Okay so this is a pretty bug update. I'm only going to say that I hope you enjoy it.
Tig chuckled darkly, tightening his grip on the honeydew tanned hips in his hands as the girl moved above him. She took him just a bit deeper, causing his head to lull back into the softness of the huge bed . . . eyes closed in pleasure as he heard her breath hitch as she bucked against him. Oh God if she did that again he was done for . . . He opened his eyes, savoring the sight of her now ruined dress shirt as it hung loosely around her shoulders. Allowing him to see the perfect breasts trying to overflow from the silk and lace confines of her bra . . . and the barest tips of the tattoo starting on her shoulder. He saw her lips were parted as her own head fell back, long golden blonde curls cascading down her back to graze his thighs as he felt her climax creep closer and closer.
But no matter what he did, he couldn't see her face. Not clearly. He knew he knew her . . . and that-for some unthinkable reason given the pleasure surrounding both of them-he wasn't supposed to be here. To be doing this . . . especially with her. He groaned, pulling himself up to lavish her neck with kisses and bites, loving the way she bared the flesh to him. Offering herself to him without hesitation or remorse as she came around him. Again. He grinned against her skin, promising himself that he would keep her here in this bed making those sounds for the rest of their lives if she would let him . . . if Clay and the others didn't kill him first. But why would they kill him?
Her hair fell over his shoulder as she slumped bonelessly against him, her body still quaking and shivering as he pulled her hips harder against his. He felt himself getting close and the urge to pull her tighter against him- to own as much of her as he fucking could- became uncontrollable as he caught her at the base of her skull and pulled her up to look at him.
Sea glass green met icy blue as he felt himself start to come undone . . . and he realized he knew those eyes. So odd and expressive while still so cold . . . and so unbelievably fucking hot as they locked with his own. God, he could drown in those eyes, as fucking sappy as that sounded.
"Alex . . ."
Her voice carried to him, a mix of husky seductress and almost timid softness as he finally saw all of her face. Her plump, pouty lips parted in a silent cry as she came again while her eyes closed, dark lashes fanning over high cheekbones and flawless skin. And the barest dusting of golden freckles across her cheeks and shoulders. With her body tightening, clenching and writhing above him . . . everything else fell away . . . until it hit him like a surge of cold water . . .
Tig shot up from his covers, drenched in sweat and breathing like he had just run a fucking marathon as his heart tried to escape the ribbed cage within his chest. He sank back against his pillows, thankful-for once- he was alone and in his apartment rather than his room at the Club. Because it would've been overly embarrassing to have to know whatever faceless sack of meat and tits that he'd carried off to fuck silly had witnessed him in the throes of a nightmare. And what a fucking nightmare it had been . . .
He groaned, closing his eyes to have to open them almost instantly. This was not good. He hadn't had a fucking wet dream since he was in the damn Marines . . . and to have one now, about her of all people . . . The girl was in his head and crawling under his skin. And all from a little glimpse of skin and one hell of a kiss.
He turned, seeing it was only 2:45 AM. He might as well try to sleep again . . . He shifted, grimacing at the stickiness of his boxers.
Okay. Now this was fucking ridiculous.
He was going back to goddamn sleep if it killed him . . . After he showered and changed.
Tig was sure that there was some universal conspiracy against him as he watched Ripley waltz into the T&M garage, between the guys and the fucking dreams. And it was going to be successful . . . especially if she kept dressing the way she was today . . . Gone were the dress pants, fitted button down shirts and the vests and blazers. And in their place was positively the most mouthwatering thing he'd ever seen . . . and she still looked so Goddamn innocent it wasn't funny.
The dark washed and distressed faded jeans hung loose on her hips while fitting a little too well on her butt and legs then tapering down and scrunching around her cream stiletto heels, making her already impossibly long legs seem even longer. The retro styled light blue top with the tiny flower print was innocent enough with its cap sleeves and squared neckline with small lapels . . . until he noticed just how very low cut said neckline actually was. But, paired over a very lacey white camisole that framed her chest a little too nicely, it still managed to look conservative enough. Until she bent down to pick up her keys. And then he'd gotten a very nice view of just how tight the shirt was stretched over her breasts . . . and how said breasts were practically spilling over the lacey bra he knew she was wearing. She seemed to have a penchant for lace and silk and all the things she knew would drive him fucking batshit crazy. She was even wearing a long gold necklace with a glossy iridescent blue-green koi fish charm that was designed to move with its wearer along with simple iridescent blue-green tear drop earrings and a matching gold, diamond and aquamarine koi cocktail ring making it easy to see the influence of her love of anything related to the ocean . . . if Gemma and Jax were to be believed.
He groaned, turning away from where she was talking animatedly with Juice and Chibs (fucking turncoat) before he did something stupid. After he'd escorted her and Gemma back to the garage, he'd deliberately avoided her and had gone to the meet with Clay. And as it turned out, Gemma had been right. Trammel was asking if they knew anything about the murder . . . because it hit some MO the feds had forwarded about a huge case down South. Clay had shared everything they knew-which was fucking nothing-but had promised to help keep an eye on it. Because Ripley had been right about the girl's age. Poor little Amelia Tourney was never going to see her twenty second birthday. And her parents weren't going to be able to have an open casket.
Tig sighed, cutting his eyes to Ripley as her laughter floated to him over the sounds of the shop and the radio blaring in the corner. He'd been ignoring her pretty steadily for almost a week and half now . . . telling Gemma that he would eventually apologize to her but he was just going to leave her be. He knew Gem had been disappointed but she'd consented, going on a bloody warpath against Clay and Piney for alienating the girl. However unintentional it might have been.
So now, Chibs and Happy had climbed right on board the Ripley train, not even sparing him a backwards glance as they started laughing and joking with the girl like she had always been there. Chibs sudden interest wasn't too surprising-the girl was hot and a new, fresh face in a small town- but Happy's easy acceptance had him on edge. Apparently the tattooed enforcer had run with her half-brother in the Nomads . . . and he had no problem accepting she belonged to the First Sgt.
Tig rolled his eyes, moving towards the office. Maybe if he was lucky, Gemma or Clay would have a Repo for him to do . . . and he could get out of this damn sorority house. Juice's words-however-brought him to a screeching halt.
"So, uh, Ripley. Any chance of you going to grab some lunch with me?"
Tig turned, fully aware that his right eye had started to tick as he glared at his younger Brother. But Juice was nonplussed; all smiles and bashful charm as he stood with his hands in his pockets chin slightly dipped as he waited for her to answer. Oh he'd kill him for this. They all damn well knew that even though Clay had lifted the fucking order they were not supposed to start in with the shit like this . . .
"Sure . . . where do you want to go? Because there's this great place just outside of Lodi that serves the best Italian I've had in a while. If you're up for it . . ."
Tig knew he shouldn't, he knew it was only going to get him in a world of trouble. But seeing her smile up at the big goofy moron, cheeks flushed as she shifted from one foot to the other flipped every common sense breaker in his brain to the OFF position. He'd dreamed of her every fucking night since she'd turned his world upside fucking down and she was going to stand here and flirt with Juice? Oh hell no. And it was with that thought that- before he could stop himself- he'd crossed the garage and had Ripley by the arm, dragging her into the office with him.
He let her go, spinning to slam and lock the door before the shock could wear off. As he turned back to speak, she caught him in the fucking nose with that damn left hook. And the huge fucking ring. He growled, shaking his head and glaring down at her as she glowered right back at him. He stepped closer to her . . . right as she sank the three inch heel of her left shoe into his foot.
He hissed, grabbing her by her shoulders and pulling her flush against him, keeping her still as he fought the urges trying to rise to the surface . . . though the main one at the moment was to throttle her.
"Jesus fucking Christ, Little Girl. Do you have any fucking clue how bad I want to beat some damn sense into you? What the hell do you think you're doing out there?"
Ripley glared at Tig hard enough that she knew his skin was burning. If there was one thing dealing with the numerous assholes that populated the Federal and Local police forces had taught her it was to never back down . . . and the underrated value of a good, hard glare. She'd sent many a snobby or chauvinistic asshole cowering on their way . . . and this, this . . . whatever he was, was not going to shove her around.
"I was agreeing to go to lunch with one of the few members of this Charter that doesn't think I'm made of fucking glass. Or some androgynous tag along. What the fuck does it matter to you?"
Tig's crystal blue eyes narrowed at her and Ripley knew if she hadn't been so mad she would've had to restart her heart. Thank God her Pops had taught her the art of staying pissed to stay alive. He dipped his head, bringing his lips almost to hers as he practically growled at her.
"Whatever happened to all of that bullshit about you not wanting anything to do with any of the Sons? Huh?"
Ripley smirked, seeing her chance to get out of this with her ego intact. It wasn't like she could do anything to make the man hate her any more than he already did . . . and if she was completely honest with herself, these little tiffs with him were the most fun she'd had outside of the bedroom in years . . .
"Maybe I was just trying to be nice, Tiggy." She leaned up and into him, barely touching her lips to his as she taunted him. She knew she could win this, she just had to keep it together long enough to do it. And if she rattled him, then all the better. Because her little stunt nearly two weeks before had left her more than wanting. She just wasn't going to give him the satisfaction of knowing that. Ever. "Maybe I just don't want any part of you . . ."
Clay and Gemma walked into the garage and shared a look, the President surveying the scene before them with a raised a brow. Chibs and Juice were talking with Opie . . . and Juice did not seem happy at all. He sighed, looking down to his wife as she looked skyward.
"Dear Lord what now . . ."
He shrugged, tossing his arm over her shoulders and steered them towards the trio. The closer they got, the more confused he got. What in the hell had happened while he'd gone to lunch? He reached out, tapping Juice on the shoulder . . . and almost laughed out right at the look on the boy's face. But his words brought the President of the Redwood Charter back to rights . . . and into a very foul mood.
"I swear to God Clay, if he's hurt her I'll kill him if it kills me. Son of a Bitch had no right to do that to her. I don't care what patch he has."
Gemma stepped forward, letting Clay's arm fall to his side as he clinched and unclenched his aching fists. From his reaction, he knew or had a pretty good idea what was going on . . . but she was in the dark. And if there was one place the Matriarch of the Sons of Anarchy did not like to be it was in the fucking dark. She cupped Juice's cheek, trying to calm him down as she rubbed his shoulder soothingly.
"Who did what to who, Juice?"
The mohawked man sighed, nodding his head towards the office.
"I asked Rip to go eat lunch and fucking Tig pops out of the damn woodwork. Looking fucking pissed as hell. He grabbed her arm and drags her into the fucking office . . ."
Clay didn't wait to hear anymore, he turned and stalked towards the room, digging his keys out of his pocket as he came to the door. He heard Gemma tell the others to wait there as she ran to catch up with him, cursing under his breath as she came to stand behind him. In under a few seconds, the door was open . . . and neither could believe what they saw.
Tig had Ripley pulled flush against him, mouth slanted firmly over hers as one of his hands tangled in her hair while the other had a very firm grip on the swell of her ass. Ripley's arms were around his neck, her hands buried in his dark curls as her mouth worked to meet his pace. When Ripley pulled away, gasping for breath as her head lulled back, Tig's mouth worked down her jaw to her neck. Nipping and biting as he lifted her and deposited her on Clay's desk. Neither seeming to care about the angry red trail he left in his wake . . . or the blood that was dripping onto her shirt from the cut in his cheek.
Clay stood there, shocked while Gemma regained enough sense to push him inside before slamming the door. Hard. At the sound, Ripley and Tig both jumped, Tig pulling Ripley tighter against him as he spun to face Clay. Effectively shielding her and hiding her from sight. If he'd had time, Clay would've laughed at the abnormally sweet gesture from the normally sinister man . . . But Ripley snapped out of whatever lust induced haze she'd been in.
And cuffed the back of Tig's head as hard as she could. The Sgt at Arms turned, glaring at her as she practically seethed up at him from her position on the desk. Working to set herself to rights. Tig, however, was having none of it-and almost had both of the Morrows rolling in the floor as he growled at her. Ripley was unfazed and swung, connecting a solid right hook to the man's jaw before sliding off the desk. When he went to grab her again she stomped on his foot hard enough to make even Clay wince before bringing her other foot around in a solid roundhouse kick to connect with the same abused cheek.
Tig staggered, sliding down the filing cabinet before he regained his footing . . . and caught her next swing, pulling her flush against him again. Both were breathing heavy, panting as they glared at one another. Though both Clay and Gemma knew that-with some of Tig's habits- this was probably better than any foreplay the girl could've dreamed up. He growled again, getting down in her face as he ground out through clenched teeth.
"Will you quit fucking hitting me?"
Ripley glared back but nodded, jerking her hand away as he loosened his grip . . . before kneeing him straight in the balls. Tig slid all the way to the ground while Clay bit the inside of his cheek to keep the guffaws of laughter from escaping. But nothing he did could keep his shoulders from shaking as he watched Ripley crouch down eye level with his battered and abused Sgt. at Arms.
"If you ever touch me again without my permission I will gut you on the fucking spot. Do you understand me, Old Man?"
Tig just looked at her, eyes almost glazed over as he nodded ever so slightly. Ripley rolled her eyes, stretching to her full height before turning on her heel and pushing through the door, not even bothering to stop as she grabbed a flabbergasted Juice and Opie by their cuts and made her way towards her Chevelle. Grumbling and cussing about "selfish emotionally constipated assholes that needed to make up their goddamn minds" the whole time.
Gemma sighed, running to catch up with them to get the full details while Clay stepped further into the office, shaking his head before moving to shut the door. He sank to the floor in front of Tig, trying to keep a straight face.
"You wanna tell me what the hell just happened?"
Tig looked up, eyes focusing on Clay for the first time since the man had come in. He opened his mouth; ready to tell his President everything he could . . . But try as he might he couldn't find the words. He'd been so fucking pissed about Ripley's rejection-however false- that he hadn't thought. He'd grabbed her up and slammed his mouth against hers, trying to sear the taste of his lips into her flesh. That way any man who tasted her after him would always taste him. Everything else had just progressed. Once his lips had hit hers, his hands had roamed freely while she'd threaded her fingers back into his hair, her short manicured nails scraping his scalp. Something he was now content to say he'd let her do for the rest of his life if she would.
And when he'd pushed his tongue into her mouth . . . He groaned letting his head fall back against the metal drawers behind him as Clay watched him. He was fucked. Royally and completely fucked. Because now . . . he knew she was as fucking sweet as he'd thought-dreamed-and she was never going to let him touch her again.
He opened his eyes, looking at Clay.
"I just royally fucked myself over . . . "
Tig closed his eyes again, trying to drown out Clay's sudden laughter as the man lit a cigar and passed it to him. Tig didn't hesitate, accepting the Cuban and taking long, hard draws from the tobacco before looking up at Clay. Who was just smiling and chuckling as he shook his head.
"Brother . . . there might be hope for you yet. C'mon, let's go get a drink and we'll go to Church. And have a nice long discussion about what you need to do next . . . and how to avoid another ass wiping."
