Chapter 3
Chapter three
Elaine
We’re just hooking up, I reasoned. It means nothing. I’m not falling in love.
The pressure of Wingman’s fingers on my clit quickly unraveled me, piece by piece, moment by moment.
I clawed at his shoulder, digging my nails into the leather of his cut.
Seven long years of touch starvation made me overly sensitive to every brush and stroke of his fingers.
I had my vibrator at home, but it wasn’t the same as this—the electric sexual tension between us, the sloppy kisses, the glide of hungry tongues.
To be held. To be wanted and desired. To chase the euphoric high of an orgasm together.
God, I’d missed that so much.
When Wingman mentioned being alone on Christmas Eve, I’d felt a tug of sympathy in my chest for him. Originally, I swore to keep my distance.
But then he was so charming and charismatic, and a thought occurred to me.
It didn’t have to be that serious. If I wasn’t looking for love, a one-night-stand would suffice.
I wanted to feel sexy again. After so many years of being a working single mom, my top priority had been my son and my bills. With goldfish snacks in my purse and a closet full of utilitarian uniboob bras that were so not cute.
When I was around Wingman, I ended up flirting before I even realized what I was doing. We simply slipped into it naturally.
And I liked it.
I wasn’t looking for my happily ever after tonight.
I wasn’t looking for marriage and buying a house together tonight.
All I wanted was the bliss of his mouth on my body, the thickness of his fingers stretching my pussy open for him.
Wingman skimmed his palm up my bare back as he twisted and pumped his fingers against my G-spot.
In the back of my mind, I smothered the nagging voice of self-consciousness into silence.
The last time a man had seen my naked body was before my pregnancy.
I’ve always been a big-boned, plus-sized girl, but my tits sagged more after breastfeeding.
And stretch marks lined my stomach, hips, and thighs.
Wingman didn’t seem to mind though. He touched and tasted everything he could reach, squeezing my ass and sucking my nipples. His dark brown eyes locked on mine with an intensity that sent a hurricane of butterflies whirling through my belly.
“I’m so close,” I panted, grinding into the palm of his hand. “But I—I can’t—”
“Tell me what you need, sweetheart,” he murmured, hoarse and gravelly.
His cock was rock hard beneath me. The fact that he didn’t come in his pants must have been due to his sheer force of will. I couldn’t think straight, overwhelmed with the desperate need to just come already.
“I need you inside me,” I rasped, pressing my forehead to his.
Wingman withdrew his fingers and swatted my ass lightly.
“Then those pants are in the way, baby. Get them off.”
I forgot how cramped a back seat could be. We fumbled and bumped into each other, laughing breathlessly as we stripped off the last of our clothes. A knot formed in my throat when I got a glimpse of his cock, with a fat vein along the length, and a thick, flared head.
Wingman tore the condom packet open with his teeth before sliding it on. Then he lifted his gaze to meet mine, searching my face.
“Having second thoughts?” he asked.
I shook my head, grasping his cock as I straddled his lap again.
“Just thinking. Santa seemed to know exactly what I wanted for Christmas, too.”
Wingman chuckled, smoothing hands around my hips as I sank down onto his cock. His laugh turned into a deep, rumbling moan. The tendons in his neck strained and he pulsed his hips up, fucking slow and deep.
“Goddamn, sweetheart. You’re so hot and wet for me.”
I gave a pleased little hum, with the warmth of a blush rising in my cheeks at the compliment. Resting my hand on his chest, I started to ride him, savoring every inch after feeling empty for so many years.
It’s only sex, I told myself, over and over. It doesn’t mean anything.
But it was so hard to remember that with his mouth at my neck. Or the pulse of his cock, dragging along my walls.
And the way he kissed me, like he was a drowning man and I was the air to sustain his lungs. Plying my mouth open with his skilled tongue. I wanted to kiss like this every day for the rest of my life.
A well of loneliness opened in the pit of my stomach. I tried to bury it again, circling my hips harder, desperate to lose myself in the moment so I didn’t have to think about what came afterward.
My lower belly clenched tight. My thighs trembled, but my muscles ached from disuse. Wingman took over, burying his face in my chest and driving into me. I wedged a hand against the car’s ceiling to stabilize myself and I closed my eyes. Surrendering to every ripple of sensation as I came.
“Shit,” Wingman said through his teeth. He cupped my cheek in his callused palm, pulling me down with a biting kiss. “You’re fucking gorgeous when you come.”
I grinned down at him, wiggling on his cock. His orgasm hit him hard, abs flexed tight as he flung his head back. He dug his fingers into the plush flesh of my hips.
A little thrill zipped up my spine, watching the pleasure morph across his features. I took the opportunity to admire him. Tattoo ink curved over his obliques and marked his shoulder. More ink cascaded down his right arm to his wrist in a full sleeve.
A guy like him would never be attracted to me if he knew that I was a single mom.
But I enjoyed myself for now. The fantasy would be over soon enough.
Despite the heater blasting against my back, a draft of icy air still seeped from around the windows. I huddled against the warmth of Wingman’s chest, kissing his neck and nipping at his earlobe. My tangled hair spilled over my shoulder, and my lips felt tender, swollen.
His fingertips drifted in lazy patterns over my back, idly tracing up and down my spine.
“Told you that I’d make it worth your while.”
I rolled my eyes, fighting back a smile.
“Must you cheapen the moment?”
“Dn’t pretend you were looking for a five-star-hotel lay. You’re the one who wanted to fuck in the back seat of my car.”
“It beats a quickie in the clubhouse kitchen,” I protested. “Which is what you were angling for.”
“Hey, that kitchen is huge and roomy. Plenty of space to move around and spread out. Surfaces to lean on.”
“Well, you’ll just have to try harder to get into my pants when we’re in the kitchen next time,” I replied, gathering up my clothes and putting them back on.
“Next time?” Wingman prompted.
I faltered as I shimmied into my jeans without bumping my head against the roof. He was right—there really wasn’t much room in here to move around.
And there would be no next time. It was a figure of speech. I didn’t want to lead him on or think that I was interested in a recurring situation.
This was a one time deal. It could never happen again.
“Metaphorically speaking,” I amended.
“Right.”
Was that a note of disappointment in his voice?
I couldn’t tell. His face was turned away from me as he got dressed, pulling his shirt over his head.
Even though I was barely decent, I couldn’t stand to be in this suddenly claustrophobic car anymore.
The scent of sex filled the air, and Wingman was so close that I kept brushing up against him.
I needed space. I needed to breathe.
Grabbing my coat, I pushed the door open and stepped out. Snowflakes spilled down the collar of my shirt with icy little stings. Shivering, I huddled into my coat as fast as possible, frantically buttoning it closed.
Wingman stepped out after me.
“Are you going to the charity ride tomorrow?”
I completely forgot about it since I wasn’t scheduled to work at the clubhouse.
Every year, the Reckless Order hosted a holiday charity ride through town.
The proceeds were donated to the local food bank to fund their Christmas feast kits that they gave out to families in need.
For such big, tough bikers, they were surprisingly thoughtful and generous people.
“Honestly, I haven’t given it much thought,” I replied, focused on fixing up my buttons. “I’ve been so busy with Christmas and it completely slipped my mind—”
I broke off as Wingman stepped forward and cupped my chin, tilting my head up. He pressed a light, sweet kiss to my lips. A whimper escaped me.
Fuck, I never wanted this to end. I rose on tiptoe, sliding my arms around his neck and kissed him back.
It means nothing, I insisted.
“I’m not asking you out on a date, if that’s what you’re worried about,” Wingman said. He barely broke away to speak, and his breath was warm against my mouth. “It’s just…an invitation. Take it or leave it.”
The urge to say yes sprang to the tip of my tongue. But I swallowed it down and forced myself to move away, fishing my gloves out of my coat pocket.
“I’ll have to think about it.”
Wingman nodded, tucking his hands under his arms to warm them.
“Well then,” he hedged. “If I don’t see you again…Merry Christmas, sweetheart.”
My throat tightened. I stepped closer, grabbed his belt, and kissed him one last time. I’d forgotten how good it felt to share that intimacy with someone. I would be forever grateful to him that he gave me that gift, soothing the lonely ache of being a single mom for just a few precious minutes.
On Christmas morning, my door slid open on squeaky hinges. The soft pitter-pat of socked feet tiptoed into my room. I cracked one eye open.
“Did Santa leave one of his elves behind?”
Mikey climbed up onto my bed with a serious expression, wearing his favorite Lightning McQueen pajamas. He balanced a plate of holiday cookies in his little hands with studious concentration.
“Santa isn’t real.”
I brushed his wispy blond curls away from his forehead and took the plate from him, setting it aside safely on my nightstand. He figured out that Santa wasn’t real all on his own when he was three years old. It broke my heart that he couldn’t hold onto that child-like wonder a little while longer.
“Are you sure?” I replied. “Didn’t you see all those presents under the Christmas tree before you came in here?”
“You did that, Mom,” he said with a patiently exasperated tone that said, do I have to explain everything to you?
I selected a cookie—a lumpy little snowman with a top hat, doused in sprinkles—and broke it in half, holding out the bigger portion to Mikey. He accepted it politely.
“So…” I pushed back the covers and patted the bed. He burrowed in next to me. “What do you want to do today after we open presents?”
Mikey’s little fingers mapped the pale blue cornflowers and daisies that dotted my comforter.
“Can we build a race track in the living room for my toy cars?”
I smiled and pulled him into my arms for a hug, kissing his forehead. We did that every year, and he spent hours zooming his miniature hot rods and mustangs over couches and under the Christmas tree, careening through the kitchen, veering in and out of bedrooms.
Wingman’s invitation to the charity ride lingered in the back of my mind. Honestly, Mikey would love it. To see all those motorcycles up close would be heaven for him.
But it would mean vulnerability on my part. Exposing an aspect of my life that I’d kept largely hidden from the club.
And how would Wingman respond when he found out that I have a son? A son that I made no mention of last night in the back seat of his car.
It doesn’t matter either way, I reasoned.
Wingman was a one-time thing. I wasn’t looking for a relationship. And I certainly wasn’t assessing him for potential father material.
Besides, there was a chance that Wingman might not even show up. Just because he’d invited me to the charity ride didn’t mean he would actually go. He could have changed his mind when broad daylight sobered him up and he realized he wasn’t that interested in seeing me again after all.
“Hey,” I said, nudging Mikey with my elbow. “Go grab some presents. Bring them in here. We’ll open them while we’re all cozy and tucked into bed.”
Needing no further prompting, he hurried out of the room. I heard the crinkle of wrapping paper and the patter of his footsteps return. Then he deposited an armload of presents on the mattress and wiggled his way under the covers again.
I watched as he opened them, carefully tearing the wrapping paper. Maybe I could start dating again. It would be good for Mikey to have a dad in his life. Someone who could talk to him about his love for toy cars. Someone who was there for him when I couldn’t be.
But if I intended to start dating again, I couldn’t hide my boy anymore. I had to let the world know that I was a single mom with a son who needed a father figure.
“I’ve got a question to ask you, Mikey,” I said, propping my head on my head as I looked at him.
“Yeah?”
“Do you want to go see some motorcycles today?”
Mikey’s eyes grew wide as saucers.
“Really?”
I nodded.
“I know a bunch of super awesome guys who would love to show them off and tell you all about them.”
“That would be so cool!” he replied, squirming with excitement.
I grabbed his sock-covered foot with a squeeze and gestured to the door.
“Go on. Get dressed. I’ll make breakfast and we’ll leave after that.”
Mikey scrambled out of bed with a whoop, darting around the corner. I flopped back against the pillows with a sigh, bracing myself for the day ahead.