The Outlaws - Part Two (3 page)

He leaned into me, his mouth mere inches from my ear as he whispered to me.

“After the other night, I thought you might have a few more words than that.”

“Well....um.  I...um....um.”  Nothing.  I knew I looked like a complete fool, but my mouth wasn't working, let alone my brain.

His abrupt laughter filled the room, it was so loud it caught the attention of the other leather-clad men in the room and they stared over at us curiously.  I tried not to sink into my chair.

“Okay, I understand.  I'm not Jackson, I get it.”  He said, starting to turn away, but hesitated before adding one last thing. “But I hope you aren't still entertaining any thoughts of snagging Jackson, because I can guarantee you that no woman has been able to do that yet, and I don't see it happening any time soon, Dixie.  Even by someone as...” he let his eyes travel down to my breasts before finishing his sentence, “...alluring as you.”

As he sauntered away, I soaked in his words.  At least he thought I was alluring, right?  I smiled at the thought of that, and instead of discouraging me, his words wound their way into my consciousness as a challenge.  Maybe no other women had 'snagged' Jackson, as he put it, because no other women were me.  I saw the way Jackson had looked at me.  I had seen the tenderness behind his tough facade.  There was no denying he was attracted to me, whether I had been stalking him or not.  His huge, throbbing cock did not lie.  And the passion with which he had fucked me did not lie.  I just needed to find a way to show him that I was worth taking a chance, despite the fact that he had first run across me passed out with my hand inside my panties outside of his window late at night. 

That shouldn't be too hard, right?  Right.

I ordered my third whiskey, which was probably a very bad idea, but I didn't want to leave just yet, considering I had a perfect view of what was going on behind me.  As soon as Trigger had returned after our exchange, the other guys had questioned him about me.  He whispered a few words and they all started laughing as he obviously told them the story about Jackson finding me.  I didn't care.  I wasn't embarrassed.  I was proud of what happened, all of it, and there was nothing they could do to shame me.

The whiskey had gone right through me, filling me with false courage and providing me with a very full bladder. I wobbled a little as I made my way to the bathroom, trying once again not to fall, and trying to remind myself why I ever thought wearing these shoes was a good idea.  I couldn't wait to toss them in the back of the closet when I got home.

I was washing my hands when the door of the ladies' room opened.  My head was down, lost in my millions of thoughts as usual and I didn't look up right away.  When I felt a hand grip my ass, I jumped and screamed.  Turning around, I came face to face with Spider. 

His sinister smile surprised me, the smell of whiskey and cigarettes on his breath made me gag as I tried to move away from him, but he had me trapped between his hands on the sink.

“Please move.” 

His laugh was evil, and after being this close to him for the first time, I realized there wasn't anything attractive about this guy at all.  Looking into his dark, cold eyes, I felt the extreme urge to flee.

“Why should I do that, Ms. Dixie?  Trigger told us all about you.  About how you like to watch people.”  He reached his hand out, cupping my chin in his hand, turning my face up to his.  He reached his other hand up, grabbing the front of my dress, leaving a dirty grease stain on it.

“Please let me go.”  I was shaking now and completely terrified.

“Trigger told us how you fuck like an animal.  How you took him and Jackson on at the same time.  You're quite the little whore, aren't you?”

“I'm no whore!”  Now he had pissed me off.  My anger rose from deep inside me, as I lifted my knee sharply, slamming into his groin hard.  He doubled over, ripping my dress as he went, and then grabbing his balls and yelling as I ran out of the bathroom.

“You fucking cunt!”  His high-pitched insult echoed down the hallway after me as I stumbled past the bar, past the booth full of laughing MC members, and out of the front door of the bar as fast as my absurd 'fuck-me' heels could carry me.  I was completely humiliated!  Hot tears fell down my face,  leaving black traces of mascara on my cheeks.

I turned the corner to the parking lot, half-stumbling, half-running and half-blind.  And boom! I ran smack into Jackson's leather covered chest as he rounded the corner.  Just my stupid luck.

“Whoa!”  He exclaimed, grabbing my arms to keep me from falling over.

I looked at him sheepishly, feeling like a complete fool. 

“Th-thanks....um...s-sorry for running into you like that.”

“Dixie?  Hey! Dixie, why are you crying?  Fuck....”  His eyes raked across my body. “Why are you dressed like that?! Are you fucking following me again?  Is this supposed to be some sort of disguise? What the fuck?”

“Oh, God.”  I couldn't get much more out than that.

“What the fuck did you do to your hair?”  His anger was replaced by curiosity as he grabbed a lock in his fingers.  “And why is your dress torn?  What happened?”

Shaking and angry, and still full of whiskey, I looked into his eyes with rage.

“I'm...I'm.....I'm not a whore, dammit!”  As soon as the words escaped, I regretted them.  I really needed a leash for my mouth. 

“Huh?”  He said, his handsome face covered in confusion.  God, why did he have to be so fucking gorgeous?  Why couldn't he be like a regular biker and be ugly – like Spider?  Or fat and pudgy and old, like Chief?  Why did he have to look like a goddamned movie star?  What kind of biker smelled like him?  How was I supposed to stay away from him when he smelled like an orgasm?

“I know you aren't a whore, Dixie.  You're a peeping Tom.”  He laughed softly at his own joke, his eyes meeting mine playfully.

A surge of energy spread through my body as I watched his eyes fluctuate between lust and concern and everything I had wanted to say to him finally escaped from my quivering lips.

“I'm not a whore.  Your friend Spider thinks I am.  And Trigger, I guess. And all the others.  But I'm not.  I'm a writer.  And for your information, I have never looked inside anyone's windows before.  And I've never followed anyone over thirty miles before.  And it was just for research.  And I'm sorry that I invaded your privacy.  But I'm not sorry it happened.  Because...”  I struggled to find the strength to finish, my voice cracked as I continued, “...of you.  And how you made me feel.  I know it probably didn't mean anything to you, I get that.  I'm sure you spend the night with women all the time, and it's completely casual.  And I have had casual sex, too.  But it wasn't like that with you.  Not for me, anyway.  And I could have sworn you felt it, too.  But it's okay.  I get it, really.  You're the big, dangerous guy who can't let anyone get close to him, and I'm the crazy peeping Tom bitch you found outside of your window.  Of course, it could never be more.  And I'm fine with that.  Really.  But, like I said, I'm not a whore.”  I paused, holding his gaze.  And then, I kissed him.

Hot tears, smeared mascara, snotty nose and all!  I didn't care.  All my fears, all my worries, all my feelings of being intimidated by him faded away and I kissed him with all the pent up passion I had been holding back for years.  And he kissed me back, his mouth melding to mine in a warm lushness of colliding tongues and lips.  Melting into each other, our deep yearning for connection found a fleeting moment of satisfaction before the sound of laughter spilled out of the front door of the bar.   His rude compadres had discovered us embracing passionately and began laughing at us uncontrollably.  I jumped back and instinctively turned to run away.  As soon as I reached the edge of the sidewalk, my heel caught in a crack and I went down with a very ungraceful thud.  I slammed into the pavement face first and everything went black.

***

“As soon as there is life there is danger.”  ~Ralph Waldo Emerson

I woke up with a start, Jackson's black sheets wrapped around me in his four poster bed, my black curls splayed out beside my bandaged head.  It was pitch dark, and Jackson laid beside me, staring at me calmly.

“Hey.”  He smiled a lazy smile at me, and my insides melted.  I must have died and gone to heaven! There was no way this happened twice in one lifetime, let alone one week!  One minute I was bitching out the president of The Outlaws on a public sidewalk, and the next I'm in bed with his incredible half-naked, smiling-at-me-like-it-just-walked-out-of-Playgirl body?  No fucking way.  This was too good to be true, and it probably was. 

Who was I kidding?  This was a dangerous man, who did  dangerous things, and hung out with dangerous people, and I had just screamed at him like a fool, not to mention the fact I had kissed him like a total harlot.  This would probably not end well at all. 

I looked around and noticed I wasn't tied up this time.  He was lying next to me, wearing nothing but a pair of boxers, his tattoos looking like shadows on his arms in the dark.  His window was open, and the smell of pine trailed through the window. 

“How's your head?” 

How's my head?  How's my head?!  Certifiably crazy, that is how my head obviously was.

“I'm so sorry, Jackson.”  I mustered all the seriousness I could, knowing it was probably a good time to start pleading for my life.  My stupid, idiotic life!  What was I thinking? That was just it.  I didn't think.  When I was within five feet of this man, thinking was an impossible task. 

“You don't have to apologize.  I should apologize, actually.  Trigger shouldn't have told the other guys what happened between us, and I'm sorry for that.  I'm sorry for Spider's behavior, as well.  Neither of those guys are much on manners.  I'm sorry you had to go through that.”

“Oh.”  My head was swimming.  Not just in pain from slamming it into concrete like a water balloon, but from trying to figure this man out.  One minute he was white-hot, and the next he was hiding behind the vault of his cold eyes.  I preferred white-hot, no matter how much it scared me.

“Don't worry. Both Trigger and Spider are now sporting new matching black eyes, courtesy of my right hook.”  He held up his right hand so that I could see it in the moonlight, and I saw the cuts on his knuckles, the thin skin already beginning to bruise.

“Oh.”  My stomach quivered with the thought of him protecting me, and the writer in me regretted missing it.  That would have been something for the books, for sure.

“You are something else, you know that?”  His gruff little laugh causing goosebumps to rise on my arms.

“Oh?” 

He laughed again.

“Yes! Oh! Is that all you can say? You sure had a hell of a lot to unleash on me earlier.  Now you haven't even answered one question.  How is your head feeling?  Do I need to get you to a doctor or not?”

“Oh!  I mean – um....no!  My head is fine.  I think I'm fine.  Thank you.”  I reached out, grabbing his hand and bringing his battered knuckles to my lips, kissing them gently.  “Thank you.  I know you could have just left me there, and it's very nice of you to not do that.  And thank you for bringing me here again.”  I smiled at him, suddenly wanting him on me, in me, around me, and touching me everywhere.

“Dixie, I know you don't know me very well, but if you think I'm the kind of man that would just leave you lying there on the ground, with a wig hanging half off of your head, your tits hanging out of your torn dress, your mascara smeared on your face and your skirt hiked up around your naked hips and flashing half the members of my club your stunningly gorgeous pussy, then you are sorely mistaken.”

He groaned deeply and I felt his cock harden on my thigh.  Pressing into me, he brought his head down, his lips meeting mine as he kissed me, softly at first, and then rougher, harder, his hard tongue sliding deep into my hungry mouth as he pulled himself up and over my outstretched body.

My torn red dress was the only thing separating our flesh.  Jackson's electric blue eyes flashed as he tore it from my body in one violent, swift motion.

“Now, let me show you just what kind of man I really am.”