Chapter 1

Peg

As her hands toy with her drink, Lorelei gives me sly glances through her eyelashes while pretending to examine her glass on the table. A glass full of Californication. A concoction of vodka, gin, white rum and tequila topped up with lemon and orange juice, the bartender had explained merrily as he made it after I, feeling awkward and out of place, had blundered through my request for the cocktail. I hadn’t missed his smirk at me, a hardened biker being forced to ask for such a girly drink with the suggestive sounding name.

Lorelei might be sneaking looks at me, but I’m subjecting her to equal scrutiny. Being here tonight is scarcely different from being on a blind date, neither of us knowing much about each other, our first time meeting in the flesh.

The Satan’s Devils clubhouse is rapidly changing, brothers finding old ladies, fuck, having babies as well. We’ve even got a room set up as a fucking nursery. Has it made them go soft? Nah, I see even more of an edge around my brothers who’ve gone from having a different woman in their bed every night to taking that special one to be a permanent fixture in their life. Their desire to keep the women they love safe sharpening them, giving them new balance. A new focus, and a new meaning to the word protection.

It's not been difficult for them to remain faithful to their old ladies. Once each of them found their soulmate, that seems to be it for them and, watching from the side lines, I’ve no doubt their relationships will last forever. Over the years I’d gotten used to Bullet and Viper being married, but lately the status quo has been turned upside down with Wraith, Drummer, Slick, and Dart in quick succession finding their mates. And even Heart has managed to find happiness for a second time.

My single brothers still don’t understand what makes a man want to settle down, each vowing there’s more fun to be had making use of readily available sweet butts or the hangarounds who come to our parties, or, for that matter, any female who catches their eye. Me? All I’ve ever wanted was to find that one woman I could love, who’d give me a place to come home to and reason to live. I’ve watched with envy as my brothers have settled down.

That’s what I want, an old lady and, hopefully, a couple of kids. Now that would make my life complete.

I thought I had it once, but it was an illusion. Sure, being burnt has made me cautious, but since then nothing resembling anything like the right woman has crossed my path. Which brings me to tonight, the result of an impulse to join the twenty-first century and try online dating.

I’ve not lied to her, she knows exactly who and what I am. We’d spent weeks communicating via instant messaging. Complete disclosure on my part at least, well, as far as I could without discussing club business. I hoped that it had been on hers. I’d been amped up to meet her tonight, neatening my beard, and even, with hopes but no expectation, grooming my man garden. I’m wearing aftershave, something I don’t normally bother to do, and under my cut is a crisp white button-up shirt.

She’s pretty enough but looks aren’t as important as they were when I was younger. She’s wearing a nice dress which outlines her curves, ample breasts, slightly rounded stomach, and hips I could hold onto as I fuck her from behind. Her body is topped by a pleasant enough face, sufficient to interest me.

I’m thirty-seven years old, and time’s getting on. Perhaps the reason I’m still alone is that I’ve been too fussy, so rather than allowing her thin lips or slightly overly large nose to put me off, I try and concentrate on the woman underneath, listening to what she says, hoping that nothing she’s telling me is a lie.

She’s told me about her family. I don’t have much to reciprocate, there’s nothing to tell about mine. Fuck knows who they are. I ask about her job, her likes and dislikes, and so far, so good, in many of the important ways we seem to be compatible.

“Like another?” I offer, though I hope she says no. I don’t like my women drunk. Any offer she might make has to be put forward sober. I won’t take advantage unless it’s with full and conscious consent.

“No.” A quick smile, then, “I’ve had enough, thank you.” Another point in her favour.

A glance at my phone shows me it’s time to bring this evening to an end. I finish my beer, then stand up. “I’ll settle the tab, then take you home.”

A nod, another quick smile. As I go to the bar I turn to confirm the burning sensation I feel on my back is indeed, as I suspected, her eyes staring at me. I wink, she blushes, but before she turns away I’ve seen a spark flare in her eyes.

I’m not too bothered how this night is going to end, in her bed or with just a kiss on the doorstep while we arrange another date. Slow burn, that’s the best way. A chance to really get to know each other before we commit. I can be patient. It’s been months since I last went with a woman. I avoid the sweet butts in the club, not having much inclination to indulge in meaningless sex just because it’s on offer. I want the act to mean something, and to be with a woman who’s all mine, not one who’s been used by everyone else.

At my age, I know I won’t find a virgin, or probably even a woman who hasn’t had a committed relationship before. I’m not looking for perfection, just someone who’s perfect for me. I know she’ll probably have baggage, like Lorelei, who’s divorced. I wouldn’t even mind if she had a kid.

What I won’t compromise on is that spark which must be between us, both in and out of bed. I want to be the man she respects and looks up to. I want her to be my strength, my reason to get up every morning. I want to be her best friend, and her mine. Paying the tab, I turn back to the table, a little uncertain. Tonight’s not yet shown whether Lorelei can be any of that for me. Yeah, take this slowly. That would be best.

I hold out my hand and help her out of her chair, then walk her to the door of the restaurant, my hand to the small of her back. I frown at a man who’s blocking our way, and that’s all it takes before he steps aside with a murmured apology. At my truck I take her around to the passenger side and open her door, helping her step up, then find and pass her the seat belt. Once she’s settled comfortably I go around to the driver’s side, slipping out of my cut as I do so, not wanting to collect a fine for wearing it in a cage.

I’d picked her up from a location where she’d asked to be met, a friend’s house I assume. Now she gives me directions back to her home. A frown plays at my lips, wondering whether I should warn her. She still knows virtually nothing about me. I could have been lying, leading her on, my nefarious purpose to harm her or rob her. Any caution goes unuttered. I’m a man and she’s an attractive woman. I keep my mouth shut.

When we arrive, I tell her to stay put until I can help her down. I slide back into my cut, then once she’s steady on the ground, hold her hand and walk her to the front door with every expectation she’ll turn and wish me a good night. Then I’ll leave, possibly after having made arrangements to see each other again.

Instead, she fumbles in her purse, extracts a key, and puts it in the lock. As she opens the door, she says over her shoulder, “Are you coming in?”

I inhale sharply. “If you’re sure.”

“Oh, I’m sure.”

Is she asking me for a drink, or a coffee, or something more? Not wanting to get my hopes up, even though my cock starts to swell—well it has been months since it saw anything other than my hand—I nod as nonchalantly as I can, and step over the threshold.

Once inside, she shrugs off her light jacket, worn more for fashion than for any actual need—it is late spring after all—then turns to look at me.

“I’ve wanted to say this all evening,” she starts in a husky voice. “Thank you for your service.”

As her hand comes out to land on my chest, I control the urge to flinch. It’s not her touch, it’s her words. I didn’t put my life on the line with any virtuous thought of serving my country. It started as an offered alternative for prison, for some minor infraction which they went down on me hard being as I was already in the biker life. Believing I was simply swapping one set of brothers for another, I took the escape route and had no regrets. Sure, sometimes it was hard, the conditions rough and demanding, but what young man doesn’t like playing with guns and a real-life version of shoot ‘em all up? That there was a possibility of dying never crossed my mind, a young man’s arrogance that nothing could harm him guiding me. A belief that my team could take on anything and survive.

Until we didn’t. I lost friends and received a medical discharge. Had I not, I’d have done a few more tours. I was enjoying myself, simply exchanging one desert for another, one set of rules for a not so different way of life.

No civilian should thank me. I didn’t do it for them, and, well, the way that it ended, for my friends that weren’t as lucky as me, insincere words so easily uttered aren’t nearly enough.

A guilty twinge goes through me, I can’t look her in the eye. I’m the man I am now, not the soldier I was then. If she’s expecting a hero, she’ll be disappointed. I’ve met women like Lorelei before, in both my lives. Giddy young girls wanting to snag a biker, or older women, disregarding anything else but the fact that I’d served.

In reply I just nod, acknowledging her comment, hoping she’s not going to press it. I’m uncertain, not sure whether I can be what she wants me to be, and on the verge of leaving, when fuck me, she turns and says cheekily over her shoulder, “Unzip me?”

My brain might be having second thoughts, but my cock thinks she’s made a brilliant suggestion, and my hands start moving of their own volition, as if receiving instruction from the wrong head. Fastening undone, the flimsy material falls to the floor, and now she’s standing in front of me naked, except for a lacy bra and matching panties in a pale green. Her skin is unblemished, her ass decent enough.

My hands move automatically, now touching her waist, and turning her to face me, I trail my fingers down her breasts over the material. Her nipples peak and her eyes become lidded, and a little gasp escapes her mouth. She’s moving quickly. Fuck, we’ve barely stepped over the threshold. Now I’ve overcome most limitations, but know only too well where I’m most comfortable, and fucking standing up in the hall isn’t it. Especially if I’m auditioning her for a position as my old lady. Our first time shouldn’t be frenzied, instead taken slowly and relished.

“Where’s your bedroom, sweetheart?”

“This way.” A breathy response, and my hands fall as she turns around, her arm reaching back to wrap her fingers around mine as she leads me into her private domain. As she walks off she’s swinging those hips, a sight enjoyed by my cock, making it jump in anticipation.

My dick might be leading me, but my brain’s weighing mixed feelings. If this is the woman I’ll be going to make mine, it feels wrong to jump into bed after just one date. I should leave now. She’d be disappointed and feel rejected. If she’s the right one, she’ll understand.

Even if she’s not, my cock says persuasively, take what’s on offer. Placing the heel of my hand to my dick, I attempt to get him to see reason, but as she looks back, and I see her teeth worrying at her lip, taunting me, offering my swollen organ release for the night, my thinking head gets overridden. If this is just one night, I’ll take it. It’s a clear invitation, no need to feel I’m stepping where I’m not wanted. Two adults, no harm, no foul.

After my slight hesitation, I get my feet moving, and for my reward receive a beaming smile as I follow her into a very feminine bedroom.

“I want to see you.” Wasting no time, she lies prone on the bed, propped up on her elbows. She sounds eager as she waves her hand from my head to my toe. “I want to see all of you.”

What man can refuse such an instruction, especially when there’s an almost naked woman splayed out on her bed offering up everything?

I smirk, knowing I’m in peak condition, and if it’s muscles she’s after, that’s what she’s going to get. I also have no concerns about my endowment. Yeah, I’m not being modest when I say I’m built to impress.

I remove my cut, putting it carefully down on a chair, then slowly unbutton my shirt. If she wants a striptease, I’ll give it to her. My smirk widens as I notice her eyes sharpening, and her tongue coming out to lick her lips as I slip my arms out of my sleeves. I work hard in the gym and know I’ve got a decent six pack, almost an eight, and I don’t carry an ounce of fat.

As I turn slightly to put down my shirt, I hear a sharp indrawn breath. “Turn around.”

I do. I’ve only two tattoos; one for my fallen brothers on my arm, and the large Satan’s Devils patch on my back.

“Wow.”

I grin, that one word showing me she appreciates them.

When I turn back I can see a flush all over her fair skin, and it’s not because it’s warm in the room. She likes what she sees.

Encouraged, I give a suggestive thrust of my hips before tantalisingly lowering the zip. My jeans fall open, but my boxers beneath hide everything except a large bulge. I’m a big man, standing six-foot-five, and every part of my anatomy matches. Her eyes fasten on the clear object of her desire, and once again she moistens her lips. If she wants a taste, I’m not going to protest.

I might not have fucked for a while, but I’m no stranger at this. Before going further, I sit down and take off my boots, then stand again, with my back facing her—hey, she’s got to wait a minute before she gets a close look at the goods—take off my jeans, then unstrap the prosthesis on my leg. Metal parts and love making don’t mix. Now getting to my one remaining foot, I balance easily, hop around, the high bed hiding the part of me that’s missing, and put my hands at the waistband of my boxers.

She’s lying back, head on the pillows, hands behind her head, staring entranced as I make her wait.

“Go on, then.” The encouragement sounds hoarse.

Grinning widely, I slide down my boxers with a flourish and drop my ass on the bed, sliding myself up with the intention to cover her….

She shrieks, covering her mouth with both hands. I’m well endowed, but not that much. As I rear up in confusion, she jumps off the bed and runs to the bathroom.

For a moment, as I hear retching sounds, I can’t connect them to anything I’ve done, my first thought being she’s eaten something that’s disagreed with her. I’m so used to my body, I don’t even think about it nowadays, but, could it be…?

Looking down at my missing leg, I shake my head. Full disclosure, I’d told her what happened to me, carefully explaining what she would be faced with, or rather what she wouldn’t if we ever got down to do the deed. My stump completely healed over years ago now, apart from bones and muscles that should be there, and which are missing, there’s nothing unpleasant to see. She knew. I’d told her. She said she’d be fine.

My mind’s whirring. Whatever, the woman whose body I thought I’d be sliding into is instead throwing up in the next room. With no sex in the cards, I strap back on my prosthesis and pull up my jeans, putting back on my socks and boots. I’m reaching for my shirt when she reappears, her face pale, her hair wet at the edges where she’s just washed her face.

I stand, unsure what to do or what to say, but she shakes her head as I try to approach her, her hands held out as if making an invisible barrier.

“I’m sorry. I thought I could do it. Thought I’d be able to ignore it.”

It is my leg. I roll back my head and close my eyes, fighting to push down my anger. “No need to be sorry,” I say in clipped tones. An apology doesn’t cut it with me. As far as I’m concerned, I could have fucked her as well as any other man. If she’d been taken by surprise it would have been different, but I’d made sure that I’d explained. Hell, there’s been times I’d forgotten to give a warning and the girl I was with had been shocked—now that I could better understand.

Her voice, which I’d thought pleasant earlier, now grates. “But I thought I could do this. You know, fuck you…with your leg like that.”

Something hits me. It’s more about her tone, a thought niggling at me. Forming my features into my normal expression, the one I wear as sergeant-at-arms for the Satan’s Devils MC, the countenance she hasn’t yet seen, I take a step towards her. She takes one back, I take another. She tries to mimic me but comes up against the wall.

Placing a hand over her head and leaning my weight on it, I narrow my eyes. “What are you fuckin’ sayin’?”

Her eyes flit to my hand as if I’m caging her in. Her lip quivers, and goosebumps rise on her skin, still only covered in that lacy underwear that I now have no difficulty ignoring. Without looking down, her hand indicates my leg. “I wanted to do my bit. You know, you vets need someone to take care of your needs.”

A damn pity fuck. She’d had me fooled right up to the last moment.

I stare at her for a second before tearing my eyes away, grabbing my shirt and cut, exit the room and the house before finishing getting dressed. Uncaring what anyone who sees me might think, unable to trust myself to stay in that bitch’s vicinity, let alone keep in any words which might have come out of my mouth. I get into my truck, lay my cut on the passenger seat, and button up my shirt with shaking hands.

Does she really think I can’t get my needs filled by any number of willing women? I know there are a few women who have fetishes and like to fuck amputees, but at least they’re upfront about it, though I’m not particularly keen on being used in that way. Just like I don’t want a woman to force herself to be with me only because I’ve lost half my leg. Pity fuck indeed. She’s done more damage tonight than any other woman who might have turned me down.

She’s lucky I don’t hit women. Ever. If she’d been a man we’d likely have been extending Road’s dirt bike track, where all the bodies are buried. She led me on. Not because I was a biker, not because of any prospects I might have had. What she wanted was far more deviant, to fuck a vet with only one leg. To do her bit. Well fuck you, Lorelei. I don’t need it.

It takes me a minute to calm myself down. I’ve met women aplenty, women attracted by the cut that I wear, women who like an ex-soldier, and even some of those women who get off on going with an amputee. Never one who was trying to force herself to fuck me despite her delicate sensibilities.

My missing leg doesn’t define me. Neither does the fact I ride with the Satan’s Devils nor that I did time in service for my country.

I put the truck into gear and pull out into the night, trying to put the fuck-up of an evening out of my mind.

Where am I going to find a woman who likes me simply for me?

The clubhouse is full by the time I return. Jayden must be babysitting, as all the women seem to be here. Sophie’s sitting on Wraith’s lap, Drummer has Sam lying half across him. Slick’s got his arm around Ella, and Heart’s fussing over Marcia. Even Viper and Bullet are over at the bar with their old ladies. After the night I’ve had, I’ve no desire to join them and have happy couples rubbed in my face.

Before anyone notices my arrival, I turn around, heading up to my suite to swap the keys of my truck for those of my bike. A good ride and hopefully the night air will clear my head and put all thoughts of Lorelei behind me once and for all.

Lorelei. Fuck. What parents name their daughter after a siren that lures sailors to their deaths? Perhaps her name alone should have been enough to warn me off.