real,
date. That's right, yak it up: I had my
first date ever in the ransacked living room of a bar owner, in the hours just
before dawn, following a dust-up brought on by some mysterious MC. There was
both dread and jasmine in the air. He smelled like sweat, with the faintest
whiff of that ginger-peach. He wore nothing from the waist up but a few tattoos
and a flannel tourniquet, and his legs were poured into leather pants. I
slipped the biker a tumbler of ice water and myself a hefty bourbon, and we sat
on opposite sides of the sullied couch trading stories. Barely touching,
preferring to talk.

I asked him how he had gotten into the whole MC racket, and Carter
told me he'd loved motorcycles since he was “this high,” and found on leaving
high school that he “wasn't fit for any other kind of work.” Got a job working
at a Cuban auto shop, took a shine to the many vintage Harleys there, met the
right guy at the right time, then bang—the rest was history. And what about me?
Skirting the mention of my father's death, I told Knox how my parents had been
a modern-day Bonnie and Clyde, so it had seemed only proper that their
offspring follow in an outlaw's tracks. He asked about Tati, and I rattled off
her life story, too. How she'd never cared much for motorcycles. How she'd
spent all those years of our childhood plotting her eventual escape from the
Coffin Cheaters, engineering an alternate future for herself, while I'd
been...what? Oh, yeah. Twiddling my thumbs.

I remained too afraid to ask the serious questions. Like
where had he actually been, that night when the Styx raided our camp? And what
had the fateful skirmish been about? I'd been told it was a 'land bar,' but I'd
never really known the truth. In fact, we skipped over much of the past in favor
of the future.

“So what really brought you back to Miami?” I ventured.
“Because I was raised under the impression that we threw you bitches out of
town for good.”

He laughed that warm, engrossing laugh. “Believe it or not,
I was sent here on a peaceful scouting mission. Some members of the Styx had
hoped to have a sit-down with the Cheaters and see if we couldn't smooth over
the past, possibly share the county. A lot of the old leaders have died off in
the past few years. And the new Knights? We're not all so hell-bent on
destruction.”

“Mm-hmm.”

“And what about the Cheaters? How do things stand with you
all these days?”

I told Carter about my recent appointment to Den Mother.
About the miserable triumvirate of our leadership—those three sour old-timers
with beer for brains and tempers to boot. I didn't mention Flapper's especially
mean streak, or how he'd come on to me in that horrible way. Looking back, I'm
not sure why.

At long last, we danced back to the issue at hand. “So who
do you think really caused this tiff at Casablanca, huh? Does Scotty have any
enemies?”

Knox's brow furrowed for a moment. He chewed on the inside
of his lip, in thought.

“Have you seen any other
unsavory characters
around?”
I thought using our familiar little code term might provoke a smile,
but...nothing. He still seemed lost in his own ideas.

“It's gotta be somebody new. Some new MC,” the biker said
finally, confirming my original suspicion. I couldn't help but smirk—great
minds did think alike. “I mean, clown masks? No club I know would come calling
in the night like this, on a bunch of civilians.”

“But how could there be some new MC that neither the Styx or
the Cheaters know about? We're supposed to have a monopoly on all south
Florida! From the Everglades to Miami!”

“Come to think of it, I've seen a few kids,” Knox murmured
into his drink. “It's too early to say anything for sure, but I've seen a few
bruisers rolling around on new bikes. Don't know what their beef would be with
Scotty, but I do plan to investigate.” He took another sip of water. “You know
what you should do is ask your druggie sister.”

I threw a light punch at Knox across the couch, and for a
moment felt like I was hanging out with Dog. I resented that! Tati wasn't a
druggie—she was a
groupie
. And despite that whole rock star reputation
thing, I didn't quite believe she was hitting the sauce.

“Tati will be all the way in St. Louis by now.”

“But she's been traveling for a while, isn't that right? She
may not be a biker anymore, but she should have noticed if there was some new
crest floating through the Bible belt. Might be worth a letter, at least.”

I made a mental note. It was high time I wrote to Tati
anyways—no matter how crazy I was convinced she'd find me, the moment I started
rambling on about my new, mysterious knight. Again came that familiar pang of
longing. Everything would be easier if she'd just decided to stick around.

He must have seen some sadness sparkling in my eyes, because
Knox took the initiative and changed the subject, quick. “Something tells me
you still haven't seen our movie,” he tutted.

Dawn had begun to flicker on the horizon. Early morning
birds were rallying, making sound in the trees. That heavy dampness I'd always
imagined was particular to a summer morning in Florida seemed to be oozing
through the cracks in the walls. I was sweating bullets, but I didn't care.

“I don't exactly have time for movies these days,” I yawned.
“By the way? You know, you're right. Bout what you said before.”

“What? What did I say before?”

“That you're a big ole, 'movie-loving softie.'”

“What are you talking about?”

“What kind of
biker
likes old Hollywood?”

“What kind of
girl
rides a bike?”

“You fucker!” I punched him again—lightly, on the shin.

The bourbon had made me pleasantly bold. I reached for Knox's
calf and began to knead the muscles there, and for a bizarre, blissful moment
we might have been an old couple on the couch, having the same old bicker we
always had. I knew it was crazy to indulge in this kind of fantasy, but it was
as he'd said before:
somehow, I couldn't not.

“Some day, I'll show you
my
club. You'll see exactly
how tough I am then, kiddo.”

“Oh, I'm
so scared.
”

“You should be,” the biker said, suddenly alert. He raised
himself onto his elbows, stared straight into my eyes. “The Knights of Styx
don't fuck around. The only women in our club are for fucking. They're our
little sweet asses, or our old ladies. They sit around all day, waiting—then
they beg for it in the evenings.”

Against my will, I felt my spine tingle. All I could manage as
comeback was a croak: “Oh, do they?”

“Yeah. We like to spread our girls wide, tie them up to the
four corners of the bed. Leave them writhing there, craving it, and wait until
the exact moment when they feel they can't stand it anymore. Then, we split them
open. Fuck them so hard they have to muffle their yells in the pillows. We fuck
them so hard their pussies turn raw.”

I was breathless. Unthinkingly, my innocuous little massage
had climbed up the inside of his leg—I didn't even realize I'd been running my
fingers along the taut flesh of his inner thigh.

“...or is that too
softie
for you?” When I glanced
up, Knox's eyes were full of mirth.

“You god-damn son of a BITCH,” I shrieked, yanking a pillow
from the cushions and thwacking his wounded arm.

“Ow! Jesus, it was only a joke!”

“Oh, and you're so fucking funny.”

“Why're you so twisted up?” he chortled. I continued to
pout, and Knox took survey of my profile. Then he cocked his head to one side.
“You want to get fucked like that?”

“Will you shut up?”

“I'm serious. You want to get fucked like that, baby?” When
I met his gaze again, his dark eyes had hardened. There was something dangerous
in them now. Wincing, he drew himself into a sitting position. We were facing
one another on the couch, our eyes—and mouths—just a few inches apart. I felt
the heat of his breath.

“Because if you do want to get fucked like that, just say
the world. Say the word, and I'll bend you over this couch right now. I'll slap
your ass until it's sore. I'll whip my cock out, spread you wide, and fuck you
like a fuckin' animal. I'll be fast. I'll be so hard every part of you will
feel me, every part of you will curve around my dick. It will hurt.” He paused
for effect. “But then I will make your cum rain down my cock, and when you think
we're done? When you're positive you can't take it anymore, you know what I'll
do then?”

I didn't say anything. I was afraid if I did, he'd stop.

“I'll make love to you. I will fuck you like you've never
been fucked, and then I will make such love to you.” Then, sparing me a single
wink, he clammed up. I said nothing for a moment. I could hear the both of us
breathing hard.

“Your arm,” I mustered finally. Carefully, I unwound his
flannel wrap, so the gash running from his elbow to his wrist was showing. The
blood had dried around the wound, and it didn't look so deep as it had before.
Holding his gaze, I lowered my head and kissed it, lightly. He didn't wince.

“You see? I'm a big boy,” Knox said.

“So, not such a softie.” When he laughed this time, it was
the throaty, restorative laugh of our first meeting, by the birdbath. A laugh
that rang carefree.

I began to stroke his arm, lightly. I loved the feel of his
skin below my fingertips. Though we maintained eye contact, I felt the
remainder of my nerves seep away. I wasn't shy, or neurotic, or inexperienced.
That is—for a moment.

With his good arm, Knox grabbed me tight around the wrist.
Still grinning, he pushed my stroking arm down, sliding my palm across the
damp, thatched surface of his chest, his belly. He carried my hand to the top
button of his leather pants, and loosened his grip for a beat. I appeared to
waver for a moment over the dark fabric, but then, as if reading my mind, he
leaned his shaggy head back and nodded:
yes.
My heart racing, I plucked
at the thin button of his pants. I listened, thrilled, to the sound of his
zipper sliding down.

I must have waited for another moment, because Knox grabbed
my hand again. With no little tenderness, he pushed my palm into his groin,
leading my fingers towards his swelling erection. I didn't know quite what I'd
expected to feel, but I found myself audibly sighing once I'd gripped his girth
in my palm. He was so thick. My five fingers could barely close around him. And
he grew more, in my palm. His shaft was warm and smooth. Moving again with the
force of my intuition, I began to slide my enclosed fingers up and down,
slowly, slowly, enjoying the throb of him.

Knox leaned further back against the couch cushions, his
expression strained. He began to grunt. He began to thrust upward into my
strokes, guiding my fingers with the curve of his back. After a few beats of
this, I drew my hands to the sides of his hips, pushing my fingers into the
small divots his bones made. Grabbing hold of his clothed legs, I eased the
tight material down past his cock, until the pants swam around his knees. In
the low light, I gazed for a moment at the full, unadorned sight of his
package. His size (intimidating...). The neat, pert sac below his manhood. The
strung, almost ropy muscles of his inner thighs.

“Put it in your throat,” he grunted above me. My first
reaction was defiance, but then something else took over. “Yes,” I cooed. All I
wanted in that moment was to please him.

I kissed the tip of him, lightly, then began to lick the
head. A few pearls of pre-cum rose; I swallowed these greedily. I gripped his
shaft with one hand and began to stroke faster, faster, while I dragged my
tongue around his opening, making small circles.

“Take it down further,” Knox commanded.

Slowly at first, I pushed more of him into my mouth,
steeling myself hard against the floor. I could barely take it. He began to
push against the back of my throat—hard, deep strokes that almost made me gag.
He took his good hand and pressed this into the back of my hair, so I could
barely breathe around his member. Still, I loved it. I began to suck on him
greedily, my mouth gripping and loosening as my pussy could, my tongue racing
up the sides of his shaft. With one hand, I dug my fingers into the fuzz of his
inner thigh, beginning to knead his muscles there. With my other hand, I leaned
farther forward and cupped his sac. He groaned wildly as I dusted my fingers
over his balls. He grabbed a fistful of my hair and yanked, so hard it hurt.

Carter didn't need to ask for what he wanted next; I found I
knew, instinctively. Continuing to stroke his cock, I pushed my face into the
lowest part of his shaft, then began to lick—lightly—at the smooth, round
surface of his sac. He began to jitter, tickled, as I took his smooth balls
into my mouth. I tugged at his member while I lightly massaged his sac with my
tongue.

“Fuck, I want to get inside of you,” he growled. His hand
was still pressing into my hair. I drew my full attention back towards his
dick, the smooth, massive surface of him. I took him in my throat again and
began to move up and down fast, sucking and sucking and sucking until it was
hard to breathe.

Carter continued to thrust into me, pushing himself deeper
and deeper into my mouth. At one point, I relaxed my mouth and swallowed the
tip of him down to the deepest part of my throat. “Yes!” he cried, so loudly I
was briefly aware of our host in the other room. I found I loved the feel of
him, pushing against me like that. I felt controlled, yet in control.

“Put your hand on your pussy,” Carter whispered then,
turning those violet eyes onto me. “I want you to come while you suck on me.” I
did as he told me. I pushed three fingers below the surface of my jeans and, as
I picked up speed, began to whirl small circles into the risen mound of my
clit. I was already drenched with want.