Chapter 11
Onyx
Last night, Emily and I slept in the same bed.
I have a king-size bed and a very small sofa.
She said it was silly for one of us to be uncomfortable when we could share the bed.
So, we did. It was awkward at first, but once Fluffy curled up at the top of our pillows to chaperone us, we just tumbled off to sleep.
I’m surprised that I was able to sleep, considering sharing a bed with Emily has been one of my wildest fantasies come true. Something about finally having her safe beside me and the emotional rollercoaster of her popping back up out of the clear blue sky was enough to pull me under for the night.
Unable to just lay there beside her this morning, I got up, got showered and headed downstairs to get some coffee. I’m in the main room stressing over the bad news I got this morning when she comes out. She’s wearing my cut and looking all beautiful and delicate.
“What’s up, Onyx?”
I set my coffee down and step closer. “Our contact at the Cedar Falls PD called this morning.”
She frowns at me. “What did Detective Morgan want?”
“He told us the prosecuting attorney is thinking of taking your stalker off house arrest, pending his trial.”
“What? Why would they do that? He’s implicated in the disappearance of his girlfriend, and he forced his way into my home and held me hostage. What does he have to do, kill someone right in front of them before they see him as a serious threat and lock him up?”
I’ve never seen Emily rant like that before. I instinctively reach out and draw her into my arms, tucking her head beneath my chin.
“We’re not gonna let him get away with this. You and I are gonna pay that prosecuting attorney a little visit and make it clear that we’ll make sure every single person in this town knows he’s negligent in doing his job and putting lives at risk if he takes this guy off house arrest.”
She pulls back to look up at me. “You’d come with me and help me convince him?”
I stare down at this woman of mine, amazed that she still doesn’t get how much I care about her. I give her a succinct nod. “You had better fuckin’ believe I will. If talkin’ doesn’t work, I’m not above a little intimidating.”
She smiles at me. “I’ll bet intimidating people who piss you off is your go-to move, but I don’t know if intimidating public officials is the best choice in this particular situation.”
“I’ll do whatever it takes, sweetness. And I truly fuckin’ mean that.”
I jerk my chin towards the door and ask, “You want to head out and catch them bright and early, or do you need to eat breakfast first?”
“I want to go now,” she replies. “Let’s get to them before they have a chance to make that order.”
I lead her outside to my Harley. My bike looks good in the morning sun.
It’s angled just enough for the light to catch the chrome.
I can tell by the way she runs her hand over it that she likes the look of it.
In my world, this beautiful woman might just as well be running her delicate hand over my cock, for how excited it makes me to see her enjoying my bike so much.
Emily is proudly wearing my cut for all the world to see.
Seeing my name on her back in broad daylight makes the whole situation real for me in a way that last night didn’t.
It settles something restless in my chest. I know she’s not really mine and this is about protection, but my savage brain just wants to throw her over my shoulder and lick her pretty pussy until she begs me to stop.
I reach into the saddlebag and pull out the helmet before she can ask. I hold it out to her. “This is yours.”
She takes it with both hands. It’s black with clean lines. She stops when she sees the back. Her fingers trace the lettering like she needs to make sure it’s real.
It says ‘Emily’ in an elegant script.
“You didn’t have to do this,” she says, but her voice is softer and tinged with emotion.
“I did,” I reply. “You deserve nice things and your safety will always come first for me.”
She looks up at me then, something warm and unsettled moving through her eyes. “You’re a safety-first kind of guy. I notice that about you a long time ago.”
I snort before I can stop myself.
She smiles at that and starts trying to figure out how to put on the helmet. “I’ve never been on a motorcycle,” she admits.
“I know.”
Her eyebrows lift. “How?”
“You would’ve mentioned it,” I say.
That gets a quiet laugh out of her. “What you’re saying is that it’s a thrill a minute, right?”
“I think it is, but you’ll have to judge for yourself. Anyway, I’ll take it slow and easy. Tap my side if you need to stop. Hold on when we take off. Lean with me, not against me. Don’t fight the bike.”
She nods, listening closely.
“You good with all that?” I ask.
“I think so,” she says, then corrects herself. “I mean, I’m anxious but excited about riding with you.”
I respect her honesty. I always have. Stepping closer, I help her adjust the straps. Her chin lifts slightly so I can secure the buckle. Being this close to her I’m fighting the urge to kiss those pretty pink lips. I keep forgetting that we’re just pretending to be a couple.
“Is it too tight?” I ask, trying to keep focused on the matter at hand.
She shakes her head. “It’s fine.”
I give it a gentle tug, checking the fit. “Has to be, ‘cause it’s the only one we’ve got that even remotely fits you.”
When I step back, she exhales like she didn’t realize she’d been holding her breath. I pretend not to notice.
“This isn’t a morning pleasure ride,” I say, meeting her eyes. “We’re going straight there with no messing about. You tell me if anything feels wrong.”
“I trust you,” she says.
Her softly spoken words hit me right in the feels. I nod once, swallowing thickly because I don’t want my emotions to become obvious. I don’t know why I’m having such a strong reaction to Emily all of a sudden.
I swing one leg onto the bike and wait, watching her as she hesitates for a half second before climbing on behind me. Her hands hover, unsure where to go. I reach back and tap my waist.
“Here,” I say. “Or the sides. Whatever feels solid.”
She settles against me carefully, her grip tentative at first, then firmer when she finds her balance. Her body fits close enough, that I can feel the heat radiating off her body through the leather vest.
“You ready?” I ask.
She leans forward just enough for me to hear her over the engine. “Yeah. Let’s go.”
When I start the bike, the engine roars to life beneath us. I feel her stiffen for a second, then relax again. She clearly was not expecting all the vibrations. It’s a shock on a bike the size of my Harley.
I roll us slowly forward, ease out of the lot and onto the road.
My focus is locked on keeping the ride smooth.
This isn’t just a ride. It is Emily’s first ride, and she trusted me to make it safe and special for her.
I don’t take that lightly. I keep the throttle light and my movements predictable.
The tires snick against the pavement, ‘cause they have good tread.
The first time we go around a curve, I feel her tense immediately, her body going rigid behind me.
It feels like she’s afraid of falling. I don’t rush her.
Instead, I let the moment stretch, giving her time to adjust to the weight and motion and sound.
After a few seconds, her grip shifts around my waist. She’s finding her balance.
When we get onto the interstate, I accelerate smoothly, loving the kind of move that lets you feel the raw power of the motorcycle.
As my tires eat up the road, I feel the change in her almost immediately.
She leans close, trusting the movement instead of resisting it.
This woman is operating on pure instinct, like she’s meant to be on the back of my bike.
Riding with me isn’t just about transportation.
In the club, a first ride means different things to different people.
For some, it’s an opportunity to bond, a test to see if they’re compatible, and for others it’s a test of sorts about how they react to being so close and if they trust you to keep them safe.
From my perspective, you don’t put someone on the back of your bike unless you’re willing to be responsible for them in every way that matters.
Having Emily on the back of my bike sharpens my focus.
My entire world narrows down to the road and the solid feel of her body pressed against my back.
Her reactions register through contact instead of sound.
The way her hands shift from cautious to sure.
The way her breathing evens out against my back.
The way she presses closer instead of pulling away when the speed increases.
I feel every adjustment she makes, every small choice to trust me a little more.
By the time we pull into the courthouse, I feel as though I know her on a whole new level.
Finding a parking space under a shade tree, I cut the engine and dismount.
As I’m removing my helmet, Emily dismounts carefully.
I stay close, hovering without touching in case she needs my help.
I want to be there just in case she stumbles. Thankfully, she doesn’t.
The receptionist in the prosecuting attorney’s office barely looks up when we give our names and sign in.
I know that we don’t have an appointment and can’t expect an attorney to drop everything to meet with us.
However, I was told he reserves eight to nine in the morning for walk-ins and case updates.
I feel like we’re being left waiting longer than we should, and when we’re finally ushered into the PA’s office the man behind the desk looks tired already, and his day has barely started.
I introduce us. “My name is Onyx Jackson. This is my old lady, Emily Banks. We’re here about the Charles Brennan case.”
“Yes, of course,” he says, reaching for a file. “Please have a seat.”