Thornhill Road (Love Me Tender)

Chapter Eight

Tess

Three Days Later

I was more tired than usual. I couldn’t remember how long it had been since I’d struggled through a double this much. It wasn’t the work itself. For the most part, my patients were stable. I simply hadn’t been sleeping well.

Not since Saturday night.

I tried not to think about Mustang.

We’d had one night together—that couldn’t have been enough to mess with my sleep.

I hoped, after working twenty hours straight, I could get in a decent few hours.

When I turned onto Ramshorn Avenue, I groaned when I saw Lance’s car and not Mitchell’s parked in front of Sharon’s house. I knew I needed to have a better attitude about him, but the thought of pretending I liked him for the duration of my visit wore me out just thinking about it.

I was grateful he didn’t meet me at my car door.

I downed the rest of the coffee I’d had time to pick up on the way, then gathered my things to head inside.

Lance was quick to answer the door.

“Hey, Tess,” he said in greeting.

“Hi, Lance. How you doin’? How’s your mom?”

Respecting the routine, Lance filled me in on how Sharon had been fairing since my last visit. When I was up to speed, I went to spend some time with my patient. I had about forty-five minutes alone with her before I felt Lance hovering at the door. Unfortunately, Sharon was pretty tired that day. When she drifted to sleep, it felt silly to stay, which meant clocking in a few more minutes with Lance before I left.

I packed my supplies into my bag, then looped the straps over my shoulder as I made my way toward him. “Did you want to talk?”

“Yeah. That’d be great.” He led the way into the kitchen and asked, “Can I get you anything?”

“I’m good. Thank you.” I leaned against the kitchen island. “How you holdin’ up? Really?”

With some family members and loved ones, it was difficult to maintain a healthy emotional distance. With Lance, it was no struggle at all. He spoke and I listened, responding at the appropriate times. I tried to be a comfort, knowing he deserved compassion as much as the next person.

When our conversation drew to a close, he hugged me. It didn’t feel like a friendly hug, his large hands splayed across my sides. I was immediately uncomfortable. I patted his back, in an effort to signal he could let go, but he held on a moment longer.

“Lance, I should be going,” I told him, gently pushing my way out of his arms. “I don’t want to be late for my next patient.”

“Sure. I understand.”

“You hang in there,” I said with a wave.

Once on the other side of Sharon’s front door, I freed a heavy sigh and wiped off my fake smile.

I had one more patient, and then I could go home.

Much as I wanted a quick ten-minute nap, I was not hanging out in Sharon’s driveway with Lance inside. I’d squeeze it in after I reached Thornhill Road.

Except, twenty minutes later, when I turned down Ed’s street, I got a jolt of energy that completely eradicated any possibility of a nap.

This was because, parked on the far side of Ed’s driveway, was a blue Harley.

And leaned up against it, in his usual attire, but with the addition of aviator sunglasses, was Mustang.

I wondered why he was there.

Was it for me? Or Ed?

It seemed safer to hope it was for the latter.

Unfortunately, my heart rarely played it safe.

Anxious to learn of his intentions, I didn’t dally after I pulled in next to him and put my car in park. Grabbing my things, I stepped out, closed my door and murmured, “Hi.”

He didn’t speak right away.

I couldn’t see his eyes, but I didn’t think I imagined the heat which traveled across my body following his gaze as he looked me up and down.

A zing sparked in my belly.

Finally, he asked, “You think I let just any bitch on the back of my hog?”

My spine stiffened, having expected a different kind of hello.

Clearly, he was there for me.

I had to admit, I hadn’t left in the best way on Sunday morning—but I didn’t particularly like being called a bitch . Suddenly, I was way too tired for this conversation.

“I don’t know,” I snapped.

“Well, I don’t, Tess. My hog is not a carnival ride, and I sure as fuck don’t use it to get laid. Got a patch on my kutte that’ll get me all the pussy I want. I put you at my back, I take you to my bed, I wake up and you’re gone—no note, no nothin’—I take offense to that.”

I couldn’t fault him for what he’d said. All of that was very fair. Even badass bikers had feelings, and I understood how he might have thought I’d used him.

Feeling deflated, I told him honestly, “I’m sorry.”

“Gonna have to do better than that, sugar.”

“Mustang, I didn’t know, okay? I didn’t know it was such a big deal to go for a ride. You don’t even know me, so why did you offer in the first place?”

“Tess, I’ve been inside you. You’re no stranger.”

I huffed, flustered by the reminder—especially in light of the fact that, seeing him standing there by his bike, even though I knew I needed to redraw a boundary line between him and me, I couldn’t stop thinking about how he’d first kissed me in front of the clubhouse.

“That was after the ride, so my point still stands,” I argued.

He pushed away from his Harley and came toward me until we stood toe-to-toe. I had to tilt my head back to look at him as he said, “I know you sat at the bar, didn’t say shit for forty-five minutes, just listened to the music like that was enough conversation for you, and that made me want you more than I already wanted you the second I caught a glimpse of those fuckin’ pink heels. Then you got on the back of my hog and rode for an hour without signaling you wanted to get off—and somethin’ tells me, I don’t stop, we’d still be ridin’, baby. So, I know enough to know we’re not done.”

Before I could draw in my next breath, his fingers were in my hair. He grabbed a fistful, held my head still, then crushed his lips against mine.

Just like the first time, my knees were instantly useless.

The only thing I could think to do was grab hold of his kutte, part my lips, and sigh.

He swept his tongue through my mouth, I was reminded of all that was Mustang, and I was powerless against my own desire.

When I was younger, my dad warned my brother and me to never do drugs.

Not even once.

All my life I’d listened to him—until Saturday night.

In that moment, Mustang kissing me deep and greedy, I understood it only took one hit to create an addict.

Before I was ready, he pulled his mouth away from mine.

“Let me take you to dinner tonight.”

Still in a fog after that kiss, I shook my head and muttered, “Mustang—”

“What time do you work in the morning?” he asked, cutting me off.

“Um, six o’clock, which means I’m up at four.”

“Fine. Early bird special it is.”

“What? No.” I regained my footing and pulled back a little as I told him, “I need to go home and sleep. This is my last stop. I’ve been awake for almost forty-eight hours and—”

He cut me off again. This time with a kiss.

The footing I regained was lost once more as he wrapped his free arm around my waist and hauled me closer.

Regrettably, this kiss was much shorter.

“Give me your address,” he demanded, his lips still grazing mine. “I’ll meet you there when you’re done here, cook you dinner before I fuck you; then you can get that sleep you need.”

Even in his hold, I still managed to fall a little.

His grip around me tightened as the corner of his mouth stretched into a half-smile.

Another zing ricocheted in my belly.

“Address, baby.”

My address fell right out of my mouth.

He repeated it, then the hand that was in my hair let go in order to reach down and squeeze one side of my butt.

A thrill raced up my spine at that promise.

“What time will you be home?”

“Quarter after four, if Ed’s okay,” I breathed.

He jerked his chin in a nod. “Gonna let you go now, sugar. You good?”

“Mmhmm,” I hummed, willing my legs to function.

Mustang let me go, then turned, mounted his bike and started her up.

Without another word, he was gone.

Apparently, I’d see him at a quarter after four.

Unless, maybe, I’d dreamed all of that.

I reached up and brushed my fingers across my lips, deliriously wondering if I’d just squeezed in a ten-minute nap.

Either way, I had a job to do.

One more patient, and then I could go home.

I shook my head clear and headed for the door.

Using the spare key Ed had given me, I let myself inside. Still, I knocked and called out, “Ed? It’s Tess.”

“Yup. In here,” he replied.

I found him in his recliner in front of the television, the volume turned down low.

The first couple of visits, I’d pulled a chair into the room from the kitchen so I could sit while I charted after his physical exam. I noticed this time the chair was already there. This made me smile, and I sat my bag on it before I went to stand beside his recliner.

“How are you feeling today?”

He shifted his attention away from the TV and told me, “Like shit. Not much different than yesterday.”

“Okay. How about we define shit ,” I suggested, half teasing, half serious.

We talked for a few minutes before I got on with his exam. When we were done, we went over his prescriptions, and I made note of a couple refills I’d need to call in soon. A fresh wave of exhaustion hit me when I sat down with my tablet, and I hummed softly as I charted, so as to keep myself awake.

“My Mary-Kate used to hum while she worked,” said Ed.

My head jerked up, and I stopped humming.

That was the first personal information he’d given me without prompting.

Mary-Kate .

Another puzzle piece clicked into place.

“Your wife?” I asked, opening the door in case he felt like talking.

He frowned down at his lap and muttered, “Yeah.”

Aware memories of his wife were obviously painful, I treaded lightly.

“How long has it been since you heard her hum?”

“Twenty years, now.”

'All in—twenty years. Makes me more Stallion than anything else.'

It felt like cheating, extracting information from Ed to piece together the incomplete picture of what happened between father and son that kept Mustang out on the driveway rather the inside, on the chair I occupied. Even more so because Ed didn’t know I knew his son.

“Miss it,” said Ed, pulling me from my thoughts. “Wouldn’t mind if you kept goin’.”

I didn’t even know what I’d been humming before. It was simply one of my tricks for when I got too tired. Yet, something told me it didn’t matter what I hummed, he’d find some sort of comfort in it anyway—so, I started up again while I finished his chart.

I didn’t ask anymore questions, and Ed didn’t volunteer anymore information for the remainder of our visit. When it was time for me to go, I promised I’d see him in a couple days and reminded him to call me should he need to see me sooner.

I let myself out, locking up as I went, then got in my car and pointed it toward home.

I lived in a two bedroom, one and a half bath townhouse I’d purchased a couple years before. It was a bit of a fixer upper I hadn’t yet done much to fix, but the price had been right. It was possible I might have had a new fridge or an upgraded stove if I hadn’t spent over a thousand dollars on a new pair of jeans and a killer pair of red-sole Louboutin heeled sandals—the straps adorned with silver spikes—but I had my priorities. I didn’t want a new stove for my birthday.

Auto-pilot got me home, my head in a fog as I drove. Then, for the second time that day, I turned down a familiar street, and I saw that blue Harley—Mustang leaned up against it. He was parked by the curb, since my driveway was only big enough to accommodate my single car garage.

Safe to say, I hadn’t gotten that ten-minute nap after all.

He came. He actually came.

Mustang was staring down at his phone until he heard me as I approached. I saw him pocket it before I lost sight of him as I pulled into my garage. By the time I got out of my car, he was walking toward me with a sack of groceries dangling from his inked fingers.

“Hope you’re not a vegan or some shit.”

The tired laugh that bubbled out of me couldn’t be helped.

“No. Not a vegan. What’s in the bag?”

“Food. Sooner you let me inside, sooner it’ll be edible, sooner we get you to bed.”

Bed. I’d been thinking about my bed for hours now.

Tired as I was, all of a sudden, it wasn’t sleep I was thinking about.

Still, I hesitated. I hadn’t been expecting a guest when I left for my nightshift the day before.

“Um—I can’t remember the state in which I left my place, so—”

“Tess? Sooner you let me inside, sooner food’ll be edible, sooner we get you to bed. Inside, baby.”

Excitement rippled through me as I murmured, “Right. Okay,” then turned to head inside.

The door to my garage was located kitty-corner to my front door, both at the bottom of my staircase. When I walked inside, I hung my purse on the wooden bulb at the end of its railing, like I always did, then took a right through my narrow living room to my kitchen.

Even though the two rooms were pretty much adjoined, the previous owners tried to make a distinction between them by painting the living room a soft yellow while the kitchen was mint. It wasn’t exactly my style, so my furniture didn’t match. Needless to say, painting was another thing I hadn’t gotten around to yet.

Though, I didn’t concern myself with my home décor issues as I tried to keep ahead of Mustang enough to pick up or hide anything I may have left out that was potentially embarrassing.

Fortunately, I found nothing. At least, not on the first floor.

I stood at the mouth of my kitchen, beside my round table with the cozy, cushioned, wicker back chairs. Mustang breezed right by me, setting the groceries on the counter by the sink before hooking his sunglasses in the collar of his shirt.

“Point me to your spices and I need a skillet,” he said as he went to wash his hands. “Anything else, I’ll root around until I find it. You can hop in the shower or whatever you do to unwind while I work. Thirty minutes tops.”

“Spices are in the cabinet to the left of the stove, and the skillet is to the bottom right.”

He dried his hands with a couple paper towels, then I watched as he went for the spices first, hunting for the ones he was after and plucking them out when he found them.

To say it felt surreal to see Mustang at work in my kitchen would have been a massive understatement. It felt odd to just leave him there. I wasn’t sure if I could unwind while he was busy cooking with my skillet on my stove. It all seemed backwards. So, I just stood there—staring.

When Mustang noticed, he stopped what he was doing and gave me his pretty, hazel-blue eyes as he assured me, “Tess, I got this.”

Unsure what to say, but somehow certain he wasn’t going to continue his task until I left him to it, I turned on my heel and headed for the stairs. Remembering my phone needed a charge, I dug it out of my purse along the way, then hooked a left when I reached the second level and hurried for my bedroom.

I hadn’t made my bed, and my dirty clothes hamper was overflowing out of my closet. I did what I could to straighten up, then rifled through my dresser for something to wear post-shower.

I debated with myself about whether or not there was any point in putting on underwear—especially considering I was so clearly behind on laundry—and came to a swift conclusion. I plucked a pair of cotton shorts and an oversized tee out of a drawer, then left my some-what tidy room to take a shower.

Even though I skipped washing my hair, I was under the water for a solid fifteen minutes. I hadn’t shaved in days, and I didn’t want Mustang to know that. Once I was dried and dressed, I let my hair down and ran a brush through it a few times. Glancing at my reflection, I noted I’d habitually washed my face in the shower, which left me with no makeup. Deciding makeup was just as pointless as underwear, I abandoned my reflection in order to return to the kitchen.

The smell of food hit me halfway down the stairs, and my stomach growled.

It smelled good.

I took one step onto the linoleum, and Mustang asked, “You like cheese on your burger?”

He’d made hamburgers. Yum.

“Yes.”

“Sit, baby.”

I pulled out a chair and did what I was told.

Not five minutes later, I had a plate with a cheeseburger and potato chips in front of me. He’d even brought over ketchup, mustard, and mayo so I could dress my bun the way I liked.

I was a bit beside myself.

I’d never had a man cook me dinner before. Certainly not in my kitchen.

It hardly made sense that a member of the Wild Stallions MC would be the first.

Mustang took the seat next to mine, dressed his bun, then dove right in.

My stomach growled a second time, and I followed his lead.

“Thank you,” I murmured before I took my first bite.

His mouth full as he chewed, he answered with a jerk of his chin.

Something told me he probably would have answered the same way even if his mouth was empty.

After I was done with my first bite—which was delicious—I asked, “Are burgers your thing? Or do you cook anything else?”

“Burgers are fast and easy. Cook other shit, too. Take-out is garbage. Unless I’m on the road for an extended period, home cooked is my preference.”

I was as impressed as I was surprised. At every turn, he was proving to be equal parts badass and interesting.

“That’s very health conscious of you,” I said before I took another bite.

“Ate garbage for a few years when I was broke. Metabolism kept up with me. Not worried about me. Got a kid. Don’t want her growin’ up with some whack relationship with food.”

For a moment, my jaw stopped working. I had to make a conscious effort to keep chewing as I processed what he’d said.

He had child.

Then I remembered the two little footprints over his heart.

I spoke around my food as I murmured, “The feet on your chest…”

“MK’s.”

At this rate, it was questionable whether or not I’d ever get through my burger.

I forced myself to swallow before I inquired, “MK?”

“Mary-Kate. She’s four. And before you ask, her mother and I are cordial— barely . MK was not planned. Least, not by me.”

“But you love her,” I blurted, my brain still trying to piece together the significance of everything he was saying.

He lowered his burger, looked me straight in the eye and answered, “More than life.”

Oh, god.

He’d named his daughter after his mom. A daughter he loved more than life.

This told me three things.

First, he likely loved his mother more than life, too—and she was dead.

Second, he found out he was going to be a father to a kid he did not plan for, and rather than bail, he staked his claim on her by naming her after a woman he’d loved and lost.

Third, I was in over my head.

Mustang wasn’t just a badass biker.

He was everything I knew I wanted in a man.

He was hard on the outside and sweet on the inside. Any man who preferred home cooked meals because he had a little girl he didn’t want to grow up with a whack relationship with food couldn’t be categorized as anything less than sweet and fatherly, and I totally loved that.

I loved it too much.

I was going to have to find a way out of this.

I didn’t know how, but I knew if I didn’t act soon, I’d fall so hard for him, he wouldn’t just break my heart.

He’d wreck it.

Certain I couldn’t handle any further revelations, I stopped asking questions and focused on eating my dinner. Mustang was not the least bit bothered by this. I knew because he cleaned his plate without saying another word. When he was done, he leaned back against his chair, kicked out one foot, and waited patiently for me to finish. As soon as my plate was empty, he got up, took our dishes, and deposited them in the sink.

Then, as cool as a cucumber, he came back to the table, removed his kutte, hung it on the back of his chair, looked down at me and inquired, “Bedroom?”

We hadn’t gone for a ride on his Harley. I wasn’t buzzing with a desperate need for a release. Yet somehow, this time felt just as reckless as the first time.

This truth didn’t stop me from getting out of my chair and leading Mustang to my bedroom.

While the rest of my house still needed a bit of work, my bedroom was the one space I had managed to fix up the way I wanted.

The walls were painted a subtle cream eggshell, and I had a beautiful, scenic mountain scape framed above my bed. My bed that I loved. It had a simple, upholstered light beige headboard, and it sat high enough off the ground, my feet barely reached the floor if I sat on the edge. The nightstands on either side of my queen-sized bed had matching lamps, and there were decorative nick-nacks on the side of the bed I never used.

My duvet comforter was beige, and my accent pillows—which hadn’t made it back onto the bed in my hurried attempt to straighten up—were tan, cream, white, with a couple sage green pops of color to match the gorgeous chunky knit blanket I always kept at the foot of my bed, regardless of the season.

The house was mine, but this room was me , and I felt a bit on display when Mustang followed me over the threshold.

The feeling didn’t last long.

When I stopped by the side of the bed and turned to face him, he wasn’t taking in the details of my room. He was removing his boots. Once his feet were bare, he straightened, unhooked his sunglasses from his collar, tossed them onto my dresser, then reached behind his head and yanked off his shirt.

He was just as sexy as I remembered.

No sooner had the garment hit the floor than he was on me.

He ate the distance between us in one step.

He sank the fingers of one hand into my hair—a habit I was already kind of obsessed with—and reached down to grab my butt with his other, hauling me into him as he descended for a kiss.

It was wet, and deep, and sensational.

His hold on me was so relentless, all I could manage to do was circle my arms around his back and try my damnedest to give as good as I got.

I wasn’t wearing any panties, which meant I was soon on the verge of damp shorts when he slid the fingers at my backside up, around my hip, then under the waistband of said shorts.

Two fingers hit my sweet spot, swirled, then continued their decent and plunged.

Oh, god .

It took everything I had to stay upright as he kept at me. Adjusting my grip, I threw an arm over his shoulder and held on to the back of his neck. Then it was too much. I could barely breathe as he stoked the spark he’d ignited within me into a warmth that was beginning to grow.

“Mustang,” I gasped, tilting my head back and breaking our kiss.

The desperation in my voice triggered something in him, because I lost his fingers from inside of me a second after I’d spoken. Then my shorts were falling to my ankles, and all at once I was half naked.

The abrupt shift brought me back to where we were—in my room—in the light of day.

My hands pressed against his hot, perfect body made me feel self-conscious about mine. He’d seen me naked, but that had been more frantic and unstoppable. This time, I wasn’t high from a motorcycle ride, so the voice in my head telling me to stop comparing what I had going on with what he had going on was not louder than the voice that told me I was a six to his twelve. Eight, if I was in kickass jeans and killer heels, but no higher than a six whilst completely naked.

This was why, when he reached for the hem of my tee, I dropped my hands in order to stop him.

“Uh—maybe this time I’ll just—”

“Like fuck,” he muttered, a scowl furrowing his brow.

“I’m not saying let’s stop, I just—”

“Explain,” he demanded before I could even finish.

“You, well—you obviously spend a decent amount of time in the gym, and that totally does it for me. But I—”

I didn’t get the chance to finish. Again.

Mustang grabbed my wrist, pressed my hand against the bulge in his jeans, got in my face and said, “This is me just thinkin’ about your naked body writhing underneath mine. Only had you once, but sure as fuck haven’t forgotten what you look like. Hard at the thought of havin’ you again. You don’t lift your arms and let me strip you naked, I’ll rip that damn shirt right down the middle.”

For a fraction of a second, I contemplated letting him rip the damn shirt.

But I kind of liked it, so I lifted my arms instead.

I was completely naked a second later.

He took hold of my hips, lifted me off my feet, and plopped me on the edge of the bed the second after that.

Fingertips to my sternum, he pushed me until I was flat on my back.

Then I had his fingers again.

Only this time—his tongue played with one of my nipples while he worked.

Yeah, that felt good. Really good.

He didn’t even have time to show attention to my opposite nipple before I was coming.

As my orgasm subsided, I watched as he extracted a condom from his wallet and then proceeded to get as naked as I was. He sheathed himself, and I squirmed a little in excitement.

“On your knees, sugar,” he instructed with a twirl of his finger.

Knowing better than to deny him, I flipped over and got on my knees, my feet at the edge of the bed, and my torso leaning against my forearms. When I felt his hands on my behind, spreading my cheeks, I pressed my forehead against the mattress and tried not to overthink it.

Then he rammed himself inside of my sex, and my breath caught.

A moan spilled from my lips when he began to thrust in and out of me.

He rode me hard and steady, filling me just right. It wasn’t long before I had my comforter balled up in both fists as I held on and rocked back, meeting him each time he came back to me.

I was so wet I could hear how drenched he was as our skin slapped together.

Somehow, that turned me on even more, and I felt my second orgasm start to bud at the center of my core.

Then I had the heat of Mustang across my back, and I felt the whiskers of his beard and his panting breath at my shoulder as he bent over me and bucked his hips harder. Faster.

“Oh, god,” I moaned.

He reached underneath me, fondling my left breast, and the bud inside of me began to bloom.

“Yes, yes!” I cried, the muscles in my body already tensing in preparation for my unbridled climax.

He grunted his response, never breaking his pace as he brought me to the brink.

When I felt his teeth nip at my shoulder, I lost it, shuddering underneath him as my sex clamped down hard around his length while I cried out in pleasure.

“That’s it, baby—fuckin’ come for me,” he growled as I continued to moan.

I was still trembling when his body locked up around mine, his arm across my chest plastering me against his as he came, bucking his hips in short, hard spurts until he was spent.

Heaven .

Or so I thought, until he pulled out of me, flipped me on my back, and sealed his lips with mine. He kissed me greedily, and I reached up and sank all my fingers in his hair as his body lay heavy between my legs.

That was heaven, too.

I was dazed when he broke our kiss. Lazily, I opened my eyes in search of his.

Hazel-blue stared down at me as he said, “Be right back.”

I nodded, missing the weight of him just as soon as I’d lost it.

I watched him walk out of my bedroom, headed for the bathroom, completely naked. When I heard the soft click of the door shutting behind him, I moved to crawl between the sheets. I closed my eyes, meaning only to relax and enjoy the aftereffects of what we’d just done.

But I didn’t hear it when Mustang came back, sleep having pulled me under.