Old Man's Ride: Dust Bowl Devils MC Read online

  Spitting more curses, he swung his door open and climbed out.

  "Wait!" I crawled over into the driver's seat. "Don't go. I'm sorry!" It had never occurred to me that the source of his anger was anything aside from the damage to his bike. He was a biker, after all. The fact that he was so upset over the fact that I could have been hurt, though... "Please. Stay."

  He glared, and for a moment I thought he would get back in the truck. Instead, he pulled a gun from the back of his pants. I instinctively cringed away. He pushed it into my hands. Oh. This gun. Mine. "Anchor found it. I don't want to see you unarmed again, understand?"

  I nodded, holding the weapon in shaky hands. I hated the thing. But I knew most of the guys carried. And I knew that now, wearing the jacket, I could attract unwanted attention.

  I didn't have to like it, though.

  "Go on," he said, nodding towards the road. "I'm walking from here."

  And that was it. I sat frozen as he aimed his feet back the way we came and strode away, shoulders stiff with stress and anger.

  ---

  Nomad tortured me for days, but not nearly as much as I tortured myself. I knew he wanted me. I knew he was attracted to me. But I’d had no clue that he cared; not like that. I couldn’t wrap my mind around it.

  He teased me at work at the diner; Bill hadn’t found a replacement for me. I’d only been gone for a day, after all, and he was happy enough to give me back my shifts. I sat Nomad at the corner booth in the back. He had me stand with my hips against the table while he reached beneath and stroked me over my panties, his hand up the skirt I’d worn that day. I was only just barely out of the other customer’s views back there, but he didn’t care. Why would he? He was wearing his leather jacket. He stroked until I was panting with need. My knees shook so badly, I had to grip the side of the table. He rubbed and circled until the thin cotton material was soaked through.

  “Please,” I whined, rocking my hips as subtly as I could. “Please.”

  “Please what?” He pushed the soaked cotton aside and stroked my bare sex. I bit back a gasp. I released the table and gripped his arm, feeling its strength. Trying to move him would be like trying to move a tree trunk. My pussy pulsed with heat. “Do you want to come?”

  “Fuck yes.”

  He chuckled. “Not yet.” Then he withdrew. He licked his finger clean with a leer, his eyes locked on mine. “Now,” he said, “I believe I ordered a coffee?”

  I wanted to murder him.

  He tormented me anywhere he found me. At the clubhouse bar, he followed me into the bathroom and licked my pussy until I was ready to scream. Just licked, slowly, lightly, never varying, never letting me move. His tongue never touched my clit, never probed inside my waiting hole; just grazed through my folds until I was a hot and begging mess, until there were tears in my eyes. And he just strolled out whistling some tune.

  Meanwhile, I also continued running errands for the club. They all saw me as a joke, and I didn't blame them. They were hardened men, tough guys, and criminals. I was a nineteen year old girl afraid to leave my home town. If they stopped short of being cruel, it was thanks to Nomad's influence.

  Until, at least, he took off for a few days. Sam - Gunner - his son - finally showed his face at the diner during my shift. I'd been waiting for this confrontation. I hadn't counted on Nomad being away when it happened, though.

  It was just before closing. My mother had already gone home, and I was waiting for the last two patrons to leave when he appeared. He burst in while I was wiping down tables.

  "Lily. Where's your jacket?"

  "Nice to see you, too, Gunner."

  "Using my road name, now?" I shrugged. "Well? Where is it?"

  "Why?"

  "So I can fucking burn it and end this bullshit." He sneered at me like I was a roach, or a rat - something weak and disgusting that he'd like to crush with his boot.

  "Only Bill can do that. Take it up with him." I moved on to another table, further away from him. He reeked of booze and cigarettes, and his eyes were wild. I didn't trust him not to get violent.

  He stood silently, swaying on his feet. Definitely drunk. Very drunk. "Hey. Prospect. I have an errand for you."

  I could just imagine. "I'm on the clock here."

  He ignored what I’d said and unbuckled his belt. “Time to suck my cock, sugar. Now.”

  I stared. “You’re seriously taking your dick out in the middle of the diner.”

  He sloppily grinned and pulled it out. Jesus. In that regard, he did take after his father - it was intimidating, to say the least. And my traitor pussy pulsed and swelled at the sight. Nomad’s going to have to stop leaving me hanging so horny before I do something really stupid.

  I heard my last two patrons’ chairs scrape the floor. Even if they were just trying to flee, their presence should have been enough to discourage Gunner. But he wasn’t known for his brains. “You two can have a turn when I’m done.”

  Then he stepped towards me. I should have reacted faster. Nomad would wring my neck if he knew I was armed but let a man get close enough to grab me anyway. Gunner planted both hands on my shoulders and tried to push me to the ground. I very nearly lost my footing - he was hilariously stronger than me. There was no contest. I tried to twist away, to slide out of his grip, but it was useless. Next thing I knew, my knees slammed against the tiles and his dick was bobbing in my face.

  “What the fuck, dude?!” Finally, one of the truckers was speaking up. I took the distraction as a chance to scrambled backwards and put some space between us.

  “Gunner.” He looked back down at me, and I flipped up the back of my shirt, revealing the handle of my gun at my hip. “Get the fuck out of this diner. Right now.”

  “Bitch.” He pulled back his jacket, revealing his own pistol. “You really want to go there?”

  Was this a standoff or a quickdraw? I was screwed either way. On the other hand, he’s pretty drunk.

  When he got down on the floor and tried to crawl on top of me, I decided it was time to make a move. I was in trouble either way - and it was either deal with his dick, or deal with his gun. I think I’d rather get shot. So while he knelt crookedly above me and fumbled to free his balls from his pants as well, I launched myself at him. He howled as my knee made contact with his groin. His pants were already loosened, and he was off-balance. I knew the blow was coming. I watched him reach back as if in slow motion. But I grabbed his gun before he could make contact with my face.

  It all felt so slow. My hand was tight around the handle when the back of his hand crashed against my face. The force of it blew me aside; I may have even bounced when I hit the ground. But the gun was tight in my grip.

  Time sped back up when the pain hit. My eyes teared up immediately, blurring my vision. It hurt. I tasted blood. Blinking hard to clear my eyes, I aimed his gun at him. “Don’t fucking move.” My mouth sounded like it was full of cotton.

  He froze. “You fucking bitch,” he spat. But he froze, and he showed me his palms. Defeat, motherfucker.

  “I’m keeping this,” I said, waving the weapon. “Get the fuck out of here.”

  “You’re really gonna get it now.”

  I laughed. Despite the pain and the adrenaline, I burst out laughing. “Really? No, please, Gunner. Go tell Bill. Go tell him how I disarmed you after you drunkenly waved your dick at me in his diner. Go.” He didn’t move. “Go!”

  Finally, wearily, he pushed himself to his feet. But he still hesitated. “What the hell are you waiting for, Gunner? Do you want me to shoot you?” I stood as well. It was an effort to hide my dizziness. Jesus, he hits hard.

  “Are you fucking my dad?”

  My jaw dropped. “Is that was this is about?”

  “You are, aren’t you.” He sneered. “You picked that old bastard over me.”

  I sighed. “No, Gunner. I picked exile over you. Get. Out.” Finally he walked out, like a dog with its tail between its legs. I didn’t know how to take that - if he’d fi
nally leave me alone, or if this meant that he’d come after me sober and more vicious next time.

  Maybe I didn’t want to be a part of the club. I could still catch a bus.

  “Are you okay, miss?”

  The truckers were on their feet, their eyes wide. “Way to give a lady a hand, you two,” I said dryly.

  They exchanged a look. I guess I wasn’t being entirely fair - Gunner and I were both armed. They probably weren’t. Still, that was enough for one night.

  “Go on. Both of you get out, too. Diner’s closed.”

  They left cash on their tables and left, wincing as they glimpsed at my face as they passed. But they wisely kept their mouths shut.

  I couldn’t worry about my face, though. I couldn’t worry about Gunner returning, bringing more guns, bringing friends. The only thing I was afraid of was how Nomad was going to respond when he heard about this.

  ---

  Nomad returned the next day. Mom was out, spending the evening with Bill at the clubhouse bar. I’d spent part of the day there, fetching drinks and beers from the bartenders at the front and delivering them to Bill and the rest of the club in the back room like a good Prospect should. When they asked about the ugly bruise on my cheekbone and the big black eye, I just told them it was a bar fight with a bear. They laughed but they didn’t push the issue. Bikers and biker bitches and prospects and old ladies got into physical altercations all the time. It was nothing remarkable. But when Gunner showed up, I made an excuse and fled. I was going to have to deal with him eventually, I knew. But not so soon. Not just yet.

  I peeked through the peephole when I heard a knock on the door. My stomach twisted when I saw Nomad there. My heart raced - did he know what happened? Would he be mad at me? Or was he just dropping by to leave me hanging again?

  There was no hiding my face. And I couldn’t lie. With butterflies in my gut, I opened the door.

  His eyes went wide. “You’re going to be the death of me.”

  “I’m sorry.” I looked at the ground.

  “Oh, honey.” He tilted my chin up, forcing me to look at him. His face was clear of all that anger I’d come to expect. “I’m sorry. I raised that shithead. And I left you here knowing what a shit he is.”

  I shook my head. “I took care of it. You can’t watch out for me all the time.” I cracked a smile, though it hurt my sore face. “Besides, I wouldn’t be much of a biker if I couldn’t take a few bruises and scars.”

  “You don’t really want to be a biker.” He turned my face and examined the mark. “Not if it means this.”

  “I want to stay near my mother.” I took a deep breath. “I want to stay near you.” His eyes flickered at me, but he didn’t reply. “And now that I’ve got a taste for driving a motorcycle, well…” I giggled.

  “Oh, God.” He chuckled. “Don’t do something like that again. My old heart can’t take it.” He released my chin. “Well, it looks worse than it is.”

  “I know. We’ve all seen ugly bruises before.”

  “Are you serious about this?” he asked, pointing towards the coat hooks next to the door, where my Prospect jacket hung. “I have influence. I can help make this happen. But not if you’re just doing it for your mom. Or for me. You have to want it.”

  “I don’t know,” I said honestly.

  “Well. Think about it.” He peeled his own jacket off and hung it next to mine. “Now. Take your clothes off.”

  My thighs quivered with his gruff words, but I hesitated. “If you leave me hanging any longer I’m going to lose my mind, Nomad.”

  His brows furrowed. “Take off your clothes.” I guess he’s not in the mood to argue. Mentally preparing myself to spend the rest of the night abandoned and uncomfortably horny, I stripped in front of him. I had too much built up frustration to have any fun with it. I tore them off and flung them aside, socks and underwear and all, frowning the whole time. I wanted to leap on him and tear his clothes off, too, but settled for clasping my hands behind me.

  He shook his head as he unlaced his boots. “That,” he said, “was the most unsexy undressing I’ve ever witnessed. And I’ve been alive a long time. I’m impressed.”

  I was already throbbing between my legs. It didn’t seem to matter what he said - anything would have gotten me going in that moment. “Sorry,” I said.

  “What’s wrong?” He kicked his boots away. I just shrugged. “No. Answer me honestly.”

  “I’m frustrated.” I blushed.

  “Why’s that?” He pulled off his belt with a whoosh, then dropped it next to his boots. Next came his dark blue shirt - I licked my lips as I watched him unbutton his way down.

  “You keep leaving me hanging. I’m doing what you said, I haven’t… you know.”

  He chuckled. The shirt slid from his shoulders, leaving him in just his jeans and white undershirt. I could see the hard lines of his muscles beneath the white cotton and longed to touch him. “So?”

  He wanted me to say it. I blushed; I was still shy about this sort of talk. He seemed to like keeping me off-balance. “I need to come,” I said softly. “Please.”

  He smirked. “Beg for it.”

  “Please let me come,” I said, looking at my feet. “I’ll do whatever you want. Anything. Let me prove how bad I need it.” I dropped to my knees and crawled to him. My mind buzzed with doubts - is this what he wants? Am I just making things worse? - but I had to try. I reached him and unzipped his jeans. He wore nothing beneath them - his cock stood free and already hard as I worked his pants open. I’ll bet he was planning on this before he came over. “Please, let me show you.”

  “Go on.” I couldn’t wait long enough to pull his pants further down. I inhaled deeply, taking in the masculine scents, the smell of just him that had become so familiar. His body stiffened as I took the head of his cock between my parted lips. My tongue swirled around the top of his shaft.

  “That’s it,” he murmured, his voice thick. “Convince me you deserve to come.” I moaned, letting him know I was listening, that this was turning me on. I dragged the flat of my tongue down the underside of his shaft before taking his length further in. I bobbed slowly, savoring the feel of his hot, silky skin dragging along my lips. I worshiped his manhood with slow strokes of my tongue, with wet kisses up one side and down the other. He groaned when he tapped the back of my throat. I held my breath and swallowed around it. He groaned again. “That’s it, honey.” He sounded pleased; but he didn’t sound convinced.

  I released him from my mouth with an audible pop. Stroking him with one hand, I freed his balls from his pants with the other. Massaging the soft sack, I looked up at him - his green eyes were glazed with lust, barely focused on me at all. I licked the wrinkled skin experimentally, and he groaned again. Encouraged, I took one and then other other into my mouth. I licked and sucked them while I stroked him, moaning all the while.

  “Fuck,” he muttered. He backed away, leaving my hand and mouth empty. Before I could protest, he grabbed me by the wrist and pulled me behind him to the couch, kicking his pants off on the way.

  He sat and reached for my hand. “Straddle me,” he said, pulling me closer. I climbed onto his lap and placed my legs on either side of his hips. The lips of my sex brushed his cock, sending a shudder straight up my spine.

  He brushed my hair from my face. “Do you want me to fuck you?”

  “Yes. Please, yes,” I breathed. I felt like I’d been waiting for this forever. During our time in the hotel, through all the teasing, all the times he’d left me unsatisfied, he still hadn’t fucked me. I’d been dreaming about it.

  He squeezed my ass cheeks hard, making me gasp. “You’ll have to beg for it.” He touched my bottom lip, running the rough callous of his thumb across it, making me tremble. “Beg, or I’ll just finish in your mouth and go home.”

  “Please, Nomad, let me come.” I kissed his thumb. “I need you to fuck me. I need you. Please.”

  He squeezed my ass again. His fingers dug into the fleshy g
lobes, making me gasp and squirm. “Keep begging.” Then his mouth was on my nipple. He sucked it, flicked it rapidly with his tongue, then pinched it with his teeth until I yelped.

  “Ah! Please, Nomad, please fuck me. Fuck me hard. You said, remember, you said as long and slow and as hard as I need. I need it, Nomad, I need you.” I rocked against him. His cock was sandwiched between us. I lifted my pelvis, trying to get him between my legs, trying to shift our position so I could feel him against my pussy, but he held me too tight, too firmly in place.

  Finally, he spoke. “Okay, honey. Only ‘cause you asked so nice.” He released my ass and slid a hand between my legs. His fingers grazed my clit before sliding past. I gripped his shoulders as he slid two fingers inside my aching and needy channel. It felt so wonderful to finally be touched by him, my head spun. “Goddamn, you’re so wet,” he breathed.

  “For you,” I said. With a grunt, he thrust his fingers deep. I exhaled sharply, squirming, arching like a bitch in heat.

  “Are you ready for me?” he asked.

  I could have laughed if I wasn’t so desperate. “Yes, yes,” I chanted, lifting my hips higher. He positioned his cock at my creamy recess, rubbing the head back and forth.

  “Go on.” With a long sigh of arousal and relief, I lowered myself onto his waiting shaft. My pussy lips and then my tight walls opened and expanded for him, taking the hot member inch after slow inch. I tensed and had to pause. I could have come right then.

  He tilted my chin so I was looking into his eyes. “Don’t come yet. Not until I say.”

  I nodded. “I remember.” I lowered myself the rest of the way down his shaft and sighed with the sweet relief of finally, finally having him inside me. He was big - I was stretched painfully by his girth, despite how wet I was. I whimpered at the sensation, though it rapidly faded as I rocked my hips against him; my nipples danced against the soft cotton of his undershirt; goosebumps rippled across my body. The pain was insignificant beneath the exquisite feel of his huge, throbbing member inside me.

  He leaned back, putting a little air between our bodies. “Ride me,” he said. He casually rested his elbows on the backrest of the couch. He could have just as easily been relaxing and watching television instead of having me impaled on his lap. “Make yourself come.”