As he speaks, I feel the touch of his tongue against my lower back. Shivers race up and down my spine and I arch and moan.
“Well, we are celebrating today…”
He chuckles, and then his lips and tongue find a different purpose. One that makes me reach across the bed for the closest pillow and bury my face in it to muffle my screams of pleasure.
Tongue, fingers, both explore me from behind with rapacious desire, setting my body aflame with lust and the desire to give everything I am to him.
And, after blissfully agonizing minutes, he takes it.
“Oh fuck, Tiffany, you are tight,” he moans.
I’d say something, if my face weren’t buried in the pillow and if my mouth were capable of doing anything else in this moment except for gasping the words ‘holy fucking shit’ into the supportive, soft Goose Down.
With his hands on my hips, my ass meets his pelvis and the sensation of him — being full with him, of wanting, somehow, more of him — takes over my body. His thrusts shake my world and every part of me — every nerve, every thought, every desire — screams out for him.
I want him.
I want his closeness.
I want to feel his pleasure.
I want to hear his pleasure.
I want him to cum.
Tightness. Heat. The heavy sounds of his moans. The strength of his fingers against the soft flesh of my hips and ass. That’s all I hear, feel, comprehend.
And then his voice.
“I am so close. Fuck, I can’t hold it.”
I toss the pillow away.
“Come for me, Blaze,” I moan.
That does it.
I feel him pull loose, release, feel him all over me. With my eyes shut, I luxuriate in it — listen to his moans, feel his twitching cock against my ass, feel the bed shake as he lays down beside me and pulls me into a sweet-tight embrace.
We breathe — our lungs and hearts working in time — while I rest my head on the best pillow I’ve ever had: his chest.
It’s a long time before we move; I could stay here forever, so close to this man who has, in so many ways, changed my life for the better. But, eventually, the weight of our commitments becomes too much to ignore.
He’s the first to break the silence.
“We should get moving,” he says.
I open my eyes. Run my hands down the mountains of muscle that comprise his chest, then further still down his abs until my fingertips brush against his cock. It stirs, hardens in my grip.
“Are you sure?” I say. “We could stay.”
“For a saint, you sure are evil,” he says.
“You love it.”
“And I love you,” he says. “But we have got to go.”
We shower together, we dress, and I slide up behind him on the back of his motorcycle. The dry desert wind caresses my face as we speed down the highway to Lone Mesa. Just before sunset, we pull into a driveway that’s already crowded with motorcycles. The air is redolent with the smell of roasting meat and rings with laughter and the sound of classic rock blasting from an old radio.
Hand in hand, we walk up the driveway and knock on the door.
First to answer is the young woman with the bright smile. Adella.
“You’re late. I wonder why?” She says, giving both of us a knowing smile. And then a hug so tight it makes me say ‘oof’.
“We got busy,” Blaze says. “Lost track of time.”
“I’m sure,” Adella says, grinning.
Right behind her is Stone’s wife, Tricia. She’s got a sheen of sweat on her forehead and a mixing spoon in hand.
“You two are just in time,” she says, pulling me into a hurried hug. “Stone’s about to take the meat out of the smoker. We have ribs and brisket, Adella’s made Caesar salad and garlic bread, and I’ve got three different kinds of pies — apple, blueberry, and cherry — cooling. I hope you’re hungry. Beers are out back in the cooler and, if you need something stronger, there’s a full bar in the living room. Just make sure to get there quick — Mack and Sophia are here and this is the first time in almost a month they’ve been able to get a babysitter. They’re already hitting it hard.”
“Thank you,” I say, giving her another hug.
At first, I was scared to meet these people; after the circumstances of my first introduction to them — charging into their clubhouse and raising hell to save Blaze from being murdered by Anna’s thugs — I’d started to associate them with crime and violence. But now, I realize that’s only a small part of who they are and what they do; so much of the club is grounded in family, in love, in doing whatever it takes to make sure the people they care about are taken care of.
And I am so proud to be a part of it.
“Move aside,” Stone says, coming up behind his wife and putting a hand on her shoulder. “Trish, you better get back there. Rusty and Crash are both making eyes at your pies. You’ve got probably a minute before they make off with them.”
“Those bastards,” Trish says, breaking her hug with Blaze and storming back into the house. From deep inside, I hear her shout, “You two get your grubby hands off those pies. They’re for after dinner. Not before. What are you, savages? I swear to God I will beat you two bloody with this spoon if you don’t back the fuck off.”
“Mom, you can’t kill our guests. It’s bad hosting,” Adella shouts, racing back into the house after her mother.
“Welcome to the party, Tiffany,” Stone says. And now it’s his turn to give out hugs. “But, more importantly: welcome to the family.”
Blaze then
