Page 7 of Ridin' Free
Twister turned onto his side and glanced over his shoulder. She was gone. He couldn’t say he was surprised, but he sure as fuck was disappointed. More than anything,that’swhat surprised him. He couldn’t remember the last time he woke in bed alone, wishing it weren’t so—if ever. More times than not, ifhe woke up with a woman still lying next to him, he was happy to abandon her between the sheets and go about his day.
Phoenix hadn’t even taken off her dress, and she was still the best lay he’d had in so long as he could remember.
He didn’t do relationships. Casual was far less complicated, and club whores were his favorite brand of easy. No calls. No flowers. No expectations other than a fun time had by all. Even at forty-one years old, with his brothers dropping like flies and sporting wedding bands on their fingers, he was not swayed.
Twister didn’t have anything against the concept of an ol’ lady. He actually liked the ones who had been accumulated over the last couple of years. They were pretty bitches. Low drama. Good people. And popping out kids, too. Somehow, the men closest to him managed to find outsiders who accepted them for who they were and loved them fiercely, in spite of the dark patches marking their souls. Some came around often—like Tess, who loved live music as much as her man; or Alexia, who was on the Stallions payroll as the club’s general counsel. Jenna was no stranger; but while she wasn’t around as much, she never bitched when Maverick chose to be on the compound.
Then, of course, there was Winnie. She’d been around so long she was family. Straight up.
Whatever—orwhoever—made his brothers happy earned his respect. Not to mention, he wasn’t dumb. He understood the love of a good woman made the men who had his six that much more vigilant when they had to ride. The right ol’ lady was a benefit, not a deterrent—but finding such a woman was as much work as keeping her.
Twister had his priorities. Claiming a woman as his was not one of them, no matter how much grief his sisters gave him for it.
So, when he woke up Sunday morning, pining over that spitfire of a woman, he was sure it was his dick doing all the thinking.
He rolled onto his back, and the fragrance of her wafted from the sheets.
She smelled like wildflowers.
She was beautiful. He’d always thought so—but he never thought he’d get the chance to take her for a ride. Phoenix wasn’t some sheep.
He grinned, then ran a hand down his face as he shook his head.
Truth of the matter was, in spite of the fact that he filled two condoms on account of her pussy, she’d been the one doing all the riding. It wasthatreality which left him longing for more.
When he saw the look on her face during the reception, he knew he’d found his drinking buddy for the night. Not that any of his brothers wouldn’t have been better than adequate company, but he could tell—even with her in that dress—she felt as out of her element as he did in the classy venue. She wasn’t one of the girls. Never had been.
She was Phoenix. The bar manager with a sassy mouth and enough attitude to scare a man with a smaller dick than the one he had.
He didn’t know when he brought her that first shot that he’d make a move, but she was a cute drunk. After his fourth trip to the bar, he couldn’t help himself.
She’d been better than a good time. She was as wild as her long, red hair, and as fierce as the message she sent with that knife she carried with her everywhere. While he’d been around Phoenix for years, he wouldn’t call them friends, and he didn’t know her well. He might have guessed she had a fire inside of her, but he never imagined it could burn so hot.
The way she’d handled him the night before felt like the beginning of a conversation. Only, she’d done most of the talking, leaving him with plenty to say and no chance to say it.She passed out after round two, and he had no clue when she woke up and decided not to stick around for a third.
There was something unbelievably sexy about the way she owned her pleasure, using his body to set her ablaze. If her pussy hadn’t been so tight, and the sexy as fuck noises she made hadn’t done him in, he might have felt like her object—but she needed him to reach her climax, and she’d gotten him off, too.
That was to say nothing of her mouth.
Fuck—but she kissed like an untamed animal, and it was hot as hell.
Something told him, if they went at it again and he had his way, it would be utter euphoria.
He sat up and raked his fingers through his overgrown hair. When he spotted her panties, forgotten and abandoned in the middle of the floor, he considered it a sign.
Phoenix was no club whore, and she was no man’s sheep. While he wasn’t looking for an ol’ lady, he felt sure she had no aspiration of being his, a truth which only further incentivized him. He wanted another night, and he was going to see to it that he got one.
It waslate afternoonwhen he arrived back in Gillette and sped onto the compound. He parked his hog in front of the clubhouse, lowered his kickstand and tugged at the bandana he had covering his mouth, tied around his neck. He hadn’t bothered to stop at home. It didn’t matter that he’d spent most of the previous day in the company of his brothers. Sitting at the bar in the clubhouse was one of his favorite places to be, second onlyto the open road mounted on his red, Harley-Davidson Hydra-Glide Revival.
His house was decent enough, but he considered it an investment more than a home. It’s where he parked his truck. Where he kept his cash and guns. Where he laid his head, when he felt like going to bed alone—but it was a quiet place, and he preferred the ruckus of the Stallion herd.
Twister strutted through the double doors and surveyed the room. Shep and Slick were kicked back on a nearby sofa, Slick with a sheep propped casually on his knee. Bull was seated across from them. Otto, the president’s youngest, was stretched out on the cushion next to his dad, his attention glued to the handheld gaming device he played.
Buck and Rodeo were at the bar, conversing over a beer. Shadow, Bull’s oldest, was on the opposite side, leaning against the counter as he laughed with his brothers. He didn’t know it yet—but Bull was going to convene the ranked members of the club for the final vote regarding the probie as soon as Wrangler got back from his honeymoon.
Not that it would be a surprise when he got his final patch. Miles wasn’t just the president’s son, even though that was how he got his road name. So many of the ranked members had known him since he was three feet tall, following his daddy around like a little shadow. Now, he was a fucking good kid who’d been working his ass off to earn his place in the club. He wasn’t relying on his name in the slightest, which garnered him all Twister’s support and respect.
As Twister made his way to the bar, he spotted Jett, the last of Bull’s offspring, shooting pool with Dog. Rage Against the Machine played through the overhead speakers, and the vibe that afternoon was laid back, which suited Twister just fine. Later, when the kids were gone and the sun was down, the Stallions would get wild, like they always did.
