Tank, page 11
“Nope,” she says, with a plastered on fake smile. “All good here.”
“Bullshit,” I say, and pull her down on the bed. She falls mostly into my lap. Brooke looks up at me with these soft blue doe eyes and leans in for a kiss. Her lips crash down on mine, and her tongue thrusts into my mouth. I don’t kiss her back and after a moment her hand flies to my cock and she gently squeezes. I slide my hands into her hair and gently pull away. I meet her gaze evenly, but my brow is arched because being this forward isn’t like Brooke at all. I know she’s a club whore, and she’s damn good with her mouth and those tiny hands of hers, but normally she waits for someone else to make the first move.
Her eyes are big and pleading, and … fuck me, is she crying? “I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay, darlin’,” I say, letting her curl into me and wrapping my arms around her because I’m not a total arsehole.
“It’s true, isn’t it?”
“What?”
She looks up at me and pouts a little. “That you’ve made Ivy your old lady?”
“Well, that’s up to her I guess, but yeah, I’ve staked my claim.”
“She’s a lucky girl.”
“What’s goin’ on, Brooke? You seem kinda shaken up.”
“I spent the morning with One Eye. He’s ah … a little rougher than usual these days and I thought being with a real man, you know, a man who doesn’t hurt women … well, I thought that … never mind. It’s not important.” She shifts in my lap, as if she’s about to get up and scurry away like a frightened little field mouse, but I hold her firmly to me. With my free hand I grab her chin and tilt her head to the side, and then back and forth in order to see all the angles of her face. I don’t see any bruises.
“He hurt you?”
She places her small hand over mine and wriggles out of my grasp. She stands and pulls up her skirt all the way until her panties are revealed. At first I wonder what the fuck she’s doin’, testin’ my willpower after I just told her no, but then I see the purple marks covering her upper thighs.
“Jesus, fuck. One Eye did that to you?” I have to ask, because it’s seems like more of a Kick thing to bruise and punish. I don’t trust One Eye, especially when it comes to my boy. He knows something about my past or Kick’s, or maybe he just suspects. Either way, the fucker can’t be trusted, and now this? “I’m gonna kill him.”
“No, don’t say anything. Please. I just … well, I guess now that Ivy’s gone, the boys who like to play rough don’t understand that we’re not all into being choked and beaten the way she is.”
Ouch. That stung like a motherfucker. Not that I wasn’t aware of Ivy’s penchant for taking it rough, but I still don’t like the thought of any of them having her, much less some fat fuck who thinks it’s okay to beat her. I’m going to deliver a whole world of pain to that dumb fuck when I see him next.
“I’ll sort him out, babe, but the next time he tries that shit, you tell Prez, you got me?”
“Okay.” She nods her head slowly, as if she’s afraid even that action will be too much and that One Eye’s gonna charge through the door and beat the shit outta her. He’s a dumb fuck, that’s for sure, but I seriously doubt he’d try anything with me here. Which just makes me hate him even more. Gutless wonder.
“Thanks, Tank,” she says, but she’s resigned, and I’m sure she thinks I’m not going to do shit about this. She’s dead wrong.
I follow her, and give her a playful smack on the arse as she walks down the hall ahead of me. I don’t want her feelin’ awkward about what just happened or didn’t happen. After all, it’s not her fault I’m a complete fuckin’ chump.
I walk past the threesome, which has turned into an all-out orgy now that Diesel and Squeals, our newest prospects have joined the fuckfest.
Brooke rolls her eyes at me and then she throws a wink over her shoulder as she addresses the room, “You boys are going to wear Neischa out.”
“You offering up yourself to the slaughter, sweet thing?” Diesel growls low in his throat, and I chuckle. Cocky bastard doesn’t know what he’s gotten himself into. He walks over to Brooke, dick on full display for the entire room. You’d think being in a clubhouse of rough and bad-arse fucks that you’d never get to see another man’s cock. You’d be wrong. Between the time I’d spent on the inside, and the time I’ve been with the Saints, and the Angels before that, well … I’ve seen more than enough dick to last a lifetime. More than enough to know I earned my road name Tank in every sense of the word.
Instead of leavin’ like I’d planned, I head down the hall and talk to Prez about the way One Eye’s treating the girls.
I tell him he’s gotta sort that fucker out or I’ll be havin’ myself a little play date. The bastard gives me a humourless laugh, and says, “Don’t wanna bring Ivy back, do ya?” I fold my arms over my chest and just glare at him. “Yeah, yeah, she’s your old lady now, I got it.”
Twenty minutes later, I’m flying down the M4 on my bike. I pull off at the last fast food joint on my way home and pick up some dinner for Ivy. In a way, I’m dreading what I’ll find when I walk through that door. She’s had plenty of time to run, but I can’t keep her tied to a fucking chair forever. She was fool enough to fall for it once, but she won’t fall for it again. I took a huge fuckin’ risk leavin’ her unrestrained and to her own devices in that cabin, and I just hope it doesn’t come back to bite me in the arse.
Fear twists my gut when I pull into the garage and trudge up the stairs towards my house. I don’t know what I’ll find, and it scares the shit outta me. I’d expected the door to be flung wide, her shit gone and my house torn apart for any cash and pot she could find.
Ivy curled up on the couch, is not what I expected at all.
She glances up from her spot tucked in against the side of the sofa and I’m greeted with a small genuine smile, but then her gaze darts back to the TV and my happiness is short-lived. Her attention is fixated on some show with hot women in prison uniforms.
“Hey,” I say.
“Shh.” She puts a hand up to silence me and turns up the sound on the remote.
I grunt and throw the food on the table. “Dinner’s in the fuckin’ bag. You might wanna heat it up though. I’m going to bed.”
She glances up at me, and Jesus Christ I’m a pathetic excuse for a man because all I want is to lie at her feet and have her rub my belly like a fuckin’ worthless dog. I should be baring my teeth to this bitch and showing her what’s what. Instead, I’m a fuckin’ dejected puppy. “You’re not eating?”
“I ate already.”
“Real food, or pussy?”
If only she knew. I haven’t wanted to touch another fuckin’ bitch since I realised I was in love with her. I laugh and sit down next to her. “Nothing like a two-course meal.”
She whacks me hard, and then she moves closer. “You don’t smell like pussy.”
“What do I smell like?”
“Leather, exhaust, night air and a faint whiff of clubhouse.”
“So pussy then?” I laugh. She chuckles and lifts my arm, tucking herself beneath it and nestling into the crook of my shoulder.
“I’m glad you’re home. I was bored without you,” she murmurs. Home. My heart gives a pitiful little tug hearing her say that word.
“What did you do today?” I ask, tracing my fingertips along the pale flesh of her arm in lazy spirals.
“Laid around, watched bad daytime television,” she says, snuggling her head against my chest. “And I went outside.”
The hand that was stroking her arm stills, and tension coils within me. I clench my teeth and practically fuckin’ growl my disapproval.
“Butch isn’t a very good guard dog, you know?” she says, matter of fact. As if she’s talkin’ about the goddamned colour of the sky or some other shit you just drop into conversation. “He practically licked me to death.”
“I asked you specifically not to leave the house. Do I have to tie you to a fuckin’ chair again, or can you take a direct order—”
“You can tie me to a chair if you want,” she whispers. “As long as you eat me out afterwards.”
“I’m fuckin’ serious, bitch. How did you even get past the alarm?”
“I watched you enter it this morning, dumbarse,” she deadpans, and when I think back to earlier today, I realise she’s probably right. I’m a fuckin’ idiot. I was so caught up in those sexy little short shorts she was wearin’ that I didn’t have my fuckin’ head on straight.
“Tank, if I wanted to leave, I would have. I spent all day sitting in the sunshine with your dog. Tomorrow I’m going to get to work on your gardens. I’m bored. I can’t be cooped up in this house all day. And if you really want me to get better, then I need to push the boundaries. I need you to trust me … so I can trust me. I can’t promise it’s going to be easy. My first thought when I left the house today was that I could probably get to a pharmacy and back before you would even know I was gone. And then I felt the breeze in my hair, and the sun on my skin, and I decided I didn’t want to go anywhere. I need this.”
She was right. I knew she was right. But could I do it? Could I give her that freedom? And trust her not to fuck it up?
“Yeah, okay.”
“Okay what?”
“Okay, I trust you.” Her lips graze my chest and then she scrambles into my lap like an excited kid. “But you fuck this shit up, you betray that trust and go running off to the nearest fuckin’ dealer, and you don’t come back here.”
“I won’t let you down. I promise,” she says and snuggles her head into my chest. I sigh.
Such a fuckin’ chump.
I drape my arm around her waist, and find myself kissing the top of her head. She gives a contented little sigh and within minutes she’s softly snoring. I stroke her hair and sink farther into the couch, afraid to wake her. She sleeps so fitfully most of the time, like that bastard’s still haunting her dreams. So I let her sleep. I watch the show, not really knowing what’s goin’ on, but I get invested anyway, and I grow hard when I see the little bit of girl-on-girl action. I fantasize about waking Ivy up so she can suck my cock, but I don’t, because as much as it might kill me, that isn’t what she needs right now. I’m not what she needs.
“Come on, Warrior Princess,” I say, cradling her in my arms as I stand and start walking down the hall.
She lifts her head and smiles sleepily at me. “Where are we going?”
“To bed.”
“But you passed my room already,” she says, as she tucks her head in against my chest.
“To my bed,” I say.
“I like your bed,” she murmurs.
“Me too.” Especially when you’re in it. I carry her into the room and lay her on the bed. I strip off my leather jacket and my shirt and jeans as Ivy watches through amused sleepy eyes.
“Like what you see, babe?”
“Nah, you’re too bulky for me,” she teases.
“Bullshit. You like ’em big, just like you like ’em rough.”
“It’s true. I do like that.”
“You can’t lie to me, Ivy. I got that pretty little head of yours all figured out.” I tap my forehead for emphasis.
“You do, huh?”
“Yep,” I say, and crawl up the bed towards her. I cage her in between my forearms, and then I slowly peel off her clothing so she’s completely naked. My dick’s hard and I want up inside her sweet fuckin’ pussy so bad my balls are turnin’ blue, but I know she’s not interested in fuckin’ me. She’s made that real fuckin’ clear. Doesn’t mean I’m gonna give up an opportunity to have her naked in my bed though. I roll her onto her side and tug her back against me, cupping her tits from behind.
She laughs softly. “I thought we were just sleeping?”
“We are. I just like a little bit of tit to hold as I drift off. I got mummy issues.”
“You’re a fucking pervert.”
I chuckle and press a kiss to the space between her shoulder blades, and I hold my woman as she drifts off to sleep. Doesn’t matter if she doesn’t realise it yet, it doesn’t even matter if she doesn’t love me back. Ivy belongs to me. And I’ll be fucked if I let anyone take her away from me. Not my Prez, not my brother Kick, not Killer or the rest of my club brothers, and certainly not her fucking piece-of-shit father. She’s mine. And I don’t care if I have to gut every last one of them. I will. To protect what’s mine, I’d do much more, and they better hope to hell it doesn’t come to that.
Tank slides his stubbled rough jaw through my wetness, and I cry out. Grabbing a fistful of his hair, I sink my fingers into his scalp and moan, writhe, and quake as his tongue darts out to lick my clit.
“Harder.” I pant.
“No,” he says against my flesh and continues licking me softly, reverently. I whimper and rock my hips, sliding my pussy against his face, seeking more pleasure mixed with pain. He pulls his head back and circles his massive arms around my thighs, placing his hands on my lower abdomen and pinning me against the mattress.
“Wake up, Warrior Princess,” Tank whispers in my ear, and the dream dissolves around me into nothing, into bright light and reality and frustration.
I open my eyes, lift my head and glare up at him. “I hate you.”
“Yeah, yeah, Princess. Heard that one before.”
I flop back against the pillow and grind out my dissatisfaction against the damp sheet. Fucking destroyer of dreams.
“Get up. We’re going somewhere.”
“Can’t we go later?”
“No. Now get up before I drag your arse into that shower without turnin’ on the hot water.”
“Sometimes I really hate you,” I mumble, and close my eyes, but when he climbs off the bed and stomps over to my side, I shriek and I’m up in a heartbeat, racing him to the en suite. I hold my hands up to ward him away. “I’m up! Fuck!”
Tank chuckles and leaves me to my business. Jesus Christ, he’s a scary fuck sometimes. I’m surprised I didn’t pee myself just trying to escape him.
When my heart rate has returned to normal, and I’m showered and dressed, I head out to the kitchen. Grabbing a cup from the mug tree on the bench, I turn the coffee machine on, annoyed that he hasn’t already done it, but Tank comes up behind me and takes the mug from my hand. “You ready to leave?”
“Can I at least have a coffee first?”
“Nope. We gotta get on the road. It’s a two-hour drive from here.”
“You want me to ride with you for two hours without a coffee?” I ask. “You don’t value your life very much, do you?”
He just winks and walks off, munching his apple. “You’ll need a jacket,” he says over his shoulder, and I give him a two-fingered salute.
I grab my jacket from off the bar stool and head out after him. Tank smiles as I walk down the stairs towards him. He looks as if he wants to devour me, which I guess isn’t that different—that’s how he always looks at me—but there’s a new intimacy to it that leaves me a little breathless.
He already has the bike beneath him in the driveway, jacket zipped against the weather, and helmet on. He slips on a pair of aviators and grins as if he’s up to no good. I pause, uncertain I really want to go any further but then he hits the button on the remote and I have to run for the door so I don’t get locked in.
Arsehole.
He’s fucking chuckling again as I stalk over to him and punch his arm. All my fingers crack at once. Stupid motherfucking giant. One day I’m going to kick his arse. Though I may need to master some kind of martial arts before that happens.
Tank revs the throttle. The sound vibrates through me. I love that sound. I close my eyes and take it all in: the primal grunt from his bike, the smell of exhaust, and leather, and … Tank. Interesting. I sigh and place my hands on his shoulders as I swing my leg over and nestle into the seat behind him. Slowly, I move my hands to his waist, resisting the urge to sink my fingers into the hard muscles flanking his sides. Tank places his hands over mine and moves them a little lower, until they’re resting on his hard cock. I laugh, and then I take back my hand in order to put on the helmet he passes to me from the handlebars. When I’m buckled up, I rest my hands on his sides and press my body closer, anticipating that first jerk of momentum that has a way of pulling you backward when you take off. He twists the throttle and we shoot forwards, down the long drive and onto the dirt road leading away from his property.
I tuck my head in against his massive shoulder and preen at the feel of wind rushing over my body. I may not know how to handle this thing we have going on between us, and I may not know how to get clean and stay clean, but this? This I know how to do, and being on the back of Tank’s bike seems as natural as breathing.
Close to two hours later, we pull into a quiet little seaside community. The houses are mostly all cottages as we drive through one end of the quaint little town, though they start to get progressively bigger the further we drive. Tank makes a left turn and we ride up a narrow, winding road only big enough for one car. On the top of the hill sits a big old-fashioned house, white with blue shutters. It’s the nicest house I think I’ve ever seen. Traditional, Victorian and … home. I know that sounds weird, considering I’ve never laid eyes on the property before, but there’s something oddly comforting about it.
We ride up the sandy driveway and Tank eases on the breaks. He sets his feet down and toes the kickstand into place with his booted foot. The second my feet are on the ground, I unfasten my helmet, slide off the back of the bike and glare at him.
“Where are we, Tank?”
“My ma’s house.”
My eyes widen as I mentally check over my outfit. I’m wearing skin-tight jeans, a ripped up Harley-Davidson tank, and come-fuck-me boots. And I have helmet hair.
“We’re at your mother’s?” I say, fidgeting with my top and attempting to get it to cover more of my breasts than it’s willing to.
Tank frowns as he watches me adjust my clothing, and says, “It’s Sunday.”
“And?”
“It’s Sunday lunch.” He shrugs, removing his helmet and placing it on the handlebars. “I never miss Sunday lunch.”
