Page 10 of Straight to Me

His breath on my neck instantly makes me wet between the legs. Managing not to drop to my knees and let him fuck my mouth in public, I push back slightly, creating space, and peer up at his calm eyes.

What the hell is he doing to me?

Still holding his hand, I turn it over in mine, inspecting the damage from last night. The knuckles are cracked, dried blood still sitting on them. I run my fingers gently over the top.

“Looks like only one of us got hurt last night.”

“That’s nothing babe.” He moves closer to me again, keeping eye contact as he talks, “You know I’m an outlaw, right?” It’s a rhetorical question, but it holds so much weight.

Of course, last night was nothing for him. It’s likely he’s dished out heftier beatings to people much tougher. I shake the thoughts at once from my mind. I can’t imagine VP any more dangerous than what I’ve already seen.

We walk around the event lazily and VP seems to enjoy telling me all about the different motorcycle clubs here. I’ve spotted at least five different ones, the majority all more local than the Lancashire lot. It’s nice listening to him and hearing more about his club.

I find myself relaxing as we walk around, joining the people who mill about, laughing and joking. VP buys us both a cold drink and we walk towards where some music is being played.

Fifteen minutes later and the smell of cooking meat fills the air as the bearded giant from last night starts up the barbecue, surrounded by other members of their club. VP doesn’t go close to them, but I sense them all watching us walking together.“I think we have admirers,” I say embarrassed. VP looks up at the men and lets out a small laugh.

“They’re probably just jealous.”

I don’t believe that for a second, but I raise a small smile. “I still can’t believe that there’s so many people here,” I observe, turning my attention away from the men staring at us, “but your lot have clearly had the longest ride,” I say matter-of-factly.

VP smiles inquisitively. "How do you know, you been up north before?" he asks.

"Well, my mum's from there and both she and my sister live there now."

His eyes brighten and he nods his chin. "You visit them much?"

Shit. Is this the part where I tell him I'm moving there soon? No. Don't be so ridiculous. I don't even know when it's happening or where I'll be living yet.

"Um, not for a long time," I say sheepishly, looking away from him.

"Well, you have my number, next time you visit make sure you let me know."

I glance up and catch him looking at me. "Sure." Shaking my head, a smile stretches across my face and he squeezes my hand, leading me on.

A few people stop and talk to VP, thanking him for travelling so far with his crew. They all say the same thing; that they appreciate the love felt.

The last man VP talks to is wearing a similar cut to him, his top flash however reads, ‘President’. VP’s boss. The man in charge. He’s tall, well built with no hair on top of his head, but a grey stubble blankets his chin. His arms are bare, allowing everyone to see his heavily tattooed skin.

The word ‘Ripper’, the most prominent, is inscribed underneath a lifelike tattoo of a woman holding a single red rose. She seems to dance majestically across his forearm as he moves. The president looks at me briefly, seeing me staring at his arms.

“And who’s this?” he asks VP.

“This is Mads,” VP replies.

My muscles stiffen under the president’s watch. I can feel his ice-cold eyes suddenly boring through me, like I’m an intruder at the party. The man doesn’t greet me, instead he moves his gaze to VP with a hand outstretched.

Releasing my hand, VP reaches his out for his president to take. They clasp each other, slapping each other’s backs in an embrace. There’s silence between them, but they exchange a nod before the president takes one last look at me, then turns and leaves.

VP takes my hand in his again. He has, and continues to keep constant contact, never letting me walk without one of his hands on my body. I’m managing to play it quite cool by my standards, but inside I’m a quivering wreck. The heat feels like an inferno. I need to excuse myself, as much as I don’t want to, to re-apply deodorant and gather myself before I melt.

“Is there a toilet here?” I ask quietly.

“Up there, towards where the kids are playing.” He points past the picnic tables, and I spot the top of the wooden shack.

“I’m desperate,” I say, needing him to release my hand so that I can actually leave.

“Right. I’ll be by the barbecue, come straight to me when you’re done.”A bit insistent, but okay.

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