Blood and Tears: A Biker Erotic Romance (Free Guns MC)

This is a work of fiction. Any names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons--living or dead--is entirely coincidental.

Blood and Tears copyright @ 2014 by Joanna Wilson. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embedded in critical articles or reviews.

Blood and Tears

Kat pushed open the swinging doors of the only other place she called home and was greeted by the smell of fried foods, tobacco, and the grim faces of every member of the Free Guns Motorcycle Club.

It’s true.
Kat could see the truth etched in all the faces around the bar, members that had been with the club since their president Jamison formed it over ten years ago. She could see from the tight muscles, drawn faces, and watery eyes of every member except Solomon Parker.

Despite knowing that he was dangerous and about as good for Kat as a root canal, she was drawn to him. Drawn to blue eyes the color of rainwater, hair as black as night, and a body tightened and muscled with the sort of strength you didn’t find at a gym.

Solomon Parker, number one on my list of suspects in Jamison’s murder.
Kat growled into her mind as she was engulfed in her first--but not at all last--hug of the night.

“He’s dead, Kat!” Mindy, Jamison’s wife wailed as she wrapped tightly in a fierce hug and dampened her grey t-shirt with tears. “Jamison’s dead!”

Kat embraced the woman back just as fiercely as every eye in the bar looked to her, seeking her out. They wanted a leader--needed one who would continue on with the traditions Jamison had set out for them. They looked at her, because they knew she was that person.

However, Kat’s eyes remained on Solomon, following his every move, taking note of everyone he talked to. She might have a serious case of lust for the guy, but Kat wouldn’t let that impair her. Solomon had made it clear he didn’t like Jamison, made it clear that he had a specific vision of how the club should operate, and made it very clear where he thought Kat belonged.

On a shiver, she closed her eyes and relaxed into the next hug. Solomon had made it very clear that he wanted to be president of the Free Guns and he wanted her wrapped around him, screaming his name, fucking him with an abandon only a man who knew his power could give her.

But it was wrong--he was wrong. Kat reminded herself the same thing she had reminded herself nine years ago when she joined the gang and first saw Solomon. The man was trouble with a capital T, and if she wanted any hope of calming her club members and becoming the new president, she’d stay away from him.

***

Kat splashed cool water on her face and rubbed at her eyes. She was physically and emotionally exhausted. Not only had she dealt with Jamison’s grief stricken wife, but also every single member of the Free Guns.

It wasn’t like Kat had ever been a warm and fuzzy person--she wasn’t. She preferred being out on the range testing out the latest firearms than consoling anyone. Kat didn’t really do people, as strange as that was. She was--at her core--an introvert and independent to boot.

Relationships were not her forte, especially the romantic kind. Kat much preferred to pick a guy up at a bar, have hot, sweaty sex as his place, then hightail it home to catch the last few minutes of whatever late night talk show there was. Sex was a stress reliever. It was fun, exciting, and necessary for Kat. But that’s all it was.

Sighing loudly, she reached for a paper towel but her hand came up against a hard male body instead. Wayward fingers traced over rock hard pecs before Kat could control herself.

***

She’d know that body anywhere, had watched the man straddle a bike like he’d been born riding, watched him use women like tissue papers and climb his way up the ladder any way he could--by fair means, or foul.

“Solomon Parker
,” Kat blew out as gusty breath as she pulled her hand back and wiped them off on her jeans. Screw paper towels!

“Kathy Sullivan,” Solomon returned in that slow southern drawl that lit a girl's panties on fire. Kat had the same accent, but it didn’t have anywhere near the same impact on the ears.

“Want to tell me why you’re in the ladies’ restroom?” Kat turned away from the sink and arched a wet brow at him.

A slow laugh was his only response as he took a step closer to her and made Kat tilt her head up. She wasn’t short, but Solomon was a large man. At six foot five the whole damn world was short to him.

“I wanted to say how sorry I am that we lost Jamison. He was a good man.” Solomon said with a tip of his head, though Kat could hear what he really wanted to say: A good man, but a mediocre leader.

Cocking her hip against the sink and hearing the metal of her gun meet the porcelain, Kat crossed her arms and looked him square in the eye. “Did you kill him?”

Stormy blue eyes met hers as Solomon took another step closer and leaned down until Kat could feel his breath tickle her lips. “I wouldn’t tell you even if I did, Kit-Kat.”

“Stop calling me Kit-Kat!” Kat snapped as her eyes sparked with indignation. Nine years later and the bastard still called her that nickname. He was the only man in the club who’d given her a nickname even though they’d never slept together. Usually men liked to call her “sugar” or “baby” after they’d fucked and at that point Kat would already be out the door and three steps away from her bike.

“The minute I stop calling you Kit-Kat will be the minute I’ve licked you, sucked you, and broke you.” Solomon pressed closer, the hard bulge in his jeans resting against the tautness of Kat’s stomach. “But you’d like to be broken by me, wouldn’t you, Kit-Kat?”

Kat locked her jaw and stared back at him. There was scarcely any space between them, hardly any room to suck in air that didn’t smell like Solomon. She was torn. Torn between knowing that what he was suggesting would likely ruin her and the Free Guns, and knowing that if she didn’t at least try it once, give them both what they wanted, she might never get the chance again.

No one made her feel the way Solomon made her feel. No one made her question her sparse principles and rules the way Solomon did. And if Kat was being honest, every time she went home with a man, every time she climbed on top of a man and fucked him, she wished he was Solomon.

In that moment, there were only two options Kat saw: Solomon or the Free Guns.

Before Kat could make the decision it was taken out of her hands. Solomon’s lips came crashing down on hers, stealing her words with his tongue. Kat didn’t hesitate, didn’t think past his mouth and body pressed hard against her.

They were done talking, and she was okay with that.

Solomon’s hands reached under her, grabbing her ass and lifting her up onto the sink. The faucet stabbed at the small of her back, but Kat couldn’t care too much because Solomon was right. She did want to be broken by him. It was a novice feeling to want a man so badly, to feel that lust and desire so keenly that the thought that she couldn’t help but give herself completely to it.

There was no finesse in their fucking. No long languid kisses, or soft strokes to get the fire going. The fire was now in full blaze and when Solomon tore his lips away from her pulled her away and flipped her body so she could feel his cock straining against her ass, Kat was ready. So. Fucking. Ready.

“Hurry!” She panted as she fumbled with the button of her fly. Solomon pushed her clumsy fingers away and tore at the zipper, yanking her pants down and leaving them wrapped around her ankles. A second later she heard the similar sound of metal sliding against metal, cloth against cloth, and then he was there.

Thick, hard, and throbbing against her. Kat didn’t even realize her panties had been yanked down along with her jeans until she felt his cock against her. Solomon’s hands were at her waist pulling her back, positioning her hips.

“Hold onto the sink,” he commanded in a voice that Kat had never heard him use. It was rough, sexy, completely overpowering.

Using his fingers, he spread her lips wide and played between her thighs tracing her labia and circling her clit. “Fuck me!” Kat ground out as she thrust back against him and felt one of his fingers slide into her, then another, then…

“Holy Hell!” The wind smacked her words as Solomon thrust into her, stealing the breath from her lungs and the sanity from her mind.

The man was built, and Kat could feel every ridge, every vein, every throbbing, heated fucking inch of his dick as he drove into her. Biting her lip, Kat gripped the sink like it was a raft and she was sinking. Fingers tight, jaw clenched, thighs shaking and…

“Uh!” Kat reared back, stretched up on her tiptoes and her nails scratched the air as came. It was just so quick, so explosive that she couldn’t even scream. Only the smallest sound escaped her as her entire body shuddered and exploded around Solomon, with him.

Kat could feel him a few heartbeats later, breath labouring, fingers digging into her hips as his thrusts became erratic and then stopped for a heartbeat. His body convulsed against her as he let out a loud satisfied groan and emptied himself into her.

No! Kat realized too soon that Solomon hadn’t worn a condom. She felt him, so unlike any other man she’d ever had. However, he wasn’t just any man.

Kat couldn’t help the half crazed laugh that escaped her as Solomon released her and she fell to the bathroom floor. Solomon wasn't just any man; he was the one trying to take over the Free Guns, the one who--most likely--killed their president, the one who--against all her better judgment-- just had her in the bathroom of a biker bar and came inside of her.

Stormy blue eyes met Kat’s as she realized how utterly fucked she actually was.

***

“Thank God I’m home,” Kat sighed as she collapsed onto her bed and kicked off her shoes.

Every muscle in her body ached, and she felt wet and sticky courtesy of Solomon Parker. Kat wasn’t sure how she had gotten home after their session in the bathroom. Perhaps it had been instinct that had picked her body up, but whatever it was, getting out of the bar had been anything but easy.

For a few brief seconds in time, Kat had forgotten about Jamison’s death, forgotten about being the prime candidate for presidency, forgotten that Solomon Parker was suspect number one of her list of suspects and the man running against her.

Sex was the simple part; it was everything else that followed after that was complicated.

Dragging her body to the bathroom, Kat turned on the shower and stripped off her clothes. Staring in the mirror at her naked form, she noticed bruising around her hips and a few hickeys beginning to deepen in color around her neck.

There was no denying that she’d fucked Solomon, and no matter how much she just wanted to pretend it had never happened, the bruises wouldn’t let her.

Climbing into the shower, Kat soaped up her body and ducked her head under the scalding spray, flinching as the water burned her. But Kat had always liked it hot, like that edge to everything she did in life. Hot showers, hot men, and hot bikes. One of these days, she was going to burn herself.

And when that happens, I’ll deal with it.
Kat reminded herself for the hundredth time, the words sounding like a broken record.

Turning off the water, Kat heard a harsh knock and paused half way out of the shower. She waited a heartbeat but didn’t hear anything and instead reached for her towel. A second later she heard a thud that sounded like a body slamming up against her door.

“What the fuck is going on?” Kat whispered as she ducked and grabbed the gun hidden under her sink, one of many hidden weapons in her apartment.

Securing the towel tight around her, Kat removed the safety and held the gun firmly at her side between both hands as she exited the bathroom. With another shuddering thud the door gave way, and Solomon Parker tumbled through, kicking the door shut with his foot as he did.

“Kit-Kat,” he smiled widely at her, his eyes slightly glazed.

Kat calmly raised the gun and pointed it at Solomon’s chest, a strained smile on her lips. “Mind telling me why you’re breaking into my apartment?”

Smiling wide, Solomon walked calmly over to the small kitchen in Kat’s apartment and plopped down heavily on a bar stool. “I missed you. That's all.”

“Go home.” Kat said with a roll of her eyes as she lowered her weapon. “I don’t trust you enough to give you a repeat performance. So get!”