Chapter Nine
Dinner was fun. Full of spirited conversation, laughs, and teasing. It was a strange feeling. Like old times yet also shiny and new. The three of them fell into a comfortable rhythm as though no time had passed, yet so much was different. Marcie was older for one thing—hell, all of them were—but it was most noticeable with her. Where she had been a girl the last time they’d all been together, she was a woman now. A gorgeous woman. A gorgeous woman Hook wanted in his bed more than he wanted his next breath.
Her bubbly personality emerged more and more throughout dinner. It was as though Tanner had been holding her back, stifling the real Marcie. Before he knew it, she was laughing and joking as if no time had passed. That sound, the joyful ring of her amusement, pulled all the blood to his cock and he spent the majority of dinner hard as a stone beneath the cover of the outdoor table.
“I feel like I’ve been rambling the entire time. You guys must be sick of hearing about me. Tell me everything that’s happened around here since I left.” Her eyes sparkled and her face had an adorable flush to it. Probably a combination of the heat of the day and the three beers she’d drank with dinner.
Hook didn’t care how much she rambled on. He could listen to her all night. Listen to her and just watch her move in that provocative dress that made her look fresh and innocent. Christ, he was becoming a sappy motherfucker. Striker smirked at him like he knew the direction of Hook’s thoughts. He flipped his brother the bird, discretely, so Marcie wouldn’t notice.
“Actually, Marce, I gotta take off.” Striker rose from the table, the shit-eating grin on his face even bigger than it as a second ago. The asshole would bust Hook’s balls for weeks to come given the way Hook had been drooling over Marcie. “I have some shit to take care of at the clubhouse.” He strolled around the table and dropped a chaste kiss on Marcie’s head. She stared up at him with affection and love, but none of the smoky desire her green eyes held when she looked at Hook.
Thank God for that. And thank God Striker seemed to feel as brotherly toward her now as he had ten years ago. Because Hook would have one hell of a fight on his hands if Striker wanted more from her.
“Glad you’re here, baby doll. I hope you’ll think about sticking around for a bit.”
Marcie stood and hugged Striker tight. “I just might do that.” Hook met her gaze over Striker’s shoulder. He’d do everything in his power to make sure she stayed. At least until they had the chance to explore the sizzling heat between them.
“Want to go for a ride with me?” he asked after Striker disappeared around the side of the house and Marcie returned to her seat.
She glanced at the setting sun then gave him a beaming smile. “I’d love to.” She pointed to her dress. “But I’m not exactly dressed for it and it’s already getting cool.”
Damn, he couldn’t wait to feel her wrapped around him on his bike. “I’ve got something to keep you warm.”
She raised a sassy eyebrow and he barked out a loud laugh. “I mean a jacket, babe, but I like where your dirty mind is going.” He winked and hopped up from the table. “Be right back.” With quick steps, he darted into the house and retrieved the leather jacket he’d purchased for her earlier in the day. No question, he’d hoped this night would end speeding through the desert with Marcie on the back of his bike. Okay, so he hoped the night would end with screaming orgasms, but this was a perfect place to start.
“You just had that lying around, huh?” she asked as he emerged with the jacket.
Hook’s face heated. Thank fuck Striker had gone. He’d torture Hook to death if he knew Hook was one step away from blushing. What the hell was it about Marcie that turned him into a fuckin’ teddy bear? Well, that wasn’t entirely true. He’d been more like a grizzly an hour ago with Tanner, and would be that way with any threat to her. Couldn’t help it. He wanted to protect her, take care of her, wrap her in cotton and ensure nothing evil ever touched her. She’d known too much of that in her childhood. Didn’t matter how much she professed she could take care of herself. He still wanted the job.
“I…uh…oh fuck it. I picked this up earlier today. Since I saw you last night, I’ve been dying to have you on my bike.” Christ, was that just last night?
“Well, thank you.” She reached for the offered jacket. “You’re very sweet, Hook.”
He grunted.
“Don’t worry,” she said as she slipped the jacket on. “I’ll keep that to myself. Well? What do you think?” She twirled on her heel, arms out.
He swallowed. Maybe he’d just bend her over the table and fuck her right here. That flirty yellow sundress under the bad-girl leather jacket was enough to give him a stroke. “Smokin’, baby,” he said, adjusting his stance as the stiffness in his groin grew uncomfortable behind his jeans.
“What are we waiting for?” Marcie winked and sashayed past him, her hot-as-hell ass twitching just below the jacket.
Goddamn this woman fucked with his control.
~ ~ ~ ~
Excitement zinged through Marcie’s blood. She hadn’t been on the back of a bike in…well, ten years. And then it had always been Striker’s crappy old bike he’d worked his ass off to restore. She racked her brain trying to remember a time Hook had taken her on a ride on his junky buke, but couldn’t recall any instances. Huh. Well she couldn’t wait for it now.
She felt…good, light and happy. Tanner had been out of her life for just one hour and she already felt like a new woman. Although if she was being honest, Hook was primarily responsible for the giddy enthusiasm that practically had her bouncing after him toward his garage.
The heavy metal door slid up and Hook ducked under when it was about halfway open. Marcie followed suit and gazed around the garage. Two motorcycles—worlds nicer than what he’d had as a kid—and some kind of sporty-looking car filled the large space along with some tools, an extra refrigerator and a few cases of beer. Typical man stuff.
“Here, Marce.”
She turned to find Hook standing next to one of the bikes, a shiny black helmet extended toward her. “Thanks,” she said as she reached for the helmet. She worked it down over her short locks—which would look just fantastic after the helmet came back off—and fastened the clasp.
“Let me adjust it.” Hook finagled the strap until it hugged her chin in a snug but not uncomfortable fit. “Good to go.” He patted the top of the helmet and turned to the bike.
Marcie tried not to ogle his ass as he swung a leg over the bike and donned his own helmet. She really tried. But it was a useless effort. The man had a prime backside. What could she say?
“Hop on, babe.”
“You know,” she said as she slipped into position behind him and tried to tuck her dress under her legs, “I don’t think I’ve ever been on a bike with you before. A million times with Striker, but never with you. Isn’t that weird?”
Hook grunted. “No, babe. It’s not weird. In about thirty seconds, you’ll find out exactly why I never had you on the back of my bike.” With that cryptic statement, he fired up the bike and rolled them out of the garage. “Ready?”
“You bet.” Feeling like a kid on Christmas morning, Marcie molded herself to Hook’s back and hugged tight around his waist. He twisted the throttle and shot off down the road.
And then, she got it. Fully understood the reason Hook hadn’t allowed her teenage self to ride with him. All along her stomach and breasts, the corded muscles of his back bunched and flexed as he steered. His firm, bounce-a-quarter-off-it ass nestled in the V of her legs, providing just enough friction to make sitting still difficult. The position was perfection, like they were two puzzle pieces built to fit just so.
It was foreplay. Plain and simple. And her body reacted in the predictable way, dampening her panties and preparing her for something that might not happen. Could he tell? Could he feel the searing heat generated between their bodies? She should be ashamed, but the need rising inside her was fast overcoming any bashfulness.
Her nipples were hardened points that throbbed for his touch. Growing desperate for some kind of satisfaction, Marcie pushed her chest into his back. If she could just get the right angle. If the hard ridges of his muscles could just press into her nipples the right way, maybe she could find some relief from the deep ache.
Please don’t let Hook notice. Christ, she was practically humping his back. He’d think she was a pervert for sure.
In the next instant, a strong hand landed just above her left knee. The heat from his palm seared her bare skin. And she thought she’d be cold without pants. She was going to spontaneously combust any second now.
Hook slid his hand up her thigh, giving a light squeeze before returning to her knee. He knew. That had to be his way of letting her know he was fully aware of her predicament.
Question was, what did he plan to do about it?