Crash by Jeanne St. James
Chapter Eleven
Good thingthe Sunday run wasn’t early and they actually had a chance to get a little shut-eye beforehand.
Even so, his ass was dragging. Because, of course, he had to fuck her one more time in her bed this morning and another time in her shower.
After that, she cooked him a late breakfast that rivaled Mama Bear’s. His plate had been overflowing with toast, fluffy scrambled eggs and bacon. Real fucking bacon, too, not that fake turkey shit. And even a bowl full of cheesy grits. He needed and ate every fucking bite to get his energy back up. They both also sucked down a whole pot of coffee between them.
He was torn about the run. He looked forward to it, but he also wanted to spend a lazy Sunday in Liz’s bed. Since that wasn’t going to happen, he thought about cutting out early from tonight’s pig roast and landing back in her bed.
He’d tell Rig the room was his tonight, that he wouldn’t be going back except to pick up his shit when he knew Ozzy wasn’t there. He figured it was best to go when the man wouldn’t be able to start shit and nobody else was around. Because if he started something, Crash planned on finishing it, and he was sure both club presidents would have their fucking heads.
At breakfast she had once again argued with him about joining him on the run.
“You know we’re not allowed.”
“Says who?”
“Do the Angels’ club girls ride along on a run?”
“No.”
“Why do you think it’s any different here?”
He shrugged. “Don’t wear your Fury cut.” Simple solution.
“Not wearing it doesn’t change who I am and who I belong to.”
He wasn’t having any of that shit. “You’re ridin’ with me on the run. Want you there, so you’re gonna be there. If someone’s got somethin’ to say, they can say it to my fuckin’ face.”
“Crash…”
“Ain’t even a discussion.”
“It is.”
“You don’t wanna go?”
“Not if it causes an issue.”
Her hesitation had been long enough for him to know she did want to go. “The only one makin’ it an issue is you.”
She sighed.
“Look, if it’s gonna make you feel any better, I’ll clear it with my prez first.”
“It’s not your president I’m worried about.”
“Mine can have a word with yours.”
She had turned from putting their dishes in the dishwasher and asked, “He’d do that?”
“Yeah. Tellin’ him you’re comin’ along whether he likes it or not. If he thinks it’s gonna be an issue with Trip, then he needs to smooth that shit out with him before we get there.”
Her jaw dropped.
His got tight. “Ain’t takin’ no for an answer. Want you on my sled and that’s that.” The next best thing to them fucking all day would be to have her pressed against his back and her clinging to him as they put their knees in the breeze.
When she turned back to the sink, he added, “Unless you don’t wanna be there.” He pushed to his feet and moved to stand behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist and leaning his chin on her shoulder. “Didn’t hear you.”
She grabbed the dish towel next to the sink and dried her hands before turning in his arms. “Yes.”
“Yes what?”
“Yes, I would like that. If Trip says it’s okay.” Her expression still held worry and he fucking hated that.
He nuzzled the side of her neck, then planted a kiss there.
She squirmed and laughed. “Your beard’s really scratchy.”
“Got a long way to go to get back to where it was.”
“Do you have a picture of what you looked like before you shaved your head and face?”
“On my Instagram.”
Her brown eyes went wide.
“Just fuckin’ with you. Don’t got no fuckin’ Instagram. Might got one on my phone that I took for my Tinder profile.”
Her lips parted.
“Or maybe I still got that shot from the naked biker calendar I did.”
A little squeak escaped her.
He wiggled his eyebrows and she burst out laughing.
“If there is a nude biker calendar, I want to see it.”
“After I tear out every month but mine.” He dropped his head and took her mouth. She tasted like coffee and the sweet French Vanilla creamer she used.
After taking his time with her mouth, he reluctantly ended the kiss.
“That would be a pretty short year if it’s only a month long,” she said against his lips.
“Maybe you’d get bored since you’d only get me all year long.”
She pulled back and cupped his cheek. “I doubt that.”
He ended up shooting off a text to Zak while they sat on her back porch so he could smoke a cigarette. Then he showed her some pictures from his phone. None of them naked, but all of them when he had his fucking hair and beard.
He was never making a stupid fucking bet like that again.
He also liked how she ooo’d and aah’d over some of the custom work they had completed at the shop. Those pictures took up the majority of space in his phone’s photo gallery since pictures were better than a business card. Show a fellow biker how badass his ride could look after Jag got done doing a custom design, and scratch was practically thrown at them like a stripper at Heaven’s Angels Gentlemen’s Club. No big titties and thong needed.
He wasn’t disappointed when he finally got the answer he expected from Zak. His prez came through with making it happen. Z had Hawk, the DAMC VP, talk to Trip. The Fury prez had no problem with Liz riding along on the run with Crash since Trip said it was a special run during a special weekend and he’d make an exception this time.
Generous fucking guy.
But Crash figured Trip wouldn’t want to rock the boat since his current club wasn’t established as long as the DAMC or even the Knights. The Blood Fury was the baby of the bunch.
The Fury prez respected Z and appreciated all the advice he’d shared when Trip showed up in Shadow Valley a few years ago to get Crow to ink the BFMC colors onto his back. Every time Trip came south to get more ink, he’d also spend time with Slade—since they served in the Marines together—Zak and some of the other officers, drinking, smoking and talking late into the night, building their future alliance.
Crash noticed that Trip had followed a lot of Zak’s advice. The man was smart to do so. Now he had rebuilt a destroyed club and created something solid and successful. The Blood Fury had risen from the ashes, just like a phoenix, the tattoo covering Crash’s torso. Pretty fucking impressive.
As he drove Liz’s Benz back onto the farm, Crash saw everyone had already gathered outside in the courtyard since the weather was even better than the day before. Sleds were already lined up in formation but sitting quiet.
“Gonna park your ride the same place you parked yesterday.”
He had his hand on her thigh for most of the whole ten-minute ride there and felt how tense she was.
He gave her leg a reassuring squeeze. “Ain’t gonna be a problem. You saw the text. Trip gave the okay. If anyone’s gonna cause an issue, it’s gonna be one person and he’d been warned last night.”
She didn’t say anything but instead put her hand on his and squeezed it.
Once he parked her cage, they went their separate ways. She wanted to go to The Barn to see if anything needed done or anyone needed help.
As he watched her walk away—today dressed appropriately for a ride—his chest got tight. It was her club, she knew them better than Crash did, but he had let her worry fuck with his head.
The crazy need to protect her made him want to follow her. Instead, he forced himself to go grab his sled and park it in line with the rest of the DAMC’s.
He found Rig with that young pussy Callie still clinging to him like a fucking leech. But his business partner was all smiles, so he must not mind the girl crowding him.
Whatever floated his fucking dinghy.
He met up with Z and Hawk to thank them. After quick hand clasps and shoulder bumps, both gave him a cocked eyebrow and a look that clearly read “don’t cause any shit today.”
He passed by Diesel—with his beefy arms crossed over his just as beefy chest and, of course, wearing his signature scowl—having what looked like a serious conversation with his oldest daughter Violet and some boy about her age. The DAMC sergeant at arms glanced up as he passed and shot him a look that read “don’t you fuckin’ cause any fuckin’ shit today, you fuckin’ asshole.”
With a grin, Crash gave him a two-finger salute and kept moving.
“Yo,” he heard come from his right. He twisted his head in that direction and cursed under his breath when he saw Ozzy beelining his way over to him across the grass.
For fuck’s sake, he was not in the mood to get into a brawl this morning.
A bunch of heads also turned their way. He ignored the audience and, instead, kept his gaze on the threat approaching. Crash could see the man’s jaw was already popping and his fingers were curled into loose fists.
He didn’t have the energy for this bullshit. And if he and that asshole got into a fight, it would only prove to Liz that her going along on the run with him was a bad idea.
Christ, that meant he should try to defuse the situation.
Crash stopped, spread his feet for balance and waited for the Fury brother to make the first move.
He wasn’t going to start shit but he also wouldn’t simply lie down and take it, either. And little did the asshole know that Crash had boxing skills taught to him by two experts, Slade, his DAMC brother, and Steel, one of Diesel’s Shadows. And he wasn’t afraid to use those skills when necessary.
Every muscle in Crash’s body went tight as Ozzy faced off with him. He didn’t yell, he didn’t swing, but his glare said he wanted to.
“Don’t mind me stickin’ it to her in the mornin’ and you stickin’ it to her that same night? Don’t mind my sloppy fuckin’ seconds?”
No doubt his words were meant to provoke Crash into swinging first. Crash realized if he did, that would give the man a good excuse to “defend” himself without getting into deep shit with his prez.
Fuckin’ sly-ass motherfucker.
Crash reminded himself that for once in his life he needed to be the bigger man. And there was only one reason for it. The thirty-two-year-old blonde he spent the night with and planned on repeating the same tonight. “Nope. Bettin’ you’ve done more than one woman in a day?”
Ozzy’s mouth pinched as tight as his jaw.
“Yeah. Thought so. Done it plenty of times myself.” Crash leaned in, tempted to poke the fucker in the chest. He lowered his voice and growled, “See? That’s the difference between you and me. Ain’t holdin’ her to a higher standard than my own fuckin’ self. Ever think that might be a problem for her? Or do you just care about your own fuckin’ ass? ‘Cause from where I’m standin’ that’s what I see. And if I can see it, so can she.” He jerked his head toward the crowd that was starting to gather. “So can they. If you can fuck her and then go fuck someone else, ain’t nothin’ sayin’ she can’t, too. Just ‘cause she’s a woman don’t make it different than bein’ a man. Don’t be a fuckin’ dick.”
Ozzy’s stance changed but as soon as he opened his mouth—most likely to try to provoke Crash again—a low, but serious voice came from behind the salt-and-pepper bearded biker. “We havin’ a problem here?”
Crash glanced over Ozzy’s shoulder but didn’t let his guard down as he did so. The Fury brother named Shade approached. The couple times Crash had heard him speak, it was slower than normal and very deliberate. Like he had a tough time picking the right words. Crash wasn’t asking about it because it wasn’t any of his business.
Just like what he was doing with Liz wasn’t anyone else’s business, either.
If the Fury prez had a problem with Crash being with Liz, he would’ve made that known when Hawk talked to him earlier. Instead, Trip gave him the thumbs up. An approval, in truth, he didn’t need since all sweet butts were supposed to be available to all patched brothers.
Ozzy somehow kept forgetting that fact.
“No problem here,” Crash assured Shade. He slapped Ozzy directly in the chest in a fake friendly gesture. “Right, brother? Just havin’ a little discussion about the custom work he’s thinkin’ about doin’ on his sled.”
Seeing Shade’s long, curly hair pulled back into a knot for the upcoming ride made Crash regret shaving off all his hair for the millionth fucking time.
Never fucking again.
Shade eyed Ozzy skeptically. The man’s nostrils flared and he eventually gave Shade a nod.
Shade’s dark eyes suddenly shifted and became intense. Crash took a quick glance over his shoulder to see where the man was staring. Diesel, Violet and the teen boy. Two seconds later he was on the move, leaving Crash and Ozzy alone again.
Sort of. Because they still had an audience.
Crash dropped his voice until only Ozzy could hear him. “You’re fuckin’ lucky I respect my prez’s fuckin’ wishes. You should try doin’ the same.”
“Fuck you,” Ozzy growled and walked right toward Crash, who didn’t move a muscle.
He would not let the man try to intimidate him. Instead, he stood his ground and let Ozzy bump into him and it wasn’t a friendly shoulder bump. Crash remained where he stood until he heard the footsteps recede behind him. His eyes flicked to the side when he caught movement.
Fuck.
Liz.
She had seen the whole thing.
A loud shout came from nearby. “Everybody mount up! Time to fuckin’ ride!”
He didn’t bother to see who made that announcement. He had to assume it was the Fury’s road captain who would be leading today’s run. Instead, he watched as Liz disappeared back into the propped open double-doors along the side of the club’s church.
He took long strides to quickly eat up the distance between them and as a few guys were coming out of The Barn, he headed inside. He spotted her in front of a table full of food, her back to him.
She hadn’t worn her cut today. She’d left it in her Benz in case she was told to put it on. She had pulled on a pair of worn jeans that had a few tears in it. One at the top of her right thigh just below her ass cheek. And her fucking ass…
Perfection in soft denim.
She wore a snug royal blue cotton top that had the shoulders cut out so her tanned skin was playing peek-a-boo. It also had a deep V-neck that showed off her cleavage perfectly. Tits that seemed to be made for his mouth.
As much as he loved to eat, the woman in front of the table was more tempting than the food behind her.
Today, her feet were in flat-heeled brown leather boots that came up to her knees, the same color as the belt that was cinched around her narrow waist.
Her long blonde hair was pulled back into a tight French braid. She said to keep it from being snarled from the ride. Crash could understand that. When his hair was longer, he swore he had bald spots after removing some of the knots after a ride, even after wearing a skullcap.
Still, she was dressed to be his backpack today. And that was what she was going to be.
“C’mon, Sunny.”
She turned with her brow pulled low. “You forgot my name already?”
“Nope. Sunny fits you, though. Except for right now. You got a dark cloud hangin’ over you.”
“Are you surprised?”
He tipped his head to the side in answer. “You gonna let that motherfucker ruin your whole day? Ruin our fuckin’ plans?”
“Crash…” she breathed, then gnawed on her bottom lip.
“You gonna let him steal your sunshine?” He lifted a palm to stop her next words. “You gonna let him steal my sunshine, too?”
A soft breath hissed from her.
“‘Cause that’s what you are. Gotta almost squint every fuckin’ time I look at you since it’s like lookin’ directly into the sun. That sunflower dress yesterday fit you better than you know. There ain’t nothin’ dark about you, baby, so don’t let him dim that light.”
She rolled her lips under and blinked quickly a few times.
After a few seconds and a few emotions crossing her face, her spine snapped straight and she smiled.
There it was.
It wasn’t as big as he’d seen in the last couple of days but it was better than a frown.
“Sunny’s gonna be your road name from now on, yeah?”
“I like it.”
“Me, too. C’mere.” He cupped her face and pulled her to him, planting his lips on hers, not giving a flying fuck who saw them sucking face.
When they were done, he had a half chub. He was pretty fucking sure by the time her arms were wrapped around him and her tits were crushed to his back and her pussy pinned to his ass while on his sled, he’d have full-blown wood.
He also had no doubt she was a woman who could easily come from the vibrations of his Harley’s engine and straight pipes.
He freed her mouth and whispered, “You get off on rides?”
“I haven’t yet, but I’ve heard about that myth.”
“Ain’t a myth. You just haven’t ridden the right man yet.”
“You mean with the right man.”
“Yeah, that.”
Her answering husky laugh was good to hear. Yeah, those clouds had parted.
“Bet you won’t be the only one comin’ on that ride,” he assured her.
“Nice double entendre.”
“Yeah, but it’s true.”
“If I come.”
“You’ll come.” On the run and while on his sled. He held out his hand and waited.
She took it and intertwined their fingers.
“Let’s fuckin’ ride, Sunny.”
She nodded and her smile grew. “Let’s fucking ride, Crash. But please… try not to live up to your name.”
He snorted and yanked her out of The Barn and into the sunlight.
* * *
She’d only ever riddenon the back of Ozzy’s sled. No one else had ever offered to take her on a ride. So, the four-and-a-half hour long trip was the longest she’d ever been on.
She enjoyed every damn minute of it.
If she looked for him, she could see Ozzy way up in the distance in formation with the rest of the Fury, but she didn’t let him “dim” her light. Instead, she simply enjoyed the wind in her hair, the June sun on her face and the power—as well as the powerful man—between her thighs.
Any tension remaining from watching the exchange between Oz and Crash was gradually washed away with each mile they rode.
The multi-club run was impressive between the number of sleds and the way they kept all of those motorcycles in line. It reminded her of synchronized swimming. But instead of chlorine-filled water and Lycra, she was surrounded by soft leather and worn denim. Everyone managed to keep their place in a neat formation as they rode in rows of two.
Cage, as road captain, with his ol’ lady Jemma, led the what seemed like an endless sea of bikes. There were points in the ride where Liz couldn’t even see the front of the formation, or the rear, it was simply that massive.
The number of bikes and riders wearing MC cuts caught a lot of attention whatever town they rode through, house they drove by or traffic they passed coming in the opposite direction.
Not surprisingly, she was the only sweet butt on the ride. Every other woman on the run wore a “Property of” cut with their ol’ man’s name on the bottom rocker. That made Liz stand out a little more, since she left her cut behind.
Besides the rest of the sweet butts, the Fury prospects were also excluded since the Angels’ and the Knights’ prospects weren’t invited to the weekend-long bash. Last night, while in bed, Crash said they left theirs at home to take care of the club’s businesses which included a bar, a gym, a strip club, a gun shop and more. Businesses they couldn’t shut down for days.
Even so, between the three clubs—the Fury, the Angels and the Knights—there were dozens of patched members and their ol’ ladies. She was sure for the average citizen it was an intimidating sight.
The weather turned out to be perfect and she was glad she had donned sunscreen, but still knew her cheeks would be pink by the end of the day.
Like most of the ol’ ladies, Liz had tied a bandana around her head, hoping to keep her French braid together and reduce the amount of tangles she’d have to fight with later.
A common complaint from Teddy, Manes on Main salon owner, was the damage caused by the women’s hair getting whipped around in the wind and then breaking when trying to untangle the mess. No matter what she or the other ladies did, strands still managed to fly free.
But right now, Liz didn’t care.
She had her cheek pressed to the warm black leather of Crash’s cut, her hands planted on his firm gut and he had one hand resting possessively on her knee. She wasn’t sure if he did that to make a statement or because it had felt natural to keep it there.
Before taking off from the farm, Crash had challenged her to see how many orgasms she could have on the long ride simply by relaxing and letting the vibrations do their job.
The only time she had climaxed while riding with Ozzy was when he’d pull off the road in some secluded spot and they’d have sex on his bike. Not once had she come while they rode. She never even thought to try. Maybe Ozzy assumed she did and, if so, he never said a word.
In contrast, Crash had given her a signal to use to let him know when she did orgasm. And, for some reason, she didn’t want to disappoint him. But, truthfully, when she concentrated, it wasn’t difficult to get off. He was right. She only had to relax and let the vibrations do all the work. It also didn’t hurt she was holding on tight to a man who made her heart flutter and her pussy wet.
Four was the final number. Every time she kissed the back of his neck—their agreed upon signal—his bike would wobble slightly and his grip on her thigh or knee would tighten. Then he’d glance back over his shoulder with a grin.
The two breaks they took from the ride, one in Susquehannock State Forest and another along scenic Route 6, Crash murmured some naughty stuff into her ear and made her promise to help relieve his raging hard-on as soon as they got back to the farm and could find a private spot so none of the kids would witness all the fun, but filthy, things he wanted to do to her.
Of course, she agreed since she wasn’t a fool. Today was the last day for them to spend together before he went home to Shadow Valley the next morning.
It caught her off guard when she realized she would actually miss him. She had enjoyed every moment spent with him, except for the couple of times he and Ozzy had bumped heads.
She hadn’t spent a second of the day giving serious thought about what she’d do after Monday. Whether to stay with the Fury or leave. In truth, she hated the thought of leaving since, even though she was a sweet butt, she still thought of the Fury as family.
Plus, there was still possibility her real blood would one day return, whether it was her own biological father or even a half-sibling.
She also planned on mailing the DNA kit with Stella’s hair first thing Monday morning. Unfortunately, she was pretty sure those results would end up being a dead end like the rest.
She might have to eventually squash her curiosity about her paternal lineage. If her mother even knew she was trying to find out, she might be appalled and even demand she stop.
But one day she might have children and wouldn’t it be nice to know any possible health issues that could affect them?
Sure, Liz, keep using that as an excuse.
But it was a valid one. If she decided to have kids in the future. At this point in her life, she wasn’t even sure if she wanted any. And if she chose to take that step, she wanted her children’s father to stick around and also be a great influence on his offspring. She also wanted her potential children’s father to want to be a father, not be forced into it. That was one reason—besides the unwanted sharing of sexually transmitted diseases—she insisted on whoever she was with to use a condom as backup to her birth control implant. Even Ozzy.
While surprises, like Dyna, could be great, she was the type of woman who liked to plan. Her need to map out her day and her life was one reason she was successful at being a freelance copywriter. She was organized enough to keep on track with her schedule and her deadlines.
A complete opposite to some of the bikers she knew who liked to live life free and easy.
She wondered about the biker whose back she was currently glued to as the long line of bikes traveled down County Line Road and turned onto the farm’s lane. He ran what—taking into account the pictures he’d shared with her earlier—seemed like a very successful business. That took some organizational and planning skills, right?
But… it didn’t matter, did it?
Because, whether or not she was ready to see him go, tomorrow morning he would be gone. Headed back home to Shadow Valley. While she stayed behind in Manning Grove and figured out whether it was worth continuing the life she built here or moving on to the next chapter of her life.
Whatever it may be.
