CHAPTER 34 IRON JACK
IRON JACK
When we get back to the clubhouse, Betz’s eyes practically bug out that Greta is with us. “What is she doing back here?”
“She fucked up Anarchy and ended the standoff,” Fancy says. “We’re trying to convince her to be Iron Jack’s ol’ lady. They make city girls different than I thought.”
Betz’s eyes narrow, but I glare at her until she backs off.
“I’ll get the beer iced,” she said. “Should we call the doc out here?”
“Yeah,” I tell her. “A few of them are busted up pretty good.”
I take Greta’s hand and lead her to my room. I’m ready to get the blood and sweat off me. I still have to recover my Harley from that convenience store in Virginia.
Grey Beast stands in the hall. “Anyone got a change of clothes that will fit me?”
“Hoss will,” Betz says. “I’ll fetch something.”
With everyone handled, I close the door to my room.
“Strip,” Greta says. “I need to see all of your wounds.” She picks up my hands, which were bloodied before and look like raw meat now. The gauze she put on me during the flight is long gone.
She shakes her head. “You can’t even read the WILD HAIR letter tattoos.”
“While you were wrapping your scarf around Anarchy, we were all busting each other’s jaws.”
“I see that.”
Even so, I brush her hair back from her face. She was all polished and well-dressed when she was on the helicopter, black pants, a silk shirt and coat, hair twisted in a neat updo. Now she’s fire. Her hair is a wild mass around her dusty face, her nice coat covered in my enemy’s blood.
Fuck, it’s hot.
I reach for her, but she takes a step back. “I’m serious. Strip.”
The wounds on my knuckles break open as I unbuckle my belt and peel off my shirt. I kick off my boots, frowning at the blood everywhere as I dispatch my pants. What a goddamn day.
Greta shrugs off her coat and circles me, her hands running over my skin. “Massive bruise here,” she says, touching my upper back. “Sucker punch, I’d say.”
I shrug.
“Knifed here?” She touches the side of my right arm.
I lift it to look and see a shallow cut crusted over. “Anarchy’s bullet that went wild.”
She kneels in front of me. “There’s a bruise on your hip. Take these off.” She tugs on my tight boxers.
I slide them down, grimacing when they stick to my skin before pulling free.
“Yup, you got hit with something heavy here.” She presses her hand against the wound. It’s bruised and rough with dried blood.
And that’s it. She’s too close. My cock rises next to her face.
She looks up at me, eyebrow raised. “That’s all it takes? Me touching a wound? You know if I do anything with it at all, it’s going to hurt this area.”
“I’ll gladly take the pain.”
She takes me in her hand, sliding slowly along the length. “All right. Let’s get in the shower and wash some of this off. Then we’ll see what we can safely do.”
“I just have to close my eyes and picture you slamming the knife into Anarchy and I’ll spray all over the wall.”
She laughs. “I see what gets you hot and bothered.”
I lift her by the shoulders and pull her face close to mine. “You. In all forms. In all ways. Just your existence.”
Her eyes lock on mine. “I know. I feel the same.”
“You have all the choices,” I tell her. “You know I want you here. The club wants you here. But I get that it’s more complicated than that.”
She nods. “It is. Now are you going to take these clothes off me or not?”
I grasp the bottom of her shirt and whip it over her head. I want to savor each part of her as it’s revealed. For all I know, this is the last time. She might walk away after this and I won’t see her again.
I have to make it count.
I run my hands over her back, her shoulders, her belly. Her skin is smooth and cool and flawless. Only when I can’t look at that gorgeous cleavage in the pale peach bra a moment longer do I reach for the clasp and set her free.
When the bra falls to the floor, I have no choice but to worship her. I hold each breast with a hand, memorizing the roundness, the heft, each bold pink nipple. The buds tighten as I run my thumbs across them.
They’re perfect. I want a wall-sized mural of them. They should be the first thing I see when I open my eyes every day of my life.
But I can only sear them into my memory, leaning down to slowly draw a nipple into my mouth.
I want this so slow, so long, that maybe it will never actually end. Maybe we’ll keep going and going until we’re one with the earth again.
I tease her breast with my lips, my tongue, my teeth. I can’t get enough of it.
She relaxes at last, sliding into our sacred space. I move from one side to the other, loving every lick, every moment of her in my arms, in my mouth.
But my cock is urging me forward. To see all of her. Taste every inch. I unbutton those sleek pants and run the zipper down. They slither down her legs in a heap.
I kiss every part of her as I lean down to take off her boots — her belly, the center of those thighs in pink panties, her knees.
I stay low, looking up at her, all breast and chin and cascading fiery hair. I never want to leave this room. I want to chain her to my bed and fuck her until the world ends.
I shudder with the conflicting feelings and focus on her body, moving my hands up her calves, up to her knees, then pressing both thumbs between her thighs.
She draws in a long, aching breath as I slip a finger inside the lace, feeling my way to the center of her.
But the moment my fingers slide into her, the urgency begins its steady drumbeat. I grasp the sides of the panties and tear them down, shoving my face between her legs.
I lick her, no longer slow but frantic, needing to hear her cry my name, to shudder against my tongue.
I push her onto the edge of the bed, spreading her legs wide, the panties still dangling on one ankle.
And I dive in with fingers and tongue, working her, feeling wild and chaotic, needing her to want to stay, to dissolve into the bliss so completely that she can’t escape, won’t want to.
Her cries rise up as she gets wet and slick. I hold her open with both hands so I can fill her with my nose and mouth and tongue.
She comes apart, grasping my head, shoving me even farther in. Her spasms flutter against my lips and tongue, pulsing, her thighs quivering. She says my name, random words, and long, unending groans of pleasure tinged with desperation.
When the first wave has passed, I lift her up and slide her body right onto my cock. She grasps my shoulders, moving up and down my shaft with deep contractions of her belly and thighs.
I walk us to the bathroom, still inside her, and step us into the shower.
The first blast of water is shockingly cold, but somehow this makes her come again, crying out, shivering, clamping down on me like a fist.
The water warms, and we slow down, her head on my shoulder, hair dripping onto my chest.
The water runs pink and brown and finally clear as I hold on to her, slowly sliding up and down, deep and shallow, easy and tight.
“I don’t want it to end,” she says. “I never want this to end.”
I want to tell her it doesn’t have to. She can stay here. Bring her kid. Hell, bring her ex if we have to. I’ll find a place for him. I’ll do anything to keep her.
But she’s crying, and as I hold her, gently sliding in and out of her body, I might be crying, too. It’s the end of the revenge. I have to find some other quest. Some other drive.
I want it to be her.
“How can we make this work?” I ask her.
She clutches my neck. “Just fuck me. Just fuck me for now. Make it hard. Make it so rough that I can’t think.”
I shut off the water and take her to the bed, never leaving her body. I lay her on the edge and hold on to her thighs. I press my hand to her neck and slam into her, again and again.
She holds her hands over mine, loving the danger, wanting everything to be obliterated. And I do what she needs, pounding, thrusting, pouring into her as I come in her body, letting go of her throat in time for her to scream my name, crying and sobbing as though the world might be ending right now.
Maybe it is.