This chapter is for my grrls. You know who you are! wishuy, HGRHfan35, Mrsprofile, pansyass, Befham ...
The leather and layers of black clothing, the chained wallet, the boots. And her naked body in his arms. He was solid sharp angles and she was soft erotic curves. She was finding the contrast delicious. He had his face buried against her throat, his mouth open and hot against her skin. She arched up into his lips, his teeth, and he held her, biting down into her shoulder.
He lowered her to the bed, a hand on her hipbone, holding her there, one-handed working the buttons on his shirt, fingers feeding them through the placket. Then he reached in the pocket of his cut and tossed a box of condoms onto the bedside table. He pushed the vest and shirt off his shoulders and they fell with a thudded clank to the carpet. He went down on a knee, pulling at the laces of one boot, leaning between her knees and nipping at the insides of her thighs. Then he unlaced the other boot and he stood and toed them off, kicking them aside.
She lifted her arm and slipped her wrist behind her neck, watching his frantic but methodical strip tease. She loved the gender differences in the simple act of dressing and undressing. He reached both hands above his head and pulled the T-shirt up and over his head, dropping it behind him. Then both hands on his belt, the button-fly and she watched, heated and curious, as he pushed the jeans down over his hips, stepping out of them.
The bed was high enough for him to stand between her legs and he pulled her to the edge of the mattress, leaning down and kissing her hard. His labored breathing making her smile against his lips. She wrapped her arms around his neck, urging him down.
"We got all night, Tara. I cannae wait jus' now," he growled into her ear and she nodded her agreement.
He straightened, reached for the condoms and she watched him, again feeling the heat rise to boiling inside her, the masculine act as he opened a package, and unrolled it deftly into place. His hands, his fingers and thumbs, the heavy silver rings, and the ridged knuckles were a visual aphrodisiac. Then he had his hands on her hips, pulling her even closer towards him, pressing her down into the mattress. With her legs wrapped around him, he slanted sideways, reached down for his cock between their bodies, and with a movement so perfect that it trapped all the oxygen inside her lungs, he was inside her.
The corded sexual tension they had strung between themselves over the past three days tightened, winding around the spools of their spines, pulling them closer, becoming a taut tie between them, vibrating along the length. She had never responded so instantly to a man's body before and her head fell back, the tip of her tongue following the bow of her upper lip. She still had not caught her breath and now she was gulping air. She could hear him humming a low cadence of sound, moaning. For her. She reached up for him and he bent into her arms, her hands on either side of his neck holding his face just above hers, every inhale for his exhale. Then he let go of her hips, smoothing open-palmed up the front of her body, over her ribs, taking each breast in his hands. She went up and over the edge, pulling him down to her completely, finding his mouth, his name on her tongue.
He kissed her, licking out of her mouth, biting at the edge of her jaw. She could feel his hips stutter against her. She reached between their bodies, seeking out one of his nipples. He closed his lips around her earlobe, "Aye, aye." She twisted it between finger and thumb and he was coming.
Gently, he nudged her towards the middle of the bed, and she lifted up so he could drag the bedding down to the end, kicking at it with her feet. He rolled onto his side and pulled the condom off, knotting it deftly and dropping it to the floor. He turned onto his back and she nestled up under his arm and they lay panting for long minutes.
"Girl."
She kissed the ribs over his heart, beneath his arm, the smell of his sweat intoxicating.
"It's like you were made for me."
She understood this perfectly and she laughed, a low delighted sound.
Slowly, she began to explore his body. He was like a dangerous cat under her ministrations. She pressed her face deep into his underarm, sucking the hairs into her mouth. She loved the smell of him. Then she followed the thick bicep with the tip of her tongue and stopped at the inside hinge of his elbow. She spent long minutes sucking dark red patches into his skin, before tracing the ropy muscles of his forearm to his wrist. She knelt up and settled back down between his raised knees, bringing his hand to her face, sucking each one of his fingers deep into her mouth, biting into the bone between his knuckles.
He groaned.
She laved across his chest, his tattoos dark shapes in the candle light but she could see a lettered name over his heart and for a sharp unpleasant moment she thought of Abel's name inked into Jax's flesh. She squeezed her eyes shut and pushed the image away from her. She bit at his nipple and he brought both hands up and held her face against his skin, his hips rocking up into her, all masculine promise.
She kept moving down his body with her mouth, lips, teeth, tongue. His belly was soft and covered with dark hair. He had his hands on her shoulders now, encouraging her downwards and she smiled. He was beginning to respond. She took him into her mouth and he jerked upwards. He was perfect.
She crawled back up his body, straddling him, up on her knees and he reached for both her breasts and she arched backwards against his thighs. He was rock hard beneath her and he moved his hand down to fist his cock and she lowered herself onto him.
The candles guttering.
"We could be tested. Get rid of these feckin lifesavers, aye?" He was knotting the second condom.
She nodded, serious. "Yes, we could." She raised an eyebrow at him.
"I'm no altar boy."
"And if you were," she grinned, "that would be even more reason to be tested. And I'm allowed to say that because I'm Irish Catholic."
"Lapsed, right."
"And when was the last time you attended Mass, Telford?"
He ducked his head. "No priest on Earth wants to hear my confession, luv."
"You and me both." She closed her eyes tight against this thought. "I haven't been with anyone for almost a year now," she added, looking away.
"Aye? But look who you were shagging."
Her brows furrowed deeply.
He shrugged. "Right?" His voice was tentative now.
She tipped her head. "I don't know."
He muttered noncommittally. "We gonna smoke in here?"
"I don't care. Open the window."
He climbed out of the bed and disappeared through the door. When he returned he opened the window and lay back down with an opened beer and a makeshift ashtray. He lay on his back, smoking. She took the cigarette.
"Really, Filip?" She asked, returning to the subject of Jax.
He turned his head to look at her, squinting through the smoke, following her without pause.
"Wow," she whispered.
He shrugged against the pillows. "I can think of a truckload more things we could talk about. Or we don't have to talk. At all." He reached for her and she indicated the cigarette, taking a deep drag and holding it in her lungs.
She leaned across him, stubbing it out in the ashtray, his hands already on her breasts, her flesh tingling with the electricity his every touch volted through her, nipples hardening into his palms. She kissed him, exhaling the smoke and he pulled it fast into his mouth, smiling against her teeth. He flipped her body beneath his, blowing smoke in two thick columns out his nostrils, kissing her jawline. "Tara," he laughed.
With both hands behind her, hands cupping her shoulders, he moved between her thighs. She wrapped him in her arms and with slow deliberation he rocked her into an ecstatic oblivion. The candles burning out within moments of each other, the dark room pulling her under the waves of sleep.
The rising sun was steadily illuming the room, warming the morning air. She was wrapped in his arms, her head on his chest. She felt warm and wanted. Her body and mind relaxed and she reveled in the dopamine release he had triggered again and again inside her brain. He was right, they fit together lock and key, knife and sheath, hand and glove and it had been glorious.
She kissed his sleeping mouth and he roused, eyes slitting open. "Darlin'," he said, voice gravelly.
She slipped out of the bed and he reached for her hand, stopping her but she was already on her feet, her back to him. His fingers were on the swell of her ass.
"What the fuck?" he said loudly, startling her.
"What?" she asked, turning quickly, her heart lodging in her throat. She had not heard this tone from him before, outside of the clubhouse.
He was throwing off the sheets, pulling himself out of the bed, reaching for her again. He grabbed her hips and turned her away from him.
"What in the hell is that?" he asked, fingers tracing the crow inked into her lower back.
"Filip?"
"What. In. The. Hell. Is that?" he asked again and his voice had descended into a dangerous register.
She twisted in his grasp, looking down at the edges of the tattoo. She pulled herself away from him backing towards the door. "It's a tattoo and you know that. What's wrong?"
"That isn't just a tattoo, Tara. And you know that. That's Old Lady ink."
She was nodding, confused and frightened by the look on his face. "I know what it is."
He was angrily pulling on his jeans, buttoning, feeding the end of the belt through the buckle. "I've missed something here."
"What? What have you missed?" She could see the anger visibly rising inside of him, his eyes darkening, his mouth a tight line, the scars whitening into his cheeks.
"You got that for Jax?"
"When I was a kid."
He was shaking his head. "Fuck me. Fuck me!"
"Fil, you're scaring me. I don't understand what's wrong. Why are you so upset? It's a tattoo I got when I was eighteen years old!"
"Tara," he was breathing hard, kicking his clothes together, reaching down for his t-shirt.
She suddenly felt incredibly exposed, vulnerably naked. She had begun to shake. "What is it?" she whispered and it felt like a cry.
"What is it?" He was fully dressed now, sitting on the bed, head in his hands. He looked up at her, then reached for his socks and boots and began putting them on. Finally he stood. "That crow. That's Old Lady ink. It carries a message, weight, in the MC. It's," he paused, looking away from her, "it's a sign of ownership."
She cringed. "No. That's ugly."
"I've missed something here. I'm not getting something about you and Jax. How serious were you?"
"Serious. You didn't know we were together in high school? He was my first." She refused to allude to Jackson's proclamations of lifelong true love.
He had his tongue deep in his cheek, shaking his head. "Fuck me," he said again. "No. I didn't know that. How in hell would I have known that? I mean he was fucking married to that junkie, he's a bloke who fucks prostitutes. You showed up like a queen and you hung around a while and then you were gone. I must have been preoccupied, aye right? I fucking avoided you because every single thing about you turned me inside out."
"So what's the issue here?"
"The issue? You might as well have "property of the Oakland Hells Angels" tattooed on your arse cheek." He shouldered into his cut and moved past her, out into the hallway. She grabbed her jeans and pulled them on, pulled her shirt over her head and followed him.
He was standing in the opened front door. He turned to her and his face was stricken. "This is not good. I've got to think about this."
"That's it? You're just leaving?"
He was silent.
"I'm not with Jax, Filip. You know that. If you're going to hold to some ridiculous covenant of brotherhood, of ownership-" she was crying now. "Well, then fuck you."
He nodded, took one step across the foyer tile to her and kissed her hard on the mouth, bruising against her lips, before he turned and was out the door. She stepped forward and slammed the front door behind him, rattling it in the jamb. She crouched down and covered her ears, blocking out the sound of the bike. Leaving.
