Gemma passed Ripley the blunt, not bothering to mention that this was the third one they'd shared since they'd walked through the door of her home. They'd gone straight to the back porch, sat in the armchairs overlooking her gardens and lit up. The now empty bottle of Black Jack on the table between them-surrounded by more than few fallen beers- hadn't stood a chance in hell . . . but it sure had made the first joint seem incredibly long and sweet. Now, as they watched the fireflies drift aimlessly through the roses and hydrangea, Gemma knew she could finally get some answers to her questions. If she could only remember what the fuck they were . . .
"I kissed Tig . . ."
Gemma blinked, looking up to see Ripley take a swig of her latest beer. The girl had changed into a black tank top and a pair of jeans that were more hole than fabric, cuffing them to her calves. The straps of her bra were bright white against her skin and the dark lines of her tattoos . . . while her hair was down and this living mass of golden curls around her face and shoulders. She didn't look at Gemma as she spoke; keeping her kohl rimmed sea glass eyes trained on her gardens.
"Really? What was it like?"
Ripley smirked, blinking a little longer than she had before as she shrugged and took another swig of her drink. And Gemma had to catch herself. Though Ripley favored her mother heavily-almost to a point of being identical- she'd always had a very different personality from the outgoing and elegant Millennia. So much so that Gemma and Clay had always assumed she'd taken after her biological father- a cold and shrewd business man that had never laid eyes on his only daughter. An opinion justified by the fact Millennia had always worried that the man's legacy to Ripley wouldn't be just her hair color . . . and her shocking intelligence. That she'd be as cold and unfeeling as he had been . . . But the look she had now, sitting on the porch and reminiscing about an earlier conquest . . . Gemma knew that Millie's fears had been unfounded. Because whatever of her father was in her, as of this moment she was the pure daughter of Ed Guadimus. Apparently, Ripley had taken a few things from her Pops after all.
"Like someone trying to devour you from the mouth down . . . and you love every fucking second of it."
Gemma laughed, taking the blunt back, pulling in another lungful as Ripley sank further into her chair. A few seconds later, the girl sighed, her head lulling to the side as he looked to Gemma with watery eyes.
"What do I do, Mama?"
Gemma sighed, sitting the joint in the ashtray before reaching out and grabbing Ripley's hand, twining their fingers together. They sat there, looking at one another for a long moment before Gemma made up her mind. She knew that most likely whatever would happen with Tig would go badly if it wasn't done correctly . . . but it was easy to see how strongly the two of them were drawn to each other. All this needed was some finesse . . . and some careful nudging in the right direction.
"Do you want him, Baby?"
Ripley shrugged, turning to look back out at the garden. Her bottom lip drawn between straight white teeth as she worried it. A trait her mother had always hated because it left her lips almost constantly chapped.
"I don't know. I know I'm attracted to him. And I know that the sex would be amazing. If not a little fucking scary."
Gemma laughed, nodding in agreement. She swore she heard the sound of engines . . . but shook her head. She was just baked . . . and as Ripley continued, neither saw the two figures round the corner of the house. Or stop at the edge of the porch and listen.
"I just . . . I . . . Want him. But I'm not changing for anybody. Never have and never will. My Old Man might not've been my real dad but he taught me a lot. And the biggest lesson was living a life you're happy with. And don't make one sided compromises."
Gemma nodded, draining her beer before standing. As she went to walk by Ripley, she dipped and kissed the crown of the girl's head before resting her forehead against her golden curls.
"Your Pops was a smart man, Baby girl. And he loved the fuck out of you. Just like I do. We'll figure it out, honey. Just let it work on itself. Now, do you want another beer?"
Ripley nodded, closing her eyes as she relaxed into the seat. Gemma sighed, straightening up and almost dropping the empty bottles when she noticed their company. Clay was leaning against one of the porch columns, arms crossed as he smirked at her shaking his head. Tig was, however, standing a good few feet behind him, almost in the shadows. But not enough that she couldn't see the bruise that had blossomed across his lower jaw.
She sighed, shaking her head before motioning them into the house. Clay followed while Tig glanced at Ripley, looking torn between staying and going. Clay smacked him, nodding his head in the girl's direction before ushering Gemma inside . . . and following her to the side window to eavesdrop. Because God knows these two needed damn chaperones . . . and SWAT team to break them apart should everything go wrong.
Ripley knew someone was standing in front of her . . . watching her. But for the life of her she just couldn't care. Her arms and legs were so loose and her head was so warm that she honestly didn't think she could've moved if she had to . . . so whoever was just going to have to deal with it. But she couldn't remember anybody but Gemma being here . . .
She felt a hand brush her bangs out of her face, tucking the wayward curls behind her ear . . . and she couldn't stop herself from leaning into the warmth of the touch. Or marveling at how, despite the obvious callouses and scars she felt, soft the skin was. She furrowed her brow, forcing her heavy eyes open . . . to see none other than Tig crouched before her, balanced on the balls of his feet as he looked at her. The bruising on his jaw looked painful . . . and she suddenly felt very bad for being responsible for it. She reached out, tracing the dark mark with her fingertips, barely touching the abused skin.
"Does that hurt?"
He shrugged, keeping his hand on her cheek as he smirked at her.
"Not near as much as my pride, Doll."
She nodded once, closing her eyes before opening them again. She smiled at him apologetically as she shrugged.
"Sorry. I just don't like to be touched without permission. Personal space issues."
He nodded, drawing his hand back slowly before she caught it, deliberately keeping it near her cheek as she laid her face in his open palm. He let out a shuttering breath before brushing his thumb over her cheek . . . and she felt giddy. She knew this wasn't something this man did on a regular basis. She doubted he'd ever done it before period. Which is probably what spurned her to kiss right over his pulse point on his wrist before nuzzling back into the touch against her face.
Tig cursed, his fingers twitching as he fought to keep himself in check. She could not do shit like that or he wasn't going to be able to contain himself. Something about the mix of strong and vulnerable, fighter and bashfulness had him hyperaware of her and her touch . . . and seeing her so thoroughly relaxed was not helping. At all.
"Any reason for that, Babe? Or do you just like things to be on your terms?"
Ripley shrugged again, her smirk falling just a bit as she looked at him. For a second he was worried he'd crossed a line until she laughed. He shivered, loving and hating the way that throaty little chuckle of hers moved over him . . . seeming to make a straight shot to his now hardening cock.
"More just precaution than anything . . . never can be too careful. Especially with whom you allow in your bed. Right?"
He swallowed hard, knowing now she was far too gone to carry on the conversation he wanted to have if she'd just admitted that aloud. She might have a secret freak flag to fly-and God he was so he was reading all of these signs right and she did-but she was too fucking smart to have ever taken a risk like she'd just let on about. Even he could see that. But he had to ask, now that she'd put it out there. And the words just seemed to fly from his lips on their own.
"And who do you let in your bed, Little Girl?"
She smirked at him, leaning forward until their cheeks were touching and her hair was shielding them from sight like a curtain as it fell over her shoulders and tickled his face and neck. He took a deep breath in before he could help himself, trying to place the scent she always wore . . . and groaning at her next words as she whispered them in his ear. He had to focus very hard to listen . . . as her lips brushed over his ear with every sweet fucking syllable.
"Do you want it to be you, Old Man? Or do you just not want it to be any of your Brothers?"
He struggled to keep himself under control, fighting to keep from grabbing her and taking her to the nearest flat surface to fuck into submission. That wouldn't accomplish what he wanted. And what he wanted was to see just how fucking far they could take one another. Be it a week or a lifetime. But when she bit his ear-ever so lightly- he felt his control waning. He was only fucking human.
"Can I touch you?"
She pulled back, confusion clear across her features as she blinked at him. She opened her mouth but he stopped her, asking again.
"You said earlier you'd gut me without permission. So can I touch you?"
Ripley nodded, going to open her mouth again to tell him how much of a smartass he was to ask that . . . only to have to remember to breathe when his mouth crashed over hers with enough force to push her back into her seat. Her arms, still heavy from the pot and the alcohol, wound around his shoulders on their own as his hands cupped her face to hold her to him. When she felt his tongue trace her lips, she parted them for him . . . loving the way he tasted as he thoroughly explored every centimeter of her mouth. God he was way too good with that tongue of his . . .
She shuddered, letting him pull her tighter against him as his hands slid from her cheek down her jaw to her neck. From there they passed down her shoulders, ghosting over her arms and the sides of her breasts before settling on her hips. When he pulled back, she knew her eyes were as lidded and her lips as kiss swollen as his were . . . but she really didn't know why that would be a bad thing anymore. He stood, pulling her to her feet with him before wrapping his arms around her.
She stretched up, meeting his lips as he bent to kiss her again. She smirked into his lips as she felt him press against her stomach, not bothering to hide her delighted chuckle as he shuddered when her fingertips grazed his denim clad erection. He pulled her hand away and she knew that was not normal. Especially for him . . . She pouted prettily up at him, kissing his neck as he kept her hands in his, laying his cheek against her curls as he groaned.
"We need to talk. Seriously talk . . ."
She nodded, working her way down his neck to his Adam's apple, tracing the bobbing flesh with her tongue as he spoke. She smiled against his skin as his breathing hitched . . . knowing she'd accomplished something big to get that kind of reaction from a sexual deviant like Tig . . .
"I'm not playing, Ripley. We have to-"
She bit his Adam's apple slightly, barely applying pressure with her blunt teeth as he tried to reprimand her. She found it funny that he would try to stave off a sexual encounter in favor of talking something out . . . and she was far too high and too much in need of him to even contemplate letting a conversation happen first. If tonight didn't lead them to anything else then so be it. But she wanted tonight. And she wasn't going to waste the opportunity now that it had arisen.
Clay shook his head, turning to Gemma as they watched the scene unfold on the other side of the pane glass. Gemma was smirking as her eyes moved over the two of them and he knew what she was thinking. Tig had always been loyal and a good friend to them. To the Club. And he adored Gemma in a way that had left Clay edgy until he noticed it wasn't sexual . . . well as nonsexual as the man got anyway. Gemma's voice brought him back to the present and out of his musings. And he was happy to hear the laughter in her voice.
"God . . . who would've ever thought that that sweet little thing would go for someone like our Tigger?"
Clay shrugged, looping his arms around her waist as he rested his chin in the curve of her neck. She leaned back, bringing her hands to rest over his, lightly rubbing his knuckles and rings as he held her. No matter what happened between them, Clay knew that he was lost without his Queen. Gemma was the rock and reason behind so much of what he did . . .
"How many people do you think thought the same about Guad and Millie, hm? Because they were a lot odder match to see. Ripley's a pathologist, you know? And can be cold when she has to . . . And Tig is a crazy motherfucker if there ever was one. But they seem to just . . . click with each other somehow. I just hope they stay clicked."
Gemma nodded, looking over at him.
"Amen, husband. Because if this goes bad . . . it's gonna tear a lot down doing it."
Clay nodded; knowing the logic there was sound. But he wasn't going to deny them this. Tig always put them and the Club first . . . and it was time for the Club to start taking care of him where he needed it.
"Ready to go, My Queen?"
She laughed, kissing his cheek.
"Anytime you are, Love. Let's leave the newlyweds alone . . . Think Tig'll ever get around to talking with her?"
Clay laughed, steering her towards the door.
"Probably sometime tomorrow when they get this shit out of their systems . . . meaning I probably just need to let him have tomorrow to sort this."
Gemma nodded, following him out.
Tig growled, his hips jerking into hers seemingly on their own as her teeth closed around his neck. He had never, in his countless sexual escapades, had a woman do that. And goddamn if it wasn't like liquid fire had started coursing through his veins. He groaned as she kissed the spot she'd just bitten, soothing the abused patch of skin with her tongue before beginning to work her way down to the edge of his shirt. The more contact her mouth had with his skin the harder it was to remember why he was trying to stop this . . . he wanted this. Badly.
When her hands hit his cut, tracing the patches almost reverently-stopping to kiss the Sgt at Arms- before she slid it off his shoulders and laid it- very carefully- in the chair he'd pulled her from he felt himself grow even harder. That simple little act of devotion and honoring his attachment to the Club-his place in their world- over this was undeniably the single hottest thing she'd done yet. It topped the arguments, the quips and even the fights. It sealed it.
The sound of the door slamming brought him back into the Land of Reason . . . and brought his eyes up to meet Gemma's. Clay had already left the house, standing towards the edge of the porch. Dear Lord, when had he come outside?
Gemma cleared her throat, causing Ripley to turn and step away from him. And blush so severely he thought she would combust. Gemma however just laughed, pulling her into a hug. He watched as Gemma kissed Ripley's bangs before slinging her pocketbook over her shoulder and waving to him. He nodded, not trusting himself to move closer to Ripley to hug her before she left.
"Take care of our girl, Tigger. And Clay said not to worry about work tomorrow. If something comes up he'll give you a call. Other than that, consider yourself off."
She winked before crossing the porch to link her arm through Clay's, shaking her head and smacking him as they rounded the corner, talking quietly to one another as they disappeared into the darkness.
After a few moments, Tig sighed, looking back to Ripley as she looked to where Gemma and Clay had disappeared to . . . They needed to talk. Desperately.
"Do you work tomorrow, Doc?"
She blinked, turning to look at him for a moment before slowly shaking her head.
"I'm on call but the Coroner from Lodi is one the rotation for County tomorrow. Unless another girl pops up I'm in the clear . . ."
He raised a brow, stepping closer to her as she shifted from foot to foot uneasily. He hated that now, with the chemistry from before overshadowed by the Morrows departure, she had started to retreat back into herself and away from him. He reached out, pulling her into him as he rubbed her bare shoulders, trying to warm her enough to banish the goose bumps that had blossomed across her skin. She shivered, hesitating for a minute before stepping into him and letting him hold her. He smirked. He knew now that she was still pretty toasted-despite her sudden sobriety-to let him hold her like this without giving him a death glare or some skeptical look. Well, hopefully their talk would stop that from happening again.
But first, he needed to know why she seemed so worried about the other . . .
"You think there will be?"
Ripley shrugged, leaning her head against his chest and closing her eyes as she listened to his heartbeat. She knew-being a daughter of the First Sgt- just what it meant to serve the Club in that capacity. And Tig seemed to have almost no heart on most days. But here, pattering a bit faster than normal beneath her ear, was proof he did indeed possess one.
"No clue . . . I know that another body was found near Stockton that their forwarding the reports about. Apparently this isn't going to be a onetime thing . . .I just hope it isn't what I'm thinking it is."
Tig raised a brow at her, lifting her to face him by her chin as he dipped to look her face over. The darker his blue eyes go the more she was sure her worries were displayed clearly across her face.
"What do you think is going on Ripley . . .?"
She shuddered at the sound of her name from his lips. He always called her 'Little Girl' or Doc . . . or very rarely Doll. But he'd never called her name before. She had doubted he knew it. And to hear it was almost as nice as the feel of his hands as they slipped to hold her hips, bringing her flush against him. She swallowed, trying to collect her thoughts through the weed and alcohol and the lust.
"I think a killer has traded territories. It happens ever-so-often . . . and this is too methodical to be some random onetime deal. I just want it to stay out of Charming. I don't like this stuff too close to home . . . Look you said we needed to talk. About what?"
He smiled down at her, dipping to press his lips against hers. After a few seconds of eternity, his mouth moved and she was sure she'd lost all conscious thought again. Tongues met and danced as hands roamed and groped, desire burning through both of them as they stood on her back porch and just enjoyed the intimacy of the act. SAMCRO and everything else faded away until it was just them. Just his mouth on hers and their bodies pressed against one another . . .
Eventually, he pulled back his hand cupping her cheek as he rested his forehead against her bangs. She shuddered, her eyes locked onto his as his thumb caressed her cheek. The gentleness of the touch-the gesture itself-was not lost on her. Or the likelihood that he had done this for any of the other women that frequented his bed. Which is probably part of the reason she enjoyed it so fully.
"Us, Doc. We definitely need to talk about us . . ."
