Wild and beautiful and happy and carefree.
“I know you were,” he replied.
“Feels like centuries ago.”
Where his thumb could reach, he stroked her face. “I know.”
She looked deep into his eyes. “I get that back, right here with you.”
That hit his gut and it felt far from bad.
He wrapped his other arm around her and pulled her in tight.
“Keely.”
Both her hands slid up to his cheeks and she got so close her nose brushed his.
“I’m gonna suck you off right now, cowboy,” she whispered. “And you’re gonna watch every second of it.”
“You want that, baby, I’m not gonna stop you.”
She kissed him first, deep and wet and wild, and she held firm when he growled down her throat and tried to roll her to her back so he could take over.
But it was clear it was her time to give him something and she was going to do it.
And Hound was going to let her.
When she broke the kiss, she took her time down his chest. She traced some of his tats with her lips. Nibbled and sucked his nipples until his whole body was clenched, holding him back from shoving her down and forcing his cock in her mouth.
And when she got between his legs, he spread them wide and cocked his knees so he could watch as she went at him, sucking his dick, licking his balls, pulling them one by one in her mouth and drawing deep, digging her lips and tongue and teeth in the junctions of his thighs, jacking his cock with her hand when her mouth wasn’t on it.
After a long time of that exquisite torture, he blew down her throat after her hands slid up the insides of his thighs and clenched into his knees, pressing them apart.
But Keely knelt between his legs, her arms out like that, like she was a priestess in a pagan act of veneration to a dick she’d deified, so when he blew, he blew hard, a fist in her hair holding her full of him, shooting a massive wad down her throat that she gulped right back. And after, her head, with her silken hair all around, kept bobbing, milking him dry.
When he came down, he watched her lave him, her arms still out, fingers curled around his knees, her tongue licking him clean from balls up his shaft.
And then she kissed up his stomach, his ribs, his chest, his neck, and he adjusted his legs so she could sit astride him again.
She tucked her face in the side of his neck. Hound rounded her with his arms and didn’t even attempt to stop himself from showing her love and affection through his touch. He let his hands roam, taking in her softness, the heat of her skin from ass to hips to back to neck.
“Best head I ever got, baby,” he murmured.
“Good,” she murmured back.
“Never forget that orgasm. More, never forget watchin’ you build it in me.”
“Good,” she whispered.
He turned his head and kissed her temple.
Still whispering, she said, “No house for you, Hound. You need to be wild like the wind for as long as you wanna be, baby.”
He stopped his hands roaming and held her tight.
That could have been for him. That could be Keely telling him she liked that in him, liked it for him, and wanted him to keep it.
It could be her wishing maybe she hadn’t hitched her star to Black so young, settled in a big Victorian house in a nice part of the city and started right up giving him babies. Settled in young to something so good it owned all her heart, but finding herself strapped down without release to a life that wasn’t what she wanted when her man was no longer in it.
He didn’t quiz her about which way what she said went.
He just held her close and smelled her hair that was flowery but herbal and clean and mellow, felt her weight and heat against him, and knew right then, the next time she came to his pad, he should have the conversation with her.
End this.
Because he was in too deep when it began.
And now he was drowning.
At the same time he knew he wouldn’t.
It would be her who ended it.
Because no matter how much it took, how deep it dug, how empty it left him, he’d give her what she needed even if it left nothing of him, and after she was gone, he drifted to ash and blew away with the wind.
Hound slid up the side of her body, cupping her bush, shoving his face in her neck to listen to her heavy breaths even out, waiting until the time was right to stroke her wet lightly with his fingers.
And when that time was right, he did.
“Good?” he murmured, his lips catching against the smooth bone of her choker at her neck.
“I’d say that was the best head I ever got, but every time you go down on me, it gets better. So that was the best head I ever got . . . so far,” she answered.
He grinned.
She trailed a hand down his forearm and covered his between her legs.
“Just to say,” she whispered, “know there isn’t a man who doesn’t get when he’s got his fingers between his woman’s legs, especially after he’s just gotten her off, she feels it.”
He stopped stroking her but kept his hand there, the rest of his body frozen.
His woman?
He felt her head turn and she asked with her lips against his hair, pressing her fingers into his, “You gonna fuck that pussy, baby? Or just lay claim to it?”
Lay claim to it?
His head came up and he looked down at her to see she was flushed and satisfied but her eyes were still heated, and he knew his bionic sex babe was far from sated.
“Damn,” she whispered, her eyes roaming his face then she took her hand from his between her legs and rested it at the side of his head. “You’re so fucking hot. I could look at you for hours.”
“Kee—”
He got no more out.
She lifted her head from the mattress and kissed him, driving her tongue in his mouth.
Hound liked the feel and taste of that so much, he drove a finger up her cunt and swallowed her gasp, felt her hips move with his finger then allowed her to roll him to his back.
She climbed right on like she could now, and got way off on it, no condom in between.
He let her ride him until it was time to take over and then he took over.
He rolled her to her back and rode her like that. Then he got to his knees, pulled her legs up his chest and watched her take his dick like that. Then he pulled out, turned her to her belly, hauled her up to her knees and took her like that.
And in the end, he drove her off her knees to her belly in the bed, and with one hand shoved under her, finger at her clit, taking her there in a wave of orgasms that ended up with her uncontrollably yipping at the same time begging him to stop as well as fuck her harder, he finally shot in deep and clean, nothing in between, jetting his cum into Keely.
He gave her his weight, shoving his hand at her clit deeper so his fingers spread feeling the root of him rooted in her, also pushing his other hand under her, transferring some weight to that forearm as well as curling those fingers around the side of her neck.
“I want you to take my ass.”
He had a lot of things to say to her, things they needed to go over after they’d both come down, but that breathy announcement while she was still coming down took him off target.
“Say what?” he asked, lifting his head to look down at her profile.
She twisted her neck to catch his eyes.
“I want you to fuck me up the ass, baby,” she whispered.
His hips dug into hers involuntarily.
“Right now?”
She grinned. “You got lube?”
He did not.
Not there.
He did at the Compound.
“Nope.”
“Then definitely not right now.”
“Keely—”
“I’ll bring lube tomorrow night,” she offered.
“Babe—”
A strange intensity came over her face and when he saw it, Hound brac
ed.
“I want you up my ass, Hound. I want your cum down my throat, up my cunt and in my ass. I want wild. I want fire. With you, I’m Keely. You take me hard. You ride me rough. I’m not a mom. I’m not the attendance officer at the high school that the kids alternately think is the shit, because I am, or think I’m a pain in their ass because if they miss school, I am. I’m a woman. All woman. The woman who likes to get fucked however you wanna fuck me.”
Keely had never taken her Chaos checks and sat back drinking martinis and watching soap operas all day.
She’d taken her job as the truancy officer at Dutch and Jag’s high school during Dutch’s sophomore year, this after having a variety of part-time jobs from about a year after Black died to when she got her masters in social work.
She was a mom. She had that job and ones that paid and got her out of the house. She took care of her boys and her home. And she went to school.
Hound had always admired that, considering he eventually had to get his GED before he could get his mechanics license, something he had and kept up but never used since his job for Chaos and Ride was not about holding a socket wrench.
She didn’t make a lot but she didn’t need to. What Chaos gave her, she could live on easy.
Instead, she fixed up the house like she and Black had plans to do before he died, all reno’ed from basement to roof. She took the boys on kickass vacations every spring break and summer, from places like Disneyland and shit like that when they were young to the Grand Canyon, Yosemite, Aruba, and Alaskan cruises when they got older. When they got their licenses, she got both boys cars (even though she made them get jobs so they could pay for the maintenance and gas) and paid for both boys’ schooling. And Dutch and Jag had told him she had accounts for both of them that they’d get when they were twenty-five or when they got married so they could put a down payment on a house.
And these accounts were substantial.
“You said you’d do my ass before, Hound, but are you not into that?” she asked, taking him back to her.
“Babe, you want me to fuck you up the ass, I’ll do my best not to shed a tear right now I don’t got lube. But just sayin’, that’s not how we fuck. We fuck tough. No one can take tough up their ass.”
“So fuck gentle.”
Fucking Keely gentle.
Fuck.
He pulled out, slid his arms from around her and rolled to his back.
Keely, like always—absolutely always—immediately got close again, doing this landing her tits to his chest and putting her face in his.
“So am I bringing lube tomorrow night?” she asked.
“You don’t need to. I have some at the Compound,” he answered.
She shot him a huge smile.
Christ, only woman on the planet that he knew who’d look that happy she was going to take cock up her ass.
Wild. Fire.
Keely.
Yeah.
Christ.
Apparently, he wasn’t going to end it tomorrow like he should have ended it that night. But since he didn’t, that shit should happen tomorrow.
Apparently, he was bringing lube and coming up her ass.
Hound looked at the ceiling.
“I’ll come early, bring some chicken,” she stated and his eyes moved back to her. “Say, six?”
He had to get dinner for Jean and help her to bed. She went there early and watched TV until she snoozed.
But not that early.
“Say, eight.”
Her eyebrows went up. “Eight? That’s late to eat, Hound.”
“In case you haven’t got it yet, babe, we’ll work it off.”
She shot him another big smile.
Christ.
He looked back at the ceiling.
She slithered full on him, hiking up her knees so she was straddling him.
More Keely.
She loved to be astride her cowboy, the more body contact she could get, the better, including direct contact of her pussy with him anywhere she could get it.
“Are we done?” she asked.
No.
Hell no.
But they should be.
He looked at her and didn’t get into that.
“How did you know where I live?”
She grew visibly confused. “What?”
“How’d you know where I live? Did you ask a brother?”
“You’re on Bev’s Christmas card list.”
So that was the envelope he got from Bev every December.
He reckoned there were at least seven of them in the mountain of mail he never bothered to open on his kitchen counter that Dutch and Chill didn’t throw out.
He opened bills.
He tossed junk (or Dutch and Chill had tossed the junk, usually Hound just piled it but that pile had spilled all over the floor about four years ago).
He set aside, evidently, Christmas cards.
“Bev sends bikers Christmas cards?” he asked.
She grinned. “You know Bev’s a nut.”
He did.
Why Boz got shot of her, Hound didn’t get. She could ride a man’s ass, and she did. But she’d never done it when Boz, who could be an idiot, didn’t deserve it, and this was mostly only when she caught him with his tongue down the throat of some female biker hanger-on or worse, when she caught him with his hand up the skirt of one. Considering that, obviously Boz could be enough of an idiot, even Hound, as his brother who would never normally call that shit, could call it.
But it wasn’t often, and even if his transgressions bought it worse, it wasn’t that bad.
Mostly she was sweet, really into Boz and a nut.
He couldn’t think on any of that.
He had to think about something else.
“So Bev knows you came here?”
“I told Bev I was a bitch to you and you weren’t givin’ me a shot to say I’m sorry, so I asked if she knew where you lived and she told me. So the answer to your question is, yes. She knew I came here. But no, she doesn’t know I’m still coming here.”
Hound relaxed.
“She’s still totally in love with Boz,” she announced.
He focused on her, not sure he wanted to get into this with her for a slew of reasons.
“I’d interfere with that if I still wasn’t so ticked at Boz for not reconciling with her after she broke it off with him for being an asshole,” she went on.
“Babe, you know you don’t get involved in that kind of shit,” he warned.
And he was right.
Except for the fact that Tyra Allen had now been head old lady for nearly a decade and she stuck her nose in anything she wanted. To the point it sometimes caused friction with Tack, the most recent being when she got in there when High and Millie were getting back together.
Tack had not been happy.
The part that sucked was that the end result could not be argued. It wasn’t the end result that sucked. It was the fact it didn’t would give Cherry excuse to do it again.
He didn’t share this with Keely because they should absolutely not do this. Her being a part of the Club the way she was and always would be, him being a brother of the Club, if she was his old lady, post-fuck conversation would be just like this.
But she would never be his old lady so this was a boundary they definitely should not cross.
“You know what drove him to not taking her back?” she asked.
“I know you know I’m never gonna share that shit with you. I also know you know it’s not your business. I further know you know that you don’t stick your nose in that shit or it might get bit off. And last, straight up, babe, as cute and hot and beautiful as you are, you know all this enough to know we’re never goin’ there no matter how cute and hot and beautiful you get to try and get it. Yeah?”
She scrunched her nose, which witnessing it was so cute it made Hound wonder if what he’d just said was true.
“You’re so Chaos, it’s kinda annoying,” she snapped.
“Well . . . yeah,” he replied.
She rolled her eyes.
“Are we done fucking tonight or what?” he asked.
Her eyes went up to his alarm clock and he tilted his head on his mattress to do the same.
It was nearly one in the morning.
She usually texted him around nine or ten that she was downstairs and he went down and brought her up.
She also usually left around now.
“I best get going,” she muttered.
Hound hugged her. He kissed her. He rolled them both off the bed.
She cleaned up in his now clean bathroom.
They got dressed.
And they necked by her car before she got in it and drove away.
Hound did not do what he normally did, go up to his crib, take off his clothes and collapse in his bed, falling asleep smelling Keely.
He went to the bathroom and flipped the light on.
It was cool how much better he could see himself with a mirror that wasn’t covered with water spots, toothpaste splashes and grime.
And that made him mark cleaning his pad as part of Chill and Dutch’s recruit duties, and Jag would get in on that shit when he was prospect, but maybe even before if he came and begged money off Hound again.
He pulled off his tee and stared at himself in the mirror.
He had a mess of dirty blond hair that fell in his eyes, so sometimes he jacked it back with a band at the back of his head, and hit his shoulders.
He shaved maybe every two weeks, not having the time or inclination to maintain a mustache or goatee or the patience with it itching at first to grow a beard (that itch heralding a shave), so the dark stubble on his cheeks and jaw and down his throat was thick, but not long.
His eyes were blue. Just blue, nothing interesting about the color or shape.
His brow was heavy. He had lines in his face that maybe made him look older than he was. But seeing as he wasn’t in his twenties anymore, and even when he was he didn’t care, it didn’t matter.
He worked on his body, he was tall, so he could see a chick thinking he was fit.
And his tats were fucking awesome.
He got his share of pussy, and he didn’t have to work hard for it but he always thought that was because biker groupies were easy.
Hop was in a rock band before he joined the brotherhood and he told stories of pussy on the road, but Hound could see how Hop got in there repeatedly even if he couldn’t sing and play guitar. The man was just good-looking.