Chapter 5
Road
He shouldn’t be so fucking tempting.
I almost managed to convince myself that I’ve overestimated his looks as I spent months imagining this very moment. But no, Clyde Turner really is that damn gorgeous. If anything, my recollection of him was plainer, all smooth lines and no grit, but in the flesh I can see every single scar, every blemish, quirk and tempting imperfection on his toned body.
A large skull watches me from his shoulder, but I’m more interested in his real eyes. The warm glow of the flames makes their shade muddy, but I know that in bright light they’re blue like the purest ice in the Arctic. Long waves of hair frame his handsome features and fall down his arms, almost reaching the flame and skull tattoos decorating the tanned skin from the elbow down.
We share a moment of eye contact before Clyde turns away from our bonfire, presenting me with the symbol of the Hell’s Butchers etched into his entire back. Two menacing cleavers under a horned skull on fire. I’d rather not see that ugly picture when I finally get my hands on him, which means I’ll need to have him on his back, knees pressed to his chest, hair scattered over the pillow as he tells me to rail him harder, faster, for me to come inside him.
Why is he turning away now, after everything we ended up saying? Am I supposed to follow ?
I move without thinking, as if we’re in a cartoon and I’m mesmerized by his cologne. Did he just… flex his back? Was that for me to see? I’m a brainless sack of horny meat, and if someone would ask me right now why I’m following him, I’d be in trouble, because my answer would not be coherent.
I only stop once a woman walks up to him with a bright smile. When he puts his arm over her shoulders, I could rip her apart even though I’ve never hit a girl before. I need all of his attention on me, so I yell the first thing that comes to my mind.
“I wonder whose dick those pretty boy lips sucked to make them patch you in so young.”
Sex is all I can think of right now, and I want dick sucking planted in his brain too.
He stiffens, then turns around to meet my gaze. Too many people have heard me. He can’t let this go. Satisfaction pools in my stomach when Clyde’s arm slides off the woman. This isn’t how I intended things to go tonight, but I did have a plan that involved getting close to him. This will do.
“That’s what your prez does? Sucks everyone’s dicks, faggot?” Clyde’s words are like those cleavers on his back, sharp and deadly. Even the music seems to die down when he steps my way, eyes like two bullets with my name on them.
“Too busy between chasing girls and work. Why? Are you offering your services?” I ask, noticing Prophet shake his head somewhere to the side. This was what he wanted to avoid when he approached me about skipping the rally, but my blood boiled and spilled over. Too late.
And yet, when Clyde comes close enough that I can smell his cologne over the persistent aroma of grilled meat and burning wood, the chaos coming our way seems worth it. He should smell like grease and cigarettes, but no, there’s some kind of herb on him, bourbon, leather, and fucking… rain? I don’t know how he does it, or if it’s his shampoo, but despite my words, I want to pull him close and lick the side of his neck, not punch his face.
I love that I have an inch or three on him and he has to look up into my eyes. “You really wanna do this?” Clyde asks with a snarl, and I’m not sure anymore if his question has a double meaning for me only.
We’ve had quite a few fights over the years, but there’s a different kind of fire in him, I can sense it. As if his sweat is a potent aphrodisiac. A droplet forms on his neck, and I watch it slide down his collarbone. He’s so fucking solid .
Before I can have an answer for him, I grab the zipper of my jeans and flick it gently as I stare into his pale eyes, hoping he can see the heat in mine. They widen in the way I want to see when I come in his mouth.
I should expect his punch, but it still hurts like a motherfucker. Yelling erupts around us before he manages a second swing at me. I block it, and even though I’m gripping his fist and about to throw him in the mud, it still gives me a thrill to touch him.
We could have done it the nice way. Behind some car with him on his knees. But no, clearly I can’t have nice things because of my short temper and stupid mouth.
“Boo!” I breathe in his face, which distracts him enough for me to cut his legs from under him with a swing of my leg. Damn, but does he smell delicious! As he lands on his back, sinking in the shallow mud, I imagine myself falling on top of him and licking a line across his neck, then down his torso, all the way to the pink scar I left on him. A nice reminder that I’ve already penetrated him once. With a knife, but it still counts.
But there’s no time to waste, and I pluck out the old phone I’ve been carrying on me whenever I left my club’s territory. Just in case I accidentally meet Clyde Turner in the wild. He groans when I shove it down his pocket.
He grabs my forearm, and while I’ve healed up well, bile rises in my throat at the pang of pain where my bone was broken. Clyde is leaner than me but oh, so strong. When he pulls, I fall forward, half of my body in the mud, but one of my legs wraps around him and blocks a kick.
I barely avoid a punch to the face. I’m fucking exhilarated. If I never get to fuck him, I may start a fight every time I see him just for his touch.
He twists like an eel, but it’s now my turn to dominate this fight, and I roll on top of him, sliding one of my arms around his waist, the other—to his throat. Wet mud soaks through my pants where I dig my knees into the ground, but all I want is for everyone else to disappear, so I can drop all pretense and rub myself against his lean form. Twisting my head, I steal a discreet lick of his nape and shiver at the musky salt of his sweat.
I’m such a fucking goner for this bastard.
“I’m gonna kill you, motherfucker!” Clyde roars, but only the two of us know what’s provoked the outburst. Is he so furious because he liked my tongue on him?
I don’t get to think about it when he elbows me in the jaw so hard I see stars. I’m about to respond with a punch blindly, ‘cause he deserves it even if he’s a snack, when two pairs of arms pull me up. It’s a good thing I didn’t have more time on top of him, or it would have shown in my jeans.
“Just fucking stop! Enough!” Prophet yells in my ear.
All I can focus on is the hateful glare piercing me. Clyde looks even hotter splashed with mud. I wish he could shut his fucking mouth and accept what’s gonna happen between us. Neither of us has a different option. I’m sure he’s not fucking anyone, because he wouldn’t be such a ball of tension if he was.
He scrambles to his feet and Prophet turns me in an instant, receiving the blow meant for me to his shoulder.
I can feel the people gathered inhaling at the same time, but before the fight can escalate, three guys I’ve never before met step in and walk in between us and Clyde. They’re all wearing cuts featuring a familiar club name.
“Enough!” one of them shouts, resting his hands on his belt as he stares my way. “You guys want to beat each other into a pulp? Be my guest, but not at the damn rally!”
Ah, Sunday bikers have shown up. Not that I mind them that much when they don’t separate me from Clyde-fucking-Turner.
Prophet sighs and looks Clyde’s way, his fingers digging into my flesh as if he wanted to break skin. “Agreed. Each of you threw a punch, and now it’s over.”
Clyde sucks in a breath and wipes some mud off his face to reveal a red flush. I can make him flush in more ways than one. He needs to give me a fucking minute or five.
“Fine,” he grumbles, then spits blood into the mud. When he pats his pocket, where I planted the phone, he stills but doesn’t pull it out.
That’s right, Clyde. Call me. Message me. Let’s do it. Let’s do it fast and raw, without caring who we are.
My mouth waters as I try to communicate all that without words. I still taste his salty sweat, so I swallow to keep it inside me.
But then the girl from before, the one with the long red nails, steps in front of Clyde.
“Oh my God! Are you okay?” she coos and cups his face.
Even then, Clyde never breaks eye contact with me. “Sure. He can’t do any damage.”
I swallow. The kind of damage I want to do to this man… He’s awoken things in me I buried long ago. He better fucking call me from that burner, or I’m gonna find his house and break in.