Raw: The Ultimate Mc Collection (122 page)

I wanted another taste of him so badly now, and I didn’t care for one fucking moment whether Harley approved or not.

I showered slowly, luxuriating in the warm water.  I had done my best to stay as clean as possible, but it wasn’t easy on the streets.  Several days a week, I went to the women’s shelter and showered and washed my long, black hair.  But the water was always cold and they only let you take five minute showers.  Luckily, they let you do laundry there, too, so I had clean clothes to change into.

When I was done, I dried off and then realized I had left my backpack inside Mason’s bedroom.  I wrapped a towel around myself and padded down the hallway to his room, my wet hair dripping around my shoulders.

When I walked into his room, I froze. A very hot, very muscular, very naked Mason stood with his back to me, pulling a clean t-shirt over his head.  His was all sinewy muscle and he possessed the most perfect masterpiece of an ass I had ever seen.  His body was massive, and I realized he must spend hours working out to look like that.  

When I first saw him in the shop, he never took off his clothes, and seeing him now standing in front of me naked as a jaybird, my hands began shaking.  I stood frozen in place as I continued watching him.

He sensed my presence after a moment, turning to me after he slipped on his jeans.

“Are you enjoying your peep show, baby girl?”  He cocked his eyebrow at me, and walked past me completely unfazed.  

Fuck! How was I ever going to resist this man? He was a serious distraction for a girl who was trying to get her shit together, and now I was stuck with him for a few days waiting for Harley to come to his senses.  By the looks of Mason’s swollen shaft bulging in his jeans, he was having just as hard of a time as I was.

I smirked at his back, not fooled by his aloofness one bit.  Scooping up my backpack, I walked into the guest room and began unpacking my things.  

I didn’t have much — three pairs of jeans, five t-shirts, four pairs of underwear, one bra, and two pairs of socks, in addition to the denim skirt and bikini top I had been wearing earlier.  I pulled it all out, folding them carefully and placing them in the empty dresser against the wall.

And then I pulled out my most prized possession.  Our family portrait, however untraditional it was.  Mason had taken this photo, actually, and I laughed out loud at the memory of that day.  

I was ten, Harley was sixteen.  We had an old dog then, our beloved German Shepherd, Lucy.  Dad had insisted on taking a family picture in front of his bike, and the black Harley gleamed in the background behind the four of us, with Lucy sitting at our feet. Mom had curled her hair and put on bright red lipstick, her tight jeans hugging her curves and showing off her perfect figure.  She was beautiful, there was no denying that.  I missed her dearly.

In the photo, Dad wore full leathers, the club patches proudly sewn into his cut.  I had always admired his cut, and even back then, I knew I wanted to be an MC member and have one of my own.  It had never seemed fair to me that women couldn’t join, but after the bust, and the violence I saw that day, I understood perfectly, even if I didn’t like it.

Later that year, my dad bought me a black leather vest, and no matter how much I begged, he wouldn’t put any patches on it for me.  Much to my mom’s dismay, I wore that thing for a solid year.

I placed the photo on the nightstand next to the bed, pulled on a pair of jeans and a snug fitting t-shirt, opting to leave the bra behind.  Mason would just have to deal with it.

I walked out of my room, and followed the incredible smell of grilled meat.  Mason was standing out on his deck, holding a pair of tongs and drinking a beer as he monitored the steaks.

“Almost ready, baby girl.”

I should have been upset that he was calling me both a baby and a girl, but the way he kept saying it made my nipples harden every time.  

As I watched him take a drink of his beer, my gaze fell on his lips and I desperately yearned for him to kiss me again.  Once again, I cursed Harley.

Who was he to tell me who I could sleep with? Here I was, forced to hang out with Mason, and I couldn’t fuck him?

To hell with that.

I decided, along with my yearning body, that I would have Mason again if it killed me.  I was tired of denying myself pleasure.  My life had been a whole big mess of pain, and if I had the opportunity to enjoy myself for a few days, why should I  refuse that?

What Harley didn’t know wouldn’t kill him.  And if Harley didn’t know, then he wouldn’t kill me and Mason either.

“Can I have one of those?” I asked Mason, pointing to his beer.

“Yeah, sure, why not? Help yourself, they’re in the fridge.”

“Thanks!”  I flashed him my prettiest smile and turned to walk back into the house, swaying my hips as I did so, hoping like hell he was watching.

When I returned with two beers, I handed him one of them.

“Looks like you could use another.” His bottle was almost empty, and I saw three other empty bottles on the table.  Apparently, he was a drinker. So was I. Maybe that would work to my advantage.

“Thanks, baby girl.”  I cringed, feeling my nipples harden again, and crossed my legs as I sat on his lawn chair as he turned the steaks over. 

“You’re welcome, Mason,”  I said, sweetly, smiling at him.  “Is there anything I can help with?”

“Nope, I’ve got it all taken care of.” He cut into a piece of steak, juices flowing down into the fire and sizzling.  “Looks like we’re done here.”

He turned off the grill, placed the steaks on a platter and walked back inside.  I grabbed our beers, followed him, sat at the table he had already set, and looked across at him.

“They look delicious.  You’re right, I haven’t had a good meal in a while, this is amazing!”  He beamed at me across the table, his smile like an electric shock to my very core.

“Then dig in, baby girl!”  

And I did.  We ate and drank, talking about the old days in between bites, and laughing at our shared memories.  It was nice to have someone to talk to, someone who knew where I came from, who remembered the same things I did.  

Someone who understood.

By the time we finished dinner, I had downed two more beers, and I asked Mason if he had any whiskey. 

“Of course I have whiskey,” he said, “but don’t you think that’s a little heavy for you?” “Seriously?”  I asked, surprised that he would think I was a lightweight.  “Did you forget who drank both you and Harley under the table when I was eleven?”

We laughed at the memory, and then he immediately embarrassed me by reminding me of the end of that evening.

“Yeah, and who ended up puking in the bushes afterwards?”

“Okay, okay, you got me.  But I’ve had a lot of whiskey since then, so I promise I won’t puke this time.”

He looked at me, smiling, his eyes filled with amusement.

“Alright, alright…it’s in the cabinet over the sink.”

“Stay put.  I’ll get it.”  Once again, I walked over to the kitchen, exaggerating the sway of my hips, hoping I was enticing him and not looking like a fool.

I grabbed the bottle of Maker’s Mark, found two shot glasses, and returned to the table.  Pouring a shot for him first, I handed it to him before I poured one for myself and raised my glass to him.

“Cheers!”

“Cheers?” he said, looking slightly confused.  “What are we celebrating exactly?” “We’re celebrating me. The return of me!”  We both laughed, and clinked our glasses together. I was a little more than tipsy at this point, and yet I didn’t care. It felt good.  And when I tipped my head back, pouring the delicious liquid down my throat, I welcomed the burn.  It had been a very long time since I had decent whiskey and it was like a fuzzy old friend.

“More, more!”  I said, pouring another and then another as we sat there, going back through our history with funny anecdotes that only he and Harley and I would remember.  It made me wish Harley was there with us for a moment.  Until I looked over at Mason and caught his gaze again, his green eyes darkening with a restrained desire and I was suddenly grateful that Harley was nowhere around to fuck up my plan.

I wanted Mason all to myself.  And right now seemed like the best time to have him.

I began to flirt with him again, my hand lightly brushing his as we talked and laughed.  

“You know, Mason,” I said, my fingers running along his arm as I watched him carefully.  He didn’t move away so I continued. “When I saw you at the shop earlier, surrounded by all those bikes, I couldn’t help myself…”  I let my voice trail off, hoping he would pick up the ball if I rolled it over to him.

“You couldn’t, huh?” His eyes were glassy and he slurred his words a little, but he was still perfectly alert. “You like bikes that much, huh?”

I smiled at his question.  

“I like bikes, sure, but…” my hand fell to his denim-clad thigh, and I ran my hand up and down it as I leaned in close to him.  “It was you, Mason.”

“Me?” he asked, watching my hand slide along his thigh.

“Yes.  I never expected you to grow up…so…so…well, fuck, you are just so fucking hot, I couldn’t resist.”  I batted my eyes at him, my hand slowly moving toward his crotch.

He swallowed hard, his intense stare turning darker and darker as he looked at me seriously.

“Rebel…” he said, his voice a dark familiar warning that I completely ignored.

“I mean, fuck, Mason, you’re just about the hottest motherfucker I’ve ever seen, you know?”  My hand traveled further up his thigh, inches from his growing erection.  “I never expected you would look like this.”

I was pleased with myself, and my yearning for him turned to a painful ache deep inside of me as I continued to tease him.

“Yeah, well, Rebel, you don’t look anything like I expected either.”  He looked down at my breasts, my hard nipples threatening to poke through the cotton shirt I was wearing.

“No, I bet I don’t.  I’m not a twelve year old little girl anymore, Mason.”

“No, you certainly aren’t.  I can see that.  You proved that earlier, baby girl.”  He looked down, meeting my eyes at the exact moment that my hand cupped his massive cock, the heat radiating through his jeans as he throbbed under my touch.

He groaned as I squeezed him lightly through the denim and before I could do it again, he grasped my hand, pulled it away, and placed it on the table in front of him.

“No, Rebel. We talked about this, remember?” He stood up abruptly, his cock straining to be free from his jeans, a look of pure pain crossing his face.

I stood up, too, placing my hand on his hard chest.

“Mason, come on,” I said, trying my best to sound seductive.  I didn’t have a lot of practice at this, but I was determined to be successful.  If he couldn’t resist me the first time, then how could he resist me now?

“No,” he said quietly.

I arched my back, my breasts rubbing against him.

“Harley never has to know.  I promise I won’t tell, Mason.”  I smiled, and then pulling myself up on my tiptoes, I pressed my lips to his.

He groaned against me, his hand quickly snaking around and sinking into my hair as he gave in and pulled me into him, kissing me back forcefully, his lips kneading at my lips, his tongue sliding into my mouth, searching and mingling with mine.  I moaned, his passion rising quickly and almost violently as he kissed me even harder.

It almost hurt, but I didn’t care.  I fucking loved it.  It was exactly what I wanted, and exactly the person I wanted it from. 

I kissed him back with as much intensity as he gave, wanting him, wanting all of him.  Needing him, wanting to lie under him, and give into his every need.  All other thoughts melted away as he kissed me with such a fiery passion that his kiss turned into a  whirlwind of yearning and power that took my breath away.

When he tore his lips from mine, I whimpered and looked up at him as he stepped back.  He shook his head, and I saw that his eyes were filled with passion and confusion.

“We can’t…”  he muttered. “I can’t…” 

He turned abruptly and walked down the hallway, leaving me standing alone, unsatisfied and yearning for more, as he deserted me in the kitchen.

When I heard his bedroom door slam shut, I sank into the chair and took a long drink of whiskey straight from the bottle to console myself.