Chapter 13
Road
This could be a trap, and I’m riding straight into it, but I still follow Clyde Turner, eventually going off-road as he leads me past a fallen tree. The path behind it is impossible to spot by accident, and we stop for him to cover the tracks of our wheels with old leaves. I wouldn’t normally take my hog into this kind of terrain, but I trust Clyde wouldn’t want his own ride wrecked either, so I don’t question him as we make our way down a ravine, which opens into a clearing by the lake.
My heart beats faster, and I squeeze my handlebars, looking for any signs of other Butchers, but I see none.
We’re alone.
Clyde slows down as we drive into a clearing, and a strange sense of déjà vu hits me for a few fleeting seconds. Something about watching the Butcher patches on his back as I ride behind him. Once he parks by a small house that’s a glorified shed, I stop my bike as well.
I’m overwhelmed by the excitement of being alone with him. I can hardly pay attention to the fresh scent of trees around us, the sunshine, the lake glittering in the distance behind some bushes, because when he takes off his jacket and glances at me, he is my only focus. The patches are off, and though I know he still has the tattoo all over his back, it’s hidden under a black T-shirt. I swear the top is much tighter than he usually wears. It shows off his trim waist, wide shoulders, and hugs his biceps, inviting my touch .
Unlike to the meeting where he claimed he’d stab me to death, the long blond hair of my metalhead dreams flows freely, so I’m guessing he’s not anticipating being grabbed by it for reasons other than pleasure.
“I got the whole day off,” he says, watching me. I can’t wait to find out what that means, but I hope he’ll let me fuck him without distractions.
I dismount my bike and take a step toward him, approaching as if he were a stag with its antlers stuck between the branches of a tree. His chest is working faster now, and while his hands remain open, I can see the slightest tremble in his fingers, as if he were struggling against the instinct telling him that letting the predator close might be the end of him.
His pupils have blown wide, barely any of the blue still in his eyes, and as he swallows, never taking his gaze off me, I’m torn between watching the sensuous dip of his Adam’s apple or the pink mouth I’m so desperate to taste. The more he denies it to me, the more I’m obsessed with it.
As the wind blows hair into his face, I cross the distance between us and put my hands on his bare arms. Maybe it’s wrong, but I’m not giving it a rest and dive in for a kiss, but Clyde seems ready for it. He frowns and manages to slide his hand between our mouths, placing it on my face. I’m tempted to lick it again. It was so hot and salty.
Clyde gives me a stern look, as if he’s disciplining a dog. Too bad he’s dealing with a wolf, but I’ll let it slide for now. He’s also much more collected after the drive through the forest.
“We need to set some ground rules.”
Fuck. I hate rules.
“Really? You’ll take my cock in your mouth, but not my tongue?” I ask into his palm, cocking my head as the warmth between our bodies intensifies.
My eyes grow when his lips part. He’s blushing. Clyde fucking Turner is blushing. Because of me. I want my dick inside him so bad I might forego the kissing for now.
“That’s different. We are just bodies, remember, fuck puppet?” Clyde raises his eyebrows. He’s trying to keep a lid on me. Fat chance. Even my club hasn’t quite managed to do that. “So. Rules. We’ll enjoy this while it lasts, because we both know it can’t last—”
“That’s exactly why we should fuck the rules and enjoy it all.”
“Maybe I just don’t wanna kiss you?” Clyde glares at me. “Maybe I think you’re a piece of shit with a very hot and available body? ”
He’s trying to offend me, and it’s working, but I don’t want him to know he can make me feel bad, so I shrug at this weird, backhanded compliment.
“Fine,” I say, even though it definitely isn’t fine.
But his shoulders ease and that’s good, because I need him more relaxed for what I wanna do with him. “Second rule, no club talk. Whatever happens, I’m not betraying my club. Here, I’m just… Clyde, okay?” But he has to take a deep breath, and I can’t help the pang of satisfaction. He’s stressed. Good.
“Same. This has nothing to do with our clubs,” I tell him and lean down to smell the fragrance on his skin. Fuck, he smells like whiskey drunk from a charred wooden cup, and I want to dive in right away. So I slide my tongue along his bared collarbone, all the way to the neck.
I love his little gasp. He’s not the controlling, tight-assed prick when he gives in to me, and I’m not sure what to do with how much I enjoy that, but I’m not gonna overthink it. His hands move to my neck, and despite the memory of him choking the life out of me being so vivid in my head, I’m relaxed about it.
Touching him feels so… natural. Like pure instinct. So I slide my arms around him and press close in something that’s awfully similar to a hug. Again, that sweet gasp in my ear. I fucking love it. And I love how warm his solid form feels in my arms.
“What is this place?” I ask, taking in the wooden shed constructed out of a patchwork of steel sheets and wooden planks. There’s even a basic campfire spit over a pile of charred wood nearby.
Unbelievably, after a moment of hesitation, he hugs me back. His arms slide around my waist, and it’s making my insides melt in ways they definitely shouldn’t.
“It’s just a very secret spot. Call me paranoid, but I don’t watch porn on my phone, just in case, so if I want visuals, I’ve got some… magazines here. I can chill here, since no one knows about this place.”
“ Magazines ?” I ask, leaning back to look at his face. “This is your porn shed ?”
Clyde groans and rolls his eyes, but never lets go of me. “Yeah, I suppose it is. You… want to look at some together?” His icy gaze meets mine from so close I have to stifle my craving to kiss his mouth, because I don’t want another argument when seeing his porn is on the table.
I want to speak, act all casual, as if I wasn’t fucking overwhelmed by this whole situation, but when words fail me, I give him a nod and squeeze his shoulder. I came here hoping to get off, but he’s offering me a glimpse into his brain, into his fantasies and wants. How could I say no?
Clyde slides out of my embrace and leads the way into the shack. Even walking behind him, sends sparks down my spine, because I’m closer than is strictly acceptable. I’m enveloped in the scent of his shampoo, which I swear is some kind of witchy potion, because it smells of rosemary, peppercorns, and rum. I did stop for a shower before coming here, but I’ve never met a biker who smells as good as Clyde.
We step into the small building and while there’s not much in there, just a brown couch that’s seen better days, several plastic storage boxes, and some tools by the stack of firewood, it’s tidy enough.
Clyde drops his ass to the couch right before I almost decided to give it a playful slap. He pats the seat next to him in silent invitation as he reaches for the closest box.
I obey, as if he’s controlling me with his mind. The couch is old, way too soft, and a spring digs into my thigh, but how could I care when Clyde Turner’s leaning into the arm I draped over his shoulders?
His ear, pale and vulnerable between strands of smooth hair, invites me for that kiss I’m craving, and I roll my tongue over its shell, before dipping it down the snug opening in the middle. A secret little hole for me to explore before I enjoy all the others.
Clyde flinches and pushes my chest back, but he laughs, looking back at me. It’s so cute I want to make him laugh again. “What are you doing?” he asks, pulling three thick magazines out of the box.
They’re as worn as the couch, and it makes me horny that I’m sitting where he’s jerked off countless times.
“Making out,” I tell him, surprised that having his ears played with is new to him.
“With my ear?” Clyde raises his eyebrows, leaning back against my arm, magazines in his lap.
The one on top is titled Inked Studs but I’m too aroused to laugh at it.
“Since you’re protecting the virginity of your mouth, I might as well play with this hole,” I mutter and lap up his entire ear, sliding my nose into his fragrant hair.
Clyde laughs again, shaking his head. “What am I doing? You’re such an ass.” And yet, he slides his hand over my stomach, because he can’t get enough of me even though he’s fighting it .
I love that happy sound. I don’t think I’ve ever heard it before, but now I want to be its one and only cause. Humming, I cup his face and rub my lips along his brows, down his nose—only to be pushed away again when I reach his lips. He’s a hard nut to crack.
“So… what are you into?” I ask, pulling him closer, as if he didn’t just reject my kiss again.
I’m starting to see a pattern in the way he moves. He always hesitates for a second or two before settling. Clyde leans half his body against me, getting cozy under my arm. Is he sexually shy? Unused to touch? Or just that much of a control freak? I don’t know yet.
“I like big strong guys,” he says, opening the magazine to show me, and the title wasn’t messing around. I’m treated to several photos of inked studs. One has a mohawk, the other is bald, and they’re banging in some back alley. Full-on anal, the bald guy has a hand over the other’s mouth.
I swear Clyde’s breath hitches, and while the photos are arousing, especially the closeup shot of the bottom’s face, overcome with a mixture of elation and discomfort, the real porn is right here, touching my side, leaning into my touch. Warm and tasty like a pie straight out of the oven.
I rub my nose up and down his neck while I watch him turn the page with shaking fingers. In the central picture, the bottom’s looking straight at the camera as he licks thick fingers dipped into his mouth. Cum’s splattered on the side of his face and dripping onto his chest. I didn’t think there was a point to the existence of porn mags when there’s internet, but suddenly I want to have this exact one under my pillow.
It’s a glimpse into Clyde's horny brain. I bet he's getting hard under the stack of paper.
“That you?” I ask, tapping the bottom with my finger.
By now, I pretty much expect his stalling. While he might be quick to a fight, he seems to be an overthinker when it comes to me and our thing . As if he’s resistant, but knows he can’t be if he wants to get off.
He licks those pretty lips and nods, making my stomach clench with excitement at him admitting such a thing to me. We might be in different clubs, but we’re both well aware that suck my dick is an insult, not something you should want.
“It’s hot,” he whispers, and I nod.
“That’s because you’re hot. You’re making my balls boil,” I tell him, and the glance he sends me is somehow both skittish and full of yearning. For me. For my move. After all, he’s the one who wants to be hunted down and taken .
I bury my face in his hair and nip on the skin none of his brothers will see as I place my hand on his thigh and pull it toward me, making him open his legs wider.
It’s so fucking hot that he lets me do this.
“Me? Not this guy?” he smirks and flips the page to another shot of the same guy, this time on his knees and showing off his ass to the man in nothing but ink and tall leather boots.
Is it arousing? Yes, but hardly my focus, when I’m giddy about Clyde being playful with me. I swear he’s even shifted closer so my fingers are higher up his leg.
“I’d do him,” I say and push my other hand under his T-shirt, running it up his muscular back while I breathe in his warm skin. “But you’re prettier, Blue Eyes. Now that you showed me this place, I’ll think about you on your back on this bare floor, spreading yourself as I blow all my juice inside you.”
His breath speeds up, and he’s not even looking at the porn anymore. All his attention is on me, and I feel like the center of his universe when I cup his crotch and find his cock rock-hard. Clyde lets the magazines slide off his lap and to the floor. “I want to see your dick,” he demands breathlessly as his gaze caresses me neck to thighs.
Fuck yes.
But as devil choirs roar in my ears, I manage to restrain the impulse to pluck it out myself. I didn’t have him yet, and there is an art to the lure. “This is a buffet,” I tell him and rub my palm over his crotch, watching him shiver and grab onto my T-shirt, as if he were about to faint.
It’s like we’re two beasts circling each other and testing each other’s boundaries. He’s the stag with his antlers lowered, I’m the wolf trying to get a bite.
He rocks against my hand as he reaches for my belt, but when he opens it, bent my way in the seat, he pulls back to my endless disappointment. What now? I don’t want to think anymore.
“Fuck it,” Clyde mutters and slides off the couch, knees first.
Before I know it, he’s between my thighs, unzipping my jeans without a single glance into my eyes, and while I want to see the glint of lust in his, this moment feels fragile. I don’t want to scare him off by saying the wrong thing. So I watch, my dick throbbing. The sound of the zipper is the start signal, but I rein myself in, watching the red flush spread over Clyde’s handsome features .
Finally, the fateful exchange from months ago led us here. We could have both been dead, so as risky as it is, I don’t want to live on with yearning and regret.
I want this. I want him. And he wants me.
Nothing simpler in the world.
Clyde takes a moment to caress my lower stomach before pulling down my jeans and underwear just enough to reveal my stiff dick. It bobs in front of his face and I can only hope he won’t stall too long. He inhales deeply as if he wants to smell me while he wraps his fingers around my cock.
He has such a good face—handsome, borderline regal—and soft hair I want to feel on my bare thighs. But, more importantly, he’s here because he wants me. Because he needs me, and I watch him contemplate my tool. Thick, quite long, it must be intimidating to a guy who’s never given head, so I push a strand of hair behind his ear, then rub his scalp in soothing circles.
I want him to dream about my dick, not worry it might cut off his breath.
Clyde takes his time exploring my cock with his fingers, even rubbing the head with his thumb, and it’s already blissing me out of my mind. He glances up, red in the face as if he’s fallen into slices of raw beetroot, and opens his mouth as if to say something, but then changes his mind and goes for it.
As soon as his hot wet mouth sucks in my cockhead, I moan, so happy I could come on the spot. I’ve been blown by girls way more experienced than him, but my pleasure is not about skill level. The sight of Clyde Turner kneeling between my legs, wide shoulders tense, eyes closed as my cock dips into his mouth is better than even the sloppiest, deepest head I’ve ever gotten. He’s fucking beautiful, but the scar running across his eye somehow only enhances the harmony of his features, an ornament rather than a flaw. And I have this handsome rogue on his knees for me.