CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

“I put out for a good blowjob.” – Preacher

 

 

 

      As sexual health tests go, the many Zara had endured last evening were about as mortifying as anyone could imagine. Rider had been wonderful, he’d taken charge seeing how nervous she was, informed the nurse he and his woman were there to get tested. She hadn’t expected him to as well just to put her at ease, but sure enough, he got swabs and blood taken right along with her. A few days they’d have the results.

     Twenty-four hours later she was still enjoying the thrill of being called his woman.

     "This between us, Icy, it started before this situation, but now that's there in the middle and I'm not sure how to step with you, I can only be me and habitually, if you ask anyone, I’m a pig-headed outspoken motherfucker who doesn’t care about hurtin’ feelin’s so you understand that rubs people wrong, so If I'm being too much of a dick you gotta call me on it, understand? The last person I want to hurt is you. This … this situation what you went through I'm not ignorant to think it's disappeared and it's all magically fuckin' alright again, get me? you tell me what you need to help and I'll see it's done."

     "You can say the words, Rider ... the situation." She smiled tightly at him picking at the hem of her sweater, nervous fingers, awkward conversation. "Rape, abuse, mental torture, physical torture. They're just words, they don't hurt me to hear them, I lived through it, how can a string of little words touch me after that? I'm not fragile."

      She heard him hiss. Even she didn't accept it when it came off her tongue, but the more she said it, thought it, it would hopefully sink it and become somewhat real. "What is it experts say ... and by-the-way, what makes them experts, do they live through the same ordeals and that's what gives them the credit or do they just spout this bullshit to look intelligent? I don't know and I'm getting off on a tangent, time heals all things, right? or so," she air-quoted with her fingers. "they say. You gave me the greatest help and got me out of there. You help by treating me normal, even when you bark at me. I'm not poor Zara to you, and I think I like that most of all, you don't see victim scrawled on my forehead, you don't watch your tongue when you tell me you want to f-- have sex with me. You are helping in all the little ways that just make you, you.

      “Yes, you are a terrible degenerate and an outspoken asshole,” lips twitched, “you like your own way far too much, you say jump and expect me to ask how high biker-master, but I wouldn't change you. Time might not heal, time might not let me forget, and truthfully, I don't think I should forget. The bad and the ugly make us who we are.

      “The Zara from three years ago is dead, she had a different path, a boring path I suspect, one I didn't really want to take, but pressure from my parents, I would have taken it nonetheless, you and I wouldn't have worked three years ago.

      “My walking in on you with that girl ... look what I did, I turned tail and left so fast, embarrassed to hell to see you with your pants down and a girl about to suck you off, I didn't know then it was a setup.

      “Me today, Rider. If I saw the same thing now. I'd drag that girl out by her hair. Maybe punch you, too.”

      His grin was wicked and a little pleased, she noticed. "Really, Icy, all this praise is just gonna go right to my dick…"

     "My point is, I'm not the same person you knew back when. We had one night together, not long enough to know if we would have cared for each other past an orgasm."

      She flushed at saying the word orgasm. Some shy behavior was instilled. Her mother would be mortified her daughter was saying orgasms to a man. "You're not the same person either, mister big bad president, so maybe we get to know each other who we are now, see if we like each other. Dating. Rider and Zara.”

      His expression darkened, it stirred within Zara's belly.  A slick heat.

      What an absurd conversation this had turned out to be while they ate fried chicken from Tony’s place in town.

      So clinical and dry. It somehow suited them, she mused.

      There was no pretense or mind-games. She'd pretty much told him she wanted to see how they fit together, not just in bed. Their mutual desire strangely was the only thing she wasn’t questioning any longer; it was a hot furnace simmering within them both.

      An idea sprung to mind. "Why don't I cook us something tomorrow, you can choose one of your boy movies for us to watch. We go from there.” Three long thumps of her heart before he replied. His eyes piercing.

     "You want to date me, Icy?" His smile twitched giving him a lighter edge to his usually austere face. She waited for his punchline and it didn't take even half a second. "I've never been dated before. I think I want flowers, since you did the askin' not carnations, those are death-fuckin’-weeds ... something bold, to match my excitement."

      His dry humor drew her in and she found herself smiling, reaching over and punching a light fist in his belly, the motion didn't even register.

      Hard, hard belly.

     "You're an asshole, you know that? No flowers, either. That's date three."

     "Hmm ... date three flowers. Got it.  What's sex? I’m hopin’ to hear it’s the first one.  I mean, I'm a cheap date and I put out, you just gotta stroke me the right way."

      Her cheeks glowed. They were flirting and it felt nice.

     "Date never if you keep being a smartass." Maybe pre-date sex, but she wouldn't share that with him. As he rose, he stepped between the space separating them and cupped Zara's face, using his thumbs to tip up her chin. The deliciousness of the simple gesture worked through her, warming her like silky butter straight from the stove.

     There was nothing he did that didn't affect her.

     She savored the feelings he evoked, after being cold inside, his warmth was becoming addictive.

      Rider addicted. Yep, sounded about right.

     If Rider was the storm, then she was the idiot chasing it to experience that terrifying thrill of being in the eye if only for a second. If she was going to grab at life again, to wake up finally, she was going to do it one President at a time, starting and ending with Rider.

      And Jesus, he excited the hell out of her on a level she didn’t even know existed, like did all women feel this for their men?  with just a look or the rust in his voice with his every baby. The punch flash of lust was very real.

       The things he spoke as though he didn’t care about filters.

      The liberties he took. The way he seemed attuned to her body and needs.

      Maybe If she kept it purely physical, it would be okay, she believed. She could do that, because what on earth did she know about a relationship and how it functioned well?

      Dates and sex.

     Mostly she just wanted to get to the sex, even if she wanted to vomit on her shoes, to check if she could do it, to have someone in her body.

      The dating portion was her being a chicken-shit and prolonging, because as she knew Rider was good to go on the sex.

      She wouldn't allow her eyes to trail down to his jeans, feeling him hard against her hip was proof enough.  Rider was unapologetically cocky like he expected the world to fall in line with his commands. He was bull-headed and spoke whatever came to his mind regardless of the subject matter and he was more than ninety percent caveman.

      But he was hot, so freaking beautiful, too handsome for an outlaw, dammit.

      And sweet. Did she mention hot? like seriously melt panties hot,

      Man, that sucked because she felt herself turn soft whenever he smiled at her.

     "Are you going to kiss me or just keep on looking?" His stare was so intent she wondered exactly what he saw when he looked this deeply at her, what was going through his mind.     

     Thumbs brushed her lower lip.

      These times with him were the most intimate moment she'd shared in a long time. It was just like riding a bike, she told herself, grinning inwardly. Because Rider was nothing like a bike. I want to ride him, though. She was going to try at least.

      He hummed from the back of his throat. A lovely pleasure noise she felt in her belly.               

      Lower.

     "Was thinkin' bout it. I need to get to church, Outlaw’in’ waits for no man, baby." Zara laughed at his seriousness although a smile tugged at his mouth. What a bizarre conversation, from dating to untold biker violence, but oh, it just felt right.

     "Oh well then, can't hold you up from that now can we, kiss me, Rider."

      When he groaned even she felt it vibrate against her belly, a great hungry tiger noise, she leaned up on her toes meeting him halfway. Eager for his mouth.

      Oh, what a kiss.

      Open, wet, slow. Delicious.

      All his tongue stroking hers.

      He teased her lips so patiently, coaxing her to open, to join him in that erotic caress. She wasn't aware of balling her fists in the front of his shirt until it was time to draw away. She swayed a little dizzy, unclenched her fingers releasing him reluctantly. The man knew how to kiss, going to her head like a decent bottle of Casa Noble Tequila making her forget everything but his lips.

      He charged her, in some primal, tangible way that another man just wouldn't successfully achieve. She was primed for one man only.

      A bad biker man.

     As though he guessed exactly what he did to Zara, Rider's expression softened and his neck bent again, dropping a kiss to the tip of her nose. His sharp smile was killer.

     "Get ready for our date, baby. I'm ready for you to date my fuckin' brains out. " With that, and a sexy wink tossed her way, he strode out and Zara watched.

      The back view of Rider wasn't bad. Wasn't bad at all.

 

 

******

 

      Shit. He yanked in a gulp of air on a staggered inhale, scraping a hand to the back of his neck. Strides taking him along one of the corridors heading towards the church and all he could taste was her.

      Zara occupying all his mind.

      Rider had never felt so stressed out with one light conversation before. Maybe because it meant so fucking much. His Icy-old lady wanted to date him. Funny.

      When all he could think about was sinking deep into heaven with his cock, but he’d do this for her ‘cause he could see a future with her, something past a fast fuck when the itch wore off. This had to be the longest time he'd waited to fuck a woman in his history of first wetting his dick. Strung tight, he was gonna have blue balls until he died.

      “Why we the first ones at the table these days, Prez, we needta buy you a watch?”

     “Bossman has better things to do with his time than spend it looking at your undesirable face, Snake.” Offered Texas in his smooth polished voice.

      The others laughed while Rider strode across the church to take his seat at the head of the table. At his right sat, Hawk and at his wrist was the famous Renegade Souls’ dark oak gavel that had been passed down from president to president. A sacred part of church.

      “Yeah, he does. “Smirked Snake rubbing his mouth, eyes sparked amusement. Rider arched his brow at him but otherwise stayed silent. His brothers were in a mood, he found when another piped in.

      “And she’s so big with blonde hair.” grinned Pretty-boy. "And has a thing for the Prez if her moon-eyes are anything to go by."

      "Moon-eyes. Who the fuck are you and what pussy did you just crawl out of?" Snake stuck his tongue into the side of his mouth, goading Pretty-boy who didn't bite.

      “Good cook, too,” interjected Tiny. “And she beat me at Sudoku. Smart.”

      “That ain’t hard, Tiny. Can you even count to ten?” The quick-fire question came from Snake again, the jester of the hour.

      Rider let the conversation slide on by him. Occupied with thoughts of what he'd do on this date with Zara. All he came up with was sex. One track fucking mind and he liked it that way.

      “I’m not hung up on numbers, but I do like giving multiple orgasms.”

      Barks of laughter peeled, even Rider smiled casting his gaze around the table at each of his men, his brothers, deciding to give them a minute of normal before the meeting got under way. They all needed it, it felt as though they’d been at war for a long fucking time and even though the matter of Hades still loomed, Rider wasn’t worried, they’d track him down and right now harmony was good for his club.

      Tiny’s declaration got him a round of guffaws and slurs of you fucking wish, bro.

      “Are we sure we want him patched in the gang, Prez?” Joked Pretty-boy.

      Snake whipped back. "It's not a gang. It's a loose association of rugged outdoorsmen."

      “You young-uns with the bragging, while me, I sit here confident in my dick abilities without saying a word, boys.” Announced a cocky Preacher.

      Jokes bantered back and forth. It felt right and good. Rider sat back in his chair and observed his club brothers.

      The day he’d put his Prez patch on the leather cut, that was it. There was no going back and unless he got dead sometime soon, or a freak vote happened and his brothers ousted him, then Rider had been all in, all the time day one, this was the place he loved and sweated blood for. He led his men, he ruled, he said what went and when.

      He’d put his club first before anything many times because it was the right thing to do. When he butted heads with his own father, spending an inordinate amount of time on useless arguments, his father who had so many outdated concepts Rider got fucking sick of talking to him, the man didn’t have a forward-thinking bone in his body.

     Unlike Rider. Who didn’t relent. Who didn’t walk away from his club. It wasn’t just a hobby as outsiders saw it to be, something to fuck around with on motorcycles, nah, this was a way of life, he was judge and jury, he was fucking executioner when he had to be.

      Did it mean he couldn’t have a life of his own, too? Cause that’s what he’d thought for a long time and he’d been fine with it, until now.

      Now he was going to change that, make a slice of his MC life that was just his. Zara.

     Thinking about his old man put Rider in a sour mood, happened all the time. He could just hear what he’d say if he knew Zara was in the picture. And that was about as far as he allowed his thoughts to get, because he was his own man, own president and no one was going to get in the way of what he wanted.

 He finally brought the noise to a halt.

     Before any club business was even put on the table Preacher whipped out his long arm and pulled the plate of fresh baked cookies and their vanilla sweet scent towards him hogging the whole damn dish, one motored into his mouth, he chewed and swallowed, another soon followed.

     "Couldn't you have waited to feed your face? We're not having a tea party, brother."

     Another cookie disappeared between Preacher's smiling lips, he winked at his accuser, running his fingers down his meticulously styled beard.

     Preacher didn’t fuck around when it came to grooming. With his head shaved close to the skin around the sides, chocolate brown hair long on top, always caught up in a stubbed tail. His dark facial hair, as he liked to say, was a reflection on the kind of man he was, bad to the bone but stylish with it, was trimmed close to his jawline, around his lips, the beard growing down in a perfect three-inch point, he played with it when he was tense and Rider took note his brother was doing just that as he fed his face with more of the cookies laid out.

      Far as he knew none of the boys baked fancy shit, the clubhouse was mostly a meat and potatoes kinda flop for grub. Had his girl been whipping up sweet shit in the kitchen for everyone?

     "I'm a growing boy, I gotta eat. I can still listen to Rider. It’s called multitasking, Tex, you wanna learn it."

     "You're thirty-fucking-two, I think you already stopped growing!"

      The President in question cocked his head and pinned Preacher with a look, passed it across to Texas before another wise-ass remark came from him.

      It was like corralling toddlers sometimes.

     "Preach, just ‘cause you fuck two women at once doesn’t mean you got any multi-task skills going on.” Rider felt the need to advertise with a wide smirk and everyone guffawed banging hands on the table top. This table had seen a lotta shit over the years. Good times, bad times. Hopefully, Rider thought, they were coming out the other end and finally gonna see some good again.

     Preacher sent a filthy grin down the table at Rider. Finished off the last cookie, his fingers coasting down his beard and back up again, and replied deadpanned, green eyes amused. “Look who’s talking, boss-man, getting yourself all jacked-up over one pretty chick. Just warn us if you’re ‘bout to throw the wedding bouquet, I wanna get out the way of these girlies diving for it."

      Rider laughed. “Fuck you.” Fired his middle finger, “Now if you ladies finished with the gossipin'. Let’s get this wrapped up quick. I have a date to get fuckin’ ready for.” He said it with a smile and waited for the jokes that would inevitably come.

      All his brothers barked out laughing, didn’t let him wait long, one fired after the other about how he was pussy-whipped.

      A Souls outlaw dating. Even Rider could see the joke.

      New times were happening around the Renegade Souls.