Page 91 of Wolf.e

My high crests and I open my eyes, loosening my grip on his hair, staring up at the wood beams of his ceiling while my breath returns to normal. I look down at him, still sitting between my legs, a beautiful god all of my own. My gaze moves from him to the floor where our needle and forceps lie, and as he kisses the inside of my thigh, a tiny smirk plays on my lips.

“Think this area is still sterile?”

The Glen Eden rally is something I really can’t describe.

I take in the sights, the sounds, the smells and I can’t believe what a world this is—the bikers world. I simply had no idea the way it encompasses people.

It’s not just a hobby, it’s who they are.

It’s not just a vibe. It’s a culture.

As we pull into the otherwise quiet hamlet of Benson, Georgia, and stop at the light in a sea of bikes, I feel like I belong as Gabriel’s large hands settle against my jean clad calves. He strokes them gingerly as we wait for the light to change and a warm feeling of peace washes over me. For being such a heartless, cold blooded biker president on the outside, his inside is surprisingly thoughtful, protective, and downright fucking addicting.

After living with him for a month I know Gabriel can’t help it. He simply oozes masculinity and power in everything he does. He’s the provider, the caretaker, and the king of this world. When he touches me like this as I’m nestled behind him, while he’s front and center leading his club, I feel like his queen.

I’m almost sad when the light finally changes, and he releases my legs to move his hands back to the handlebars. The further into town we go, the more incredible and over the top things become. There are vendors everywhere, women everywhere, some in fishnet shirts with nothing underneath, some in no shirts, and almost everyone wears leather like it was a prerequisite to get into the town. There are apparel tents, bike part tents, bikes themselves, Harley Davison is here, Indian Motorcycle, even BMW has a bike viewing area set up. There are beer tents and food trucks. It’s full of chaos and laughter and feels like a party all amidst more club colors than I’ve ever seen. Clubs from all over, every part of the country, all different nationalities, even clubs from Canada joining in.

All to celebrate their love of riding. It’s truly exhilarating to be a part of.

We ride through the whole town before hitting the outskirts where the party continues, as we’re pulling into a campground of sorts, but it’s on the property of someone Gabriel knows. The music is already going, and people have tents put up everywhere between the trees. There are portable bathrooms and people barbecuing. It’s like the owner has thought of everything.

“Pres,” a gray-haired giant with a beard to match, who Gabriel calls Jack, says. Jack’s smile is wide as we approach him, standing in front of a row of about fifteen yurt style cabins.

I look around as he talks to the man and a few others that have joined as the HOH files in and gets off their bikes. There’s shade everywhere throughout the trees and a massive building in the center of the property. It reminds me of a mess hall of sorts from a summer camp I went to when I was young.

“I’m in Orlando for two weeks after this, so it’s like a send off of sorts for me,” Jack tells him.

“Heading down to see Skylar?” Gabriel asks him as Layla approaches and hugs me from behind.

I squeeze her back. “We’re gonna have so much fun,” she whispers so she doesn’t interrupt the two men talking.

“Yep, grandson number two born yesterday. They’re just a blessing those grandbabies,” Jack continues.

“Congrats, bro,” Gabriel says, and the other members offer their congratulations as well.

“Who’s this beauty?” the man asks as I turn my full attention back to him.

Gabriel reaches between us and grabs my waist possessively. “This is Brinley,” he says, pulling me closer, under the crook of his arm. I breathe in his leather and spice scent. His hand drifts down to my hip and he squeezes tight in front of everyone in the open space.

The gray-haired giant stands stunned for a few seconds and then chuckles, a deep sound that reverberates from his chest.

“Well, Brinley, this is a turn of events I wasn’t prepared for. I’m Jack Walker,” he says extending a mitt sized weathered hand.

“Brinley Beaumont,” I respond.

“Never expected this guy to bring a plus one,” he says to me.

“Neither did he.” I grin.

Jack chuckles and scrubs his jaw, then turns to Gabriel but speaks to me. “You know, his mother always said he always chased the path he would suffer the most on and he wouldn’t settle down until he was satisfied with his own suffrage.”

“I could see that.” I smirk up at Gabriel who squeezes me closer.

“Yeah, I bet you can,” Jack grins at me.

“Fine woman, that Theresa,” Jack says as if he’s remembering a past life. It makes me wonder how well he knew her.

“She also used to say that the right person would only show up once you thought you’d suffered enough to deserve her.” Jack claps Gabriel on the shoulder.

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