Page 82 of Ridin' Free
His eyes gleamed as they danced around my face, and my belly tingled at the sight.
“Sparky—when I’ve got you so wet, you can’t think straight, say the word, and I’m there.”
His ability to stir a longing inside of me was almost uncanny. For more than a week, he’d spent an unknowable amount of time fine tuning his favorite ways to bring me pleasure. As if he was making up for all the nights I’d been without him while he was out handling club business, he found his way into my bed or demanded I be in his for nine days and counting.
That said, there was no way I was going to give-in to his banter so easily. I narrowed my eyes at him. “That’s awfully cocky of you, brown-eyes. Have you forgotten who I am?”
I swear, his voice dropped an octave, his irises growing a little darker as he shot back, “I think maybe it’syouwho’ve forgotten whoIam, baby.” He paused, his stare piercing me straight through before he whispered, “Who am I, Ali? Hmm?”
My breath caught, and I felt the heat of a blush as it filled my cheeks at his implication.
Ben’s eyes brightened with a mix of laughter and victory, and my sex clenched at the sight.
Damn him, I thought.
Benson—one.
Ali-Mae—zero.
“Okay, someone’s gotta say it,” said Rodeo, stealing my attention. I rocked back onto my heels and glanced his direction, surprised to find both him and Mustang staring our way. “This is weird as fuck.”
My cheeks grew warmer as it dawned on me how the both of them were watching our exchange. I’d gotten carried away in the moment. While I was pretty sure they couldn’t have heard ourconversation—that didn’t mean I hadn’t given them something to talk about, as evidenced by the smirk tugging at the corner of Mustang’s mouth.
Before I could think of a snarky remark, which would put me back on steady ground, Ben warned, “Talk shit—I dare you.”
At this, Rodeo lifted both hands in surrender and laughed. “Understood, brother.”
Mustang tossed a rag at him, and he caught it against his chest before he turned to busy himself elsewhere, still chuckling as he went. Boss-man spoke not a word. He merely jerked his chin at me before he went to go check on a couple of his brothers. When I looked back at Ben, he winked at me as he lifted his beer to his lips.
Over the years, my vantage point mostly from behind the bar, I so rarely saw him wield the weight of his rank. Twice now, I’d seen him use it on my behalf. It would have been a lie to say it didn’t turn me on—the power he possessed used for my good rather than my harm—so I didn’t bother trying to convince myself otherwise. Instead, I let my gaze linger on him a moment longer before I got back to work.
It was an hour later when the weeknight crowd began to arrive. We weren’t terribly busy, but the band was rockin’ and the drink orders were steady, keeping us occupied. By the time seven o’clock rolled around, Slick and Shep had joined Ben at the bar. That said, as the night wore on, their company didn’t stop him from shamelessly flirting with me.
I may not have been exactly keen on the idea of sneaking off to the storage closet to drop my shorts—but the thought of pulling him into the back office and jumping him for a no-holds-barred makeout session crossed my mind more than once. I never craved the taste of a man the way I craved him, and it felt liberating to admit it. Moreover, it was oddly fun, silently flirtingwith him—like we spoke a language no one else understood quite like we did.
The intimacy of it was like its own special high.
I had just taken a hit—my fingers grazing Ben’s as I delivered another serving of beer—when an old familiar face flashed before my eyes. I sucked in a quiet gasp, shifting my attention behind Benson, needing proof it was him and I wasn’t seeing a ghost. He wasn’t looking at me, but his wasn’t a face easily forgotten, and the sight of it caused the blood in my veins to run cold.
He didn’t appear much different than how I remembered him. A little older, maybe—his dark mane gray at his temples, and a few more wrinkles at the corners of his eyes—but he was still as ugly as before. His hair was long enough to pull back into a ponytail, but thin enough it looked more like a rat tail. His face was covered in scruff that would never be a full beard, and the skin of his cheeks were marred by pockmarks.
Yet, while he was still nothing pretty to look at, he was as formidable as ever. Even from behind the bar, I was anxious in his presence. He’d always been tall—standing no shorter than six-three—but he was broader now. His tattoo covered arms were thick with muscle, and the kutte he wore fit snuggly around his bulky chest.
It had been more than six years since I’d seen him.
I thought I had at least one more.
I thought I had time to prepare. To decide. Tolive.
“Hey,” cried Mustang from where he stood, three feet away from me.
The tone of his voice wasn’t warm or welcoming in the slightest. When I glanced at him, the scowl which pulled at his brow added color to that simple, three-letter word.
“You think you can fuckin’ walk into my bar like you own the place?”
I followed the direction of his gaze, realizing for the first time the way Scorpion just stood there—taking it all in, as if he’d never seen a bar before.
Fact of the matter was, he’d never seen this one. His absence from the compound all these years made way for the bar’s existence as well as my established presence in it.
