Chapter 37
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
G enesis…
Fucking hangover gnomes!
I woke to my head pulsing and throbbing, draped over Chainsaw in a… a restaurant booth?
I shoved off him, and he jolted awake, wincing as we both tried to figure out what’d woken us up.
“I said, get up! ” LaCroix shouted, and he banged a large kitchen spoon against the rim of a metal trash can lid.
“Alright! Alright! We’re up! We’re up!” Saint yelled.
“Fuckin’ prick,” Chainsaw muttered.
“Time to take Cypress home, y’all,” Hex intoned, and that sobered a lot of us up real quick.
I met the girls in the small bathroom the restaurant had, and we all took turns rinsing our mouths at the tap and taking a piss in one of the two stalls.
I used the bathroom first, soaped and washed my hands carefully, then, before I could even think about rinsing my mouth, I was throwing up violently into the sink.
I think it was Jesse Lou who held my hair back.
I rinsed my mouth as best I could and mumbled, “Sorry.”
“Ain’t my first rodeo with puke, honey,” she said. “I got a kid at home.”
I tried to nod, but that just set the hangover gnomes to pounding the shit out of the inside of my head so hard I thought my face was gonna slide off any second.
“Found your shoes.” Chainsaw handed them to me, outside the bathroom door, and I put them on, using his broad shoulder to hold myself up as I did.
“I don’t think I want my panties back,” I said, scanning the barroom floor.
“You don’t,” he said.
“Hell of a fucking souvenir for the place,” I muttered, and Hex snorted as he was taking a sip of coffee beside us.
I went and sat down in the chair Chainsaw and I had used the night before, and a few moments later, he came up and put a cup of coffee between my hands.
“What’s the plan?” I asked.
“Sober up as best we can, find some sunglasses, and we carry ol’ boy out in about a half an hour. Then it’s a procession out to the ol’ family graveyard for a graveside short service. Then we go home.”
I nodded wearily and said, “That last part. God, I need that last part.”
“Me too, baby. Me too.”
I took a large swallow of coffee and asked, “Do I wanna remember all of last night?”
Chainsaw shook his head grimly. “I mean, it’s a funeral, so no, just based on that fact alone.”
I laughed at the dark humor of it. I couldn’t help myself.
We rallied as best we could, the lot of us, and stood to either side as they carried Cypress out to the waiting hearse.
Usually, his empty bike would be part of the procession, towed on a trailer, riderless, but it was still part of an active crime scene, and like his cut, they wouldn’t let us have it.
We rode at a slow clip behind everyone else, as was Chainsaw’s position, and followed the hearse for miles through swamp and treelined roads, over one-lane bridges, and out to where a small plot of maybe five or six oven tombs and an obelisk or two stood out in the swamp on a patch of higher ground.
We gathered as the men brought their brother to an open grave and slid him in, casket and all. His name, birth, and death date had already been added to the slab that was waiting to seal him in.
His father, mother, and his nephew, Tate, were all there before we even arrived, and his mother wept brokenly into his father’s shoulder as her baby boy was slid into his final resting place.
Words were said, poems were read, and a song was sung. There wasn’t a dry eye. Certainly, neither of mine was, and with a final parting prayer from his father, we were let go.
Chainsaw held my hand, and kept me steady as I navigated through the tall grass back to the front entrance to the little graveyard and the gap in the low stone wall serving as an entrance and exit.
We rode back to the club, and saluted as we passed by, and then it was done. We were all free to go to wherever we called home.
I held on to Chainsaw as we wound our way through surface streets back to the Garden District, and I was antsy to get there. I was worried about a tick hitching a ride from the tall grass along my bare legs and didn’t think that Chainsaw would mind checking me.
We pulled up outside the house and put up with a modicum of Charlie screaming at us for not coming home the night before.
I shooed him out the door and let him complain from outside it, turning around to let Chainsaw undo the hook and eye at the top of my zipper and peel me out of the dress.
“I need to get in the shower, and if you’re alright with it, I need you to check me for ticks.”
He chuckled and said, “Took the thought right out of my head, baby. Let’s go get cleaned up.”
The very first thing I did inside the bathroom was load my toothbrush with paste and begin the arduous task of scrubbing whatever whole entire ass I had in my mouth from the night before, out .
Chainsaw moved around me, getting the shower going and warmed up, before stripping out of his clothes carefully.
He took up his toothbrush and shooed me into the shower while he brushed his teeth. I wet my hair and washed the sorrow and the sex from the night before down the drain. By the time he got in, I was already on the second wash of my hair with the more expensive brand of shampoo I tended to use.
I honestly didn’t think there was any dirt left in my hair from the first wash, but for some reason, I just didn’t feel like I was ever going to get clean . Part of that was the things coming back to me from the night before.
In the moment, with my inhibitions at an all-time low from the amount of absinthe in my system, I honestly think I would have let that rando whip his cock out and shove it in me, but for the fact that Chainsaw had stopped him – which I was eternally grateful for, mind you.
I think, to be honest, it bothered me more that it didn’t bother me, the group of men watching and timing us – cheering and passing bets between them when I’d come for my lover.
It was definitely ranked in the top spot for the wildest nights ever had by Genesis.
Chainsaw and I wound up kissing and luxuriating in not only the hot spray but each other’s arms. We kissed and touched, and that all too familiar fire started to collect low in my belly.
It was only natural that, upon drying off and my hair going up into a fresh towel, we found ourselves migrating into the bedroom.
“Lie down on your stomach,” he ordered, and he didn’t have to tell me twice.
I rolled over onto my stomach, and he picked up my foot, resting the top of my toes against his chest as he put pressure into my arch. I groaned, dropping my forehead into the pillows in front of my face.
“No ticks here,” he murmured, and kept on with deeply massaging concentric circles into my heel and arch, the ball of my foot, and along my toes.
It was pure heaven.
He worked on one foot, then the other, before moving up the back of my leg, pressing firmly in the center of my calf just above the Achilles tendon and running his thumbs in advancing swirls to the back of my knee, and then back down.
“I don’t feel any here,” he whispered, and his voice had deepened and taken on that intensity that I so loved when we made love.
He moved to the other leg and repeated his ministrations, and I felt some of the tension leave my body.
He went torturously slow, moving all the way up my thighs, pressing into my hamstrings, and taking time with massaging the globes of my ass before pressing those magical thumbs of his into just the right spots at my lower back, his fingers wrapping around my hips and hitting the spots filled with stress and tension so perfectly I cried out.
“You okay?” he checked with me.
“Yeah, just hit a spicy spot – but I love it, don’t stop. Please, keep going.”
He chuckled and did as I asked, working his way all the way up my back but not once forgetting what the actual mission was – checking me carefully, moving my hair and running fingers through it, carefully inspecting my neck and hairline for any hitchhikers.
He continued with his ministrations, pressing thumbs into that bitter spot at the base of my skull where it connected to my spine and working all the headache-inducing tensions out of it until I was as relaxed as could be and bobble-headed from his touch.
“Turn over,” he ordered gently, and I was so comfortable that I had difficulty wanting to comply.
Comply I did, though, and lay on my back.
He captured my mouth with his and kissed me softly, his hands wrapping around my throat in a way that could be considered frightening if it wasn’t Chainsaw that was the one touching me.
He smoothed his hands over my skin and across my upper chest and shoulders, pressing just enough to work at any tightness or tension there, then, with this cute, little-boy, mischievous smirk, fondled my breasts, kneading them like stress balls in his big hands, making me break out into a fit of giggles.
He made a face at me like he was crazy, and smoothed down over my stomach, continuing the work he’d put into my back.
It was nice, if a bit too short.
By the time he reached back down to my feet, he parted them, rearing up on his knees, and walking forward on them up between my thighs.
I was more than ready and wanting, the thick length of his cock standing at attention, just an inch or two below his belly button, straining in his want for me.
“Just one last place to check,” he murmured in that dusky lust-filled tone, and he shouldered my thighs apart and went down to eye level with my pussy.
He looked at me, hungrily, and smoothed thumbs down the sides of me, where my legs joined my body, away from any really sensitive areas, but pulling the lips of my vagina apart.
He gazed on me with reverence and rolled those blue eyes up to look at me, before he flicked out his tongue and licked me from opening to clit.
The sensation of it wrested a sound from my throat, and I let my head fall back, even as my hands found the back of his head and tangled in his long hair, pulling him closer to my center.
He worshipped me with his mouth, bringing me to an unearthly height just shy of breaking atmosphere, before he maddeningly stopped, and let me come back down, edging me, with a wicked gleam in his eye.
He put on a condom from the bedside table, making his movements slow, unhurried, and deliberate while I waited in almost painful anticipation as he made himself ready.
I was writhing, begging with breath and body for him to fill me, and make me whole again, when he leaned over me, dropping down like a predator pouncing on his prey.
He was so stiff, he didn’t even need to guide himself in – his body knowing the way, and sliding into my wetness with very little effort at having to work himself in.
I was ready, and wanted him badly. He smiled this small smile of appreciation, even as his eyes slid shut as he gave himself over to the sensations of our union.
I wrapped arms and legs around him and pulled him to my breast, even as he withdrew from me, almost completely, before surging forward again.
It took a moment for us to find a natural rhythm that was both stimulating enough to get us off the ground, but gentle enough to take it easy on our mutual drinking to excess the night before.
Even though we had laid his brother to rest this morning, I think we both keenly felt as though today was a new beginning, something that was full of life. I had the thought, fleetingly, that if ever there was a man that I could or would want children with and to grow old with, it was Chainsaw…
I had spent most of my adult life running from my past in a way, and trying to get away from the life as a woman attached to a club… but in Chainsaw, and club life, I had found a home not only that I belonged to, but one I wouldn’t trade the world for.
I loved him. I loved his found family and the people he surrounded himself with, and I wouldn’t trade any of them for anything.
I didn’t even think I was afraid of losing it all – not even with all that had happened. I just had a feeling… maybe it was denial, or delusion, but in my heart of hearts, I honestly believed that it would all be okay.