“You’re going home with me, Dani. Get your ass out of the booth,” I order.
“I’d rather go home with the guy on the dance floor than you, Hero. At least he had the decency to ask me to fuck him instead of just telling me to get on my knees and suck.”
That’s fucking it. Ripping her out of the booth, I throw her over my shoulder and haul ass out of the club. I’m done being the fucking nice guy. I toss her on the back of my bike and retrieve a helmet from the saddle bags. She’s going to give me the time I deserve whether she likes it or not.
“Put this on,” I order her as I slide over the seat of my Harley and turn the key. Revving the engine up, I check to make sure Raze’s bike is still here, but I find it absent. It’s not like him to leave without telling me, but I’d have known if he were being arrested for killing a motherfucker by now. I make a mental note to call him in the morning to check on how things shook down after I went to find Dani.
“Put your arms around my waist, Dani. Try not to fall off before I can talk to you, will ya?”
“I’m only on this fucking thing because I’m ready to go home. Just try not to kill us!” she yells over the rumbling engine.
Popping the kick stand, I ride away from the club and head for my house. She’ll try to run if I take her back to the clubhouse, so my civilian home is the best chance I have for actually getting her to talk to me. Her tits press against my back as we ride into town and feeling them against my back makes me shiver in anticipation. Dirty thoughts of just what I could do with her perfect tits flood through my mind. Visualizing my dick rubbing between them as my cum coats her chest sends shockwaves through my body. The forward lurch of the bike at a stop light makes her pussy rub against the seat and me. I wonder if the vibrations of the bike are making her wet. God, I hope so because if she and I can have an actual adult conversation for once, I’m hoping the night ends with that tiny little dress wadded up on my floor and her mouth wrapped around my aching cock. If I don’t get off soon, my balls will likely shrivel up and die of misuse.
Pulling onto the cement drive of my house, I kill the engine. I pop the kick stand back down and lean the bike against it, swinging my legs over. I help her take off her helmet and scoop her into my arms off the bike. I’m not about to go flashing the world the pussy I’m hoping to be buried to the hilt in tonight. Though, I am sure my perverted neighbors would fucking like that... If this house wasn’t completely paid off, I’d have already moved from this neighborhood. It’s not exactly the best area to live in anymore, but no one would dare fuck with my house. They all know what lies behind the door. I return my focus to carrying her to the door over my shoulder. I can feel her head move while she takes in the house so I know she’s confused, but even bikers have a real house. We all need our space to think and figure shit out from time to time. I may prefer my room at the clubhouse now that she occupies it with me, but I like my solitude at times. Half the guys don’t even know where my house is, and I’m going to keep it that way. Punching in the security code with my free hand, I open the door and walk her straight to the couch.
Depositing her there, I walk into the kitchen and bring her a glass of ice water and two aspirin. She’ll have a monster hangover in the morning if she doesn’t take care of shit now. Handing her the glass and the tablets, I walk back to the front door to secure it. When I return to the living room, she’s stretched out on the couch. Seeing her in my house and laid out like that sends an electrical shock down to my dick. Easy, Hero. Let’s not scare her off already. I have to keep it in my pants long enough to get this discussion out of the way. Play time can start later.
Sitting on the unoccupied end of the couch, I pull her up to a sitting position. I can’t fucking talk to her if she’s presenting herself like a prized Thanksgiving turkey on a platter. My brain won’t function long enough to accomplish what I need done knowing her short skit won’t conceal anything from me.
“Is this your house or did you break in someone’s vacation villa?” she asks.
“It’s mine, Dani,” I reply, waiting for her smart mouth to strike again.
“So this is what biker money can buy these days? What does Raze have? A McMansion?”
“The club didn’t buy me this fucking house, Dani, if that’s what you think. I had it long before I ever prospected for Heaven’s Rejects.”
“I see,” she says. “Are you a drug dealer?” she asks.
“You have to be joking with me, right? Just because I am a fucking biker that has a decent house, you automatically think it was purchased with blood and drug money?” I rant.
“I just—,” she stammers. “I didn’t mean to be a bitch. It’s just that I never see you work. You are always at the clubhouse in your little VP chair pretending to be all high and mighty.”
“Had you asked and not just fucking assumed that this cut means I’m an outlaw, I would have told you I receive retirement pay from the Army, and my family left me a trust fund. And yes, I do fucking work. I keep our club running and I manage all of our businesses, including two bike shops and our protection service company. Does that satisfy your curiosity about how the dirty biker has nice things, or would you like to see the deed or hell, my tax return?” I angrily tear into her.
Her accusation that I thieved to buy this home is a hot button issue for me. Sure, I run with some pretty nefarious and dangerous people, but it doesn’t mean I don’t walk the straight and narrow outside the club. I have money, and it’s managed wisely. I worked hard for the shitty retirement from the Army, just like my father worked hard for every cent that I inherited. This isn’t a world where free rides and loads of cash come easy anymore. You have to work your ass off and sacrifice everything to make it ahead in this world.
“I’m sorry,” she quietly responds. Fuck, I’ve sent her back into the scared-little-girl mode again. I need to run damage control if tonight will work out the way I want.
“No, I’m sorry. Biker stereotyping like that just pisses me off. We aren’t all like the 1%ers. Sure, we’ve got a trail of blood behind us, but our reasons for killing are justified. We toe the line of the law, and that’s how it’s going to stay. I don’t need some civilian trying to make me feel like a dick for having cash that was earned the old fashion way - with my blood, sweat, and fucking life on the line.”
Dani crosses her arms as anger sets in further. Just great, my goddamn mouth goes and makes it worse yet again. I need a stop-being-an-asshole implant chip to shock my ass every time I do shit like this. Not everyone warrants that kind of behavior from me, and definitely not Dani. At least not now anyway.
“Would you care to tell me why the hell I’m here in your non-drug trafficking purchased home?”
“I told you why you are here, we need to talk.”
“What exactly do we need to talk about? I assumed I was crystal clear that I don’t want anything to do with you. Thanks for saving me and all, but I’d like to pass on whatever else you have planned tonight.”
Oh no, angel. You aren’t going to brush me off that easily. I know your tricks too well now. Deflection and distraction are not going to work in your favor tonight.
“That’s not how this is going to work, Dani. You and I need to clear the air about a few things.”
“Like what?” she questions.
“Like, for instance, what the hell your last name is? I want to get to know you better, Dani. What’s your story?”
As soon as I lay down what I want to know, she freezes in place. What the fuck is in her past that she begins to panic at the slightest question about it? Does she have an abusive ex back home or hell, is she still married and on the run? Nothing about her clouded past has been easy to decipher. She’s hiding something from the club and from me, I just hope it isn’t skeletons in her closet that we can’t deal with.