Page 52 of Dash

The scratch of his trimmed beard along the skin of her neck sent shivers through her. His warm breath tickled her in the most erotic of ways. “Maybe,” he whispered in her ear, but she’d forgotten the question she’d asked.

When his finger trailed along the slight V of the neckline of her shirt, she opened her eyes to see him peering down the opening at her chest. Snapping out of the haze of arousal, she slapped at his hand. “What are you doing?”

“Checking my marks.” He let her move his hand away.

She knew well that he’d permitted her, because this stocky man could overpower her without a second thought. His words. His marks. Yes. He’d marked her, and she loved that he had.

“Do you really think this is the right place to do that?” she countered as she glanced up and down the street, nervous someone would see.

The scoff drew her focus back to him just as his arm blocked her vision down the street. Again, he caged her in, and suddenly he was all she could experience. The smell of him, the sight of him, the feel of him against her. Him. It was enough to get her drunk. She could get used to it.

She looked up, through her lashes, into his gray eyes, and absolutely melted. Okay. Fine. The street is fine. He could take her shirt off and examine every inch of her if he wanted to, as long as he looked at her like that.

He dipped his head. Her eyes were still open when his lips met hers. For a moment, it was as though she didn’t know what to do, and he guided her. Tender at first, his smooth lips covered hers. Once she relaxed, he increased the pressure, slid one hand behind her head, the other around her waist, and pulled her harder against him.

As he parted his lips, she followed his lead. His tongue teased hers. Their sweet moment turned into a greedy one. Her hands wrapped around him, clawing at the patches of his vest, as her body ached. A fire lit inside her that he’d ignited, and she wanted nothing more than to have him.

With short, raspy breaths, he broke the kiss and eyed her like a starving man. Cupping her face, he scanned her features, and she tried to convey the desire for him through her expression, finding that his kiss had stolen her words.

PRK rested his forehead against hers. “I’d rather go somewhere and do a full inspection, but I can’t tonight,” he admitted, the disappointment was thick in his words.

The funeral. He had a funeral tomorrow. Nothing killed the mood like a funeral. He didn’t have to mention it. She remembered and nodded against his head.

They lingered there for a few more seconds before he released her, stepping back and wrapping his fingers around his beard. His gaze fixated on the street as though he were contemplating something.

“You’re not from here,” she recalled out loud, drawing his focus up to her with a curious expression. “Did you need support? Someone to go with you?” The words left her mouth before she could think about them. She’d made that same offer to the elderly partners of her former hospice patients after they’d passed, so it slipped from her without thinking. If she could, she would kick her own ass. Who invited themselves to a funeral?

His hand fell away from his beard as he parted his lips, though nothing came from his mouth at first. Fixated upon it, she watched his tongue slide over his teeth before he let out a sigh.

“Yeah.” He nodded. “I could.”

Chapter 26

Dash

The last ride. Usually, the last ride is for bikers who were cremated. Their ashes were taken on a ride by their closest living friend. For Dash, he considered the last ride being the one to the cemetery.

He didn’t know where it came from, but someone had sourced a trailer that attached to Monty’s bike so that he could tow Bowie’s coffin. Several chapters of Odin’s Fury lined up to ride, one last time, in formation with Bowie. Jan, Bowie’s Ol’ Lady, was on the back of Monty’s bike. No one else had a passenger. It was a sign of respect for Bowie. It was the only exception Monty made to having anyone but his own Ol’ Lady on the back of his bike.

Sparrow and her mom drove Zach and Dax, Bowie’s sons. The rest of the Ol’ Ladies were in cars, mixed in with the citizens. Even if the citizens rode, they wouldn’t bring their bikes to Bowie’s final ride. This was for him and his club. The respect for the man was clear and struck a chord with Dash, leaving him with a lump in his throat for most of the day.

Without their helmets, a sign of respect for their fallen brother, the long ass funeral procession started. Each man wore a bandana on his head. Bowie, through his cancer and life, had amassed quite a collection. There were enough for every brother in the club, and those who attended the funeral were given one to have as a keepsake.

Dash hadn’t told Gingersnap to meet him at the funeral home. He wasn’t sure yet how he wanted to handle that. There’d be too many questions from his brothers and the women. He’d told her the name and address of the cemetery. He figured that was enough. During the ride, he still didn’t quite know what he was doing about her.

He’d kissed her. He never kissed his play partners. After coffee and hanging out with her friends, he’d gotten comfortable. Then he walked her to the car and he just couldn’t control himself. It wasn’t a play session. It was almost a date. It felt right. A kiss. Jesus Christ, he’d lost his ever-loving mind. A damn good kiss, though. He couldn’t bring himself to regret the kiss.

As they pulled down the aisles of graves, he spotted her car. The white sedan, her unmistakable auburn hair inside the window, drew his eye as he passed. Yep. There she was, being there for him. Gingersnap was a loyal woman. She wasn’t just a play partner, and that shit happened without him even realizing it.

Odin’s Fury remained on their bikes while Bowie’s coffin was detached from Monty’s bike. Bowie’s sons, his biological brother, and his father served as pallbearers, and carried the coffin to the pre-dug grave. Dash swallowed the lump in his throat, watching the two young men beside their father’s box. Tears streamed down their faces, but they tried to hold their hard expressions to do their father proud.

The only thing that could pull his focus off those two boys doing their best to be stoic was the redhead, dressed in all black, walking past the line of bikers without an iota of intimidation evident in her features. It had nothing to do with the cute little black dress she wore either. She walked tall, her head high, and looked confident as all fuck. He knew that his wasn’t the only eye she caught and the pride in that made his chest swell.

She paused beside him, but kept her distance. On the sidewalk, she canted her head and met his eye. With a lifted brow she offered him a discreet thumbs up, the unspoken question clear.

He couldn’t help it, though he tried. Only half a smile escaped him and he nodded, returning the gesture. She lowered her hand, glanced toward the grave and back at him. He jutted his head toward the group of citizens. With a brief wave, the woman bravely headed into a crowd of people she didn’t know, to attend the funeral of a man she didn’t know, to support a man she barely knew. Fuck. This was a one-of-a-kind woman, the kind that a guy didn’t let go.

The men of Odin’s Fury went toward the grave together, shoulder to shoulder. Once they approached the rest of the group, they mixed in with the citizens. It didn’t take Dash long to find her. Her hair was like a flare amid a sea of black.

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