Page 30 of The Chase

They’d stopped to eat at a truck stop but at that moment, he heard the far off sound of a bike. Multiple bikes. The loud kind with straight pipes.

The MC.

They were coming.

They were near.

Pulling off the highway, into the truck stop they were just about to leave.

So close. Their driving around in circles hadn’t thrown the MC off their tail.

Colt edged the van toward the on ramp, checking everywhere before pulling out. The sound had stopped. The bikes were still and out of view. Colt hit the gas and they were on the highway again. April glued her eyes to the road, but no bikes followed them.

* * *

As the eveningdrew to a close and the gray of dusk began to bite, April’s eyes drooped. It was becoming routine. She finally succumbed to sleep, her head lolling to rest lightly on the window. When he was certain she was out, he allowed himself to think about it. What kept happening whenever they got close. The brush of her hand against his, the breath on her lips that coasted over him when they stood too close. Why he choked. Again. Why he couldn’t just drop his pants and get on with it like he should have been able to. Like he wanted to. Hell, like he’d bragged to her, “a good fuck with a bad ass biker”. He’d delivered a frantic, teenage quickie and then nothing more. She had asked him for it. Begged him for it. Her sassy words of “don’t make me beg, begging isn’t my style...” rang in his ears. He knew he was getting lost in his own head, he felt it, spiraling downwards, round and round, but he couldn’t stop it.

The first time, he’d let loose and he’d been terrified he’d broken the universe. The power balance, the difference between light and dark and right and wrong. He’d come too quickly and ruined himself. The second time, he’d backed down, because… He took a deep breath in through his nose, instantly taken back to that moment he had his index and middle fingers thrust roughly inside her. Oh fuck. It had felt good. So warm, so wet, so silky soft inside that tight little cunt of hers. It promised to be everything he had dreamed of. Everything he thought it was but hadn’t taken the time to properly appreciate when he’d quickly binged on her. He had stopped then because he knew he was rushing it. He didn’t want to rush it again. To force things. And he felt he was forcing. Her little breathy screams would play on his mind. Haunt him. He was glad he checked in with her afterwards that she was okay. She said she liked it. He didn’t want it to be like that again, rushed, needy. Dirty. But at the same time, he wanted it exactly like that. Hard, fast, pounding into her like she was his and only his. Skin slapping skin. Wet skin. Fuck. He was getting hard thinking about it. So why hadn’t he just followed through and made it happen?

Because it was her, the voice in his head answered. His ultimate teenage fantasy, fucking her. But not just that, her coming to him willingly, wanting him hot and hard, rough and dirty. In the back of a van, on the side of the road. Ripping his jeans off to get to him. In his wildest dreams only had he imagined undressing her, peeling pretty little garments off her. He hadn’t foreseen her pawing to get inside his pants. Her telling him not to stop. Begging him. Her little mewls, her utterances of ‘Colt, please’. Her confession that she’d imagine a man like him when touching herself. Telling him she wanted to see the pleasure on his face as he came. He wasn’t sure he was good enough for her. He wasn’t sure he deserved her. No, he was sure, he was one hundred percent certain that he did not deserve her.

But when she was looking hungrily at him from beneath those dark lashes of hers, he felt like the king of the world. Like a god. She made him feel fucking invincible. Like he could actually deserve her. He could glimpse it. It was within the realm of imagination. But then his self-doubt caught up with him. She only wants you to scratch a one-time itch. She only wants to try you out, take you for a spin, have a wild ride, then walk away. She won’t want to have anything more to do with you. That’s what the voice in the back of his head said to him. And that was the truth of it. That was what it all came down to, he realized with a sinking feeling in his soul. He wanted more. He wanted more than just a hot, hard fuck with the untouchable April. It wasn’t just a one and done thing for him. He had thought he’d be able to handle that one night in heaven, one blaze of glory. One slice of the pie. One puff of the cigarette, but as he knew only too well, once you had one puff, you wanted more. You craved it, your body burned for it. And that was how he felt now about April. He wanted more. He wanted her more than once. More than just a few times. He wanted her forever. He wanted her roughly, and gently and everything in between. He already knew he was insatiable when it came to her. Addicted. Obsessed even. He’d watched from the shadows as a teenager, whispered her name like a forbidden prayer in the darkness. Knowing she would always haunt him. Yet he embraced it. He thought he didn’t matter enough for his deadly addiction to be a problem.

But it was a problem now because he knew he wouldn’t be able to give her up. Once he’d had her fully, that would be it. She would always be his. And, even if she wasn’t his, she would be his. He wanted to cut loose the thrashing, starving, raging animal within him and let it loose on her. But he knew once he had let it loose, that was it. It would never come back in the cage. He would never be able to call it back, lock it up. It would be forever hers. And she would leave him empty. It wasn’t a dilemma, though. He wasn’t thinking about what he should do. He knew what he would do. He’d give in. Let her have his passion, his hunger, his soul. He’d fling open both doors of the cage and let her take it all.

He let his gaze drift to her, still fast asleep. Maybe it would be enough for her, too. He barely dared to hope for it. If all of this had happened five years ago, before prison, before he heard of the demise of the MC, he would have aimed mercilessly for her. Cockily. Like the arrogant asshole MC Prez he had been. With his brothers at his back and his position at the head of the table. He would have pursued her with single-mindedness, with certainty that they would end up in bed together and that she’d love it. He wasn’t that man anymore, he was an imposter, an empty shell of a man. Could he conjure up any of that bravado now? He would try at least. Like he did in the meeting room of the MC. He’d fake it until he made it.

He glanced at the clock on the dashboard. It was late. He turned off the highway. Off the next road, and the next, until they were in the middle of nowhere. Then he parked up at some half empty campsite. The silence filled his ears. He let out a sigh. He was tired. His body ached again. He got out of the van, closing the door quietly, pressing it shut rather than slamming it. He stood and it felt like each of his vertebrae cracked back into place. Fuck. He’d have to do something about his back. Especially if he wanted to give her the ride of her life. To give himself the ride of his life, too. The night air was cool, damp almost. He smelled the mist and the road and the trees.

He opened up the back of the van to the little love nest she’d created. Fairy lights softly bathed the interior with warmth. The quiet of the softness inside. Had she meant for it to be so intimate? It was pure coziness. It was heaven after his prison bunk. The last few nights of sleep, he had been numb by the time he’d collapsed inside it. As was their routine now, he took a step back and turned to go to the passenger side. He opened the door slowly. He was engulfed by her scent as he leaned over her to undo her seatbelt. He knew it would be wrong to breathe in deeply, but fuck it, he did it anyway. He took a deep drag of her as he carefully unclipped her seatbelt and fed it back into its reel so that it didn’t snap back loudly or drag over her. Then he firmly scooped her up and into the van. She sighed but didn’t wake. In fact, she nestled into his chest. Her little murmur against his chest sent a tightness straight to his cock. Fuck. He wanted more, but it was looking like it would be the same as usual; passing out fully clothed on top of the duvet.

Again, he took off his boots and her shoes. He wanted to get out of his jeans. He laid back, fuck it felt good, and lifted his butt to shimmy out of the pants. Yep, his dick was semi hard. He gave it a quick, hard squeeze over his briefs, and stifled a groan of desire. He whipped off his socks, and lay back down in his T-shirt and briefs. She was on top of the duvet in her clothes, but he wasn’t about to undress her, he wanted that experience to be enjoyable for both of them, when and if it ever happened. He wanted to rip her clothes off right before sinking himself in her wet heat. He wanted her to watch him do it. He wanted to feel her hands ripping the clothes off him, too. Ah hell, he was fully hard now. It felt wrong to touch himself right next to her sleeping body. He’d close his eyes to go to sleep. He’d let that oblivion claim him, that empty wasteland of purgatory, neither calming nor frightful, that empty place he went to every night. Except the last few nights, where he had dreamed of her. He turned his head, cracked open an eye and took one last look at her, fast asleep next to him. He had a feeling he would see her again in his dreams as soon as he closed his eyes. The idea of that both soothed and excited him. He turned his head back to center, took a breath, closed his eyes and plunged in.

* * *

He woke slowly,but was immediately aware it was too early. It was still dark, still night time. The fairy lights twinkled above him, bathing everything in a golden glow.

What had woken him? Then he felt it. A stabbing, tight pain in his shoulder blade right next to his spine. He sighed and shifted slightly. It was warm in the van. The air was quiet but close. His T-shirt stuck to him, it felt claustrophobic on his skin. He dragged the cotton over his stomach, upwards, raised his arms and yanked it off over his head. He shifted his head to see if April was still sleeping soundly.

He had to muffle his groan with his hand.

Fuck Christ. She was undressed. She must have woken up and been too hot, too. He saw skin. Miles of her luscious, soft skin. She’d kicked off the covers and was lying on her side, facing him. He let out a noise like he had taken too big a bite on a cake and his mouth was full of something large and delicious. Black cotton panties hugged her hips. A black bra clung to her breasts. He continued his trail up her body to her face. Then her eyes snapped open.

She woke up suddenly. Something had startled her awake. She blinked. She had pulled off her clothes earlier. Colt had obviously carried her from the seat to the bed again. He’d laid her down fully clothed. She was grateful for that. She had tried to stay awake, she desperately wanted them to go to bed together. To undress, to get close. But that never happened.

When she had woken earlier, she’d restlessly yanked her clothes off. She wasn’t too hot again, so what had woken her? She was met by two dark, wide open eyes gazing back at her. Intensely. Looking hungry. Ravenous. She swallowed loudly.

“You okay?” she whispered.

He grunted in a casual tone that did not match the intensity of his gaze. “Shoulder hurts.” He shrugged his right one once.

He obviously didn’t realize how much his eyes were saying to her. Screaming to her. He didn’t take his eyes off her. She felt his warm breath on her skin. They must have rolled close to each other at some point in the night. She had to capitalize on this moment, no way could she let this pass. Before he got lost in his own head again. Before he started hesitating and pulling away. They were both in their underwear, mere inches from each other. She knew he wasn’t going to initiate it, something was holding him back. Thinking she was too good for him, or not wanting to hurt her. Whatever it was, it was resulting in frustration for both of them and she’d be damned if she let it go on any longer.

“Your right shoulder? Probably all the driving. Roll over and I’ll give you a massage,” she instructed.

He breathed, in and out, once. His chest rising and falling. Was he hesitating? He just kept gazing at her, devouring her. After a long moment, he shifted. He did roll onto his front. His bare back was now exposed. Muscles, broad shoulders, tapering in a beautiful arch to a narrower waist. Sinew bunched on either side of his spine. And those black briefs, clinging to his perfectly round orbs, topped by two little dimples where his hip bones were. Her gaze swept him up and down. And up again. Now it was her turn to devour him with her eyes. He turned his head to her. She pushed herself up to sit and straddled his back.

He let out a muffled grunt as she lowered her weight to sit on his butt. She adjusted herself a little lower, on his upper thighs. She breathed out and looked at his back. The Black Coyotes MC tattoo covering it spanned from his shoulder blades to his middle lower back. The skull of a coyote, eye sockets, empty and staring. In the middle of a circle, a motorcycle tire with the lettering ‘Black Coyotes’ around the top and ‘California’ across the bottom. Exactly the same shape and design as what had been on the back of his cut. It was bold, haunting, and the shapes were black against his skin. His skin was smooth. She used the fingers on one hand to trace the outline.

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