Old Man's Ride: Dust Bowl Devils MC (3 page)

“
I’m not a charity case,” I said, glaring.

He glared right back, cool as a cucumber. I wondered if it was even possible to push his buttons at all. “And I’m not so destitute that I can’t afford a few meals for a pretty young thing. So indulge an old man. I’m paying.”

I blushed.
He thinks I’m pretty.
“
Don’t let that go to your head,” he said, noticing my reaction, “From what I’ve gathered, you think highly enough of yourself already.”

“
Bastard.”

He huffed. “I don’t tolerate that sort of lip from anyone. I’m telling you that right now. I’ll let you off the hook because it’s been a rough day for you, but that’s your last warning.”

Or what?
I wanted to ask. I wanted to keep provoking him, pull more of a reaction from him then a huff and a short speech, more than those cold, calculating looks. But I bit my tongue. Again.
I’ve been doing a lot of that.

“
We’ll be staying in this town for a day or two,” he said as he stood. I followed him back outside. “I’ve got some business to attend to. You’ll wait in the motel unless I take you out, understand? You don’t go anywhere alone.”

“
What?!” That was just too much. He may have been doing me a favor, but I wasn’t his prisoner.

He raised an eyebrow at me. “How about you ask like someone that has some manners?”

I knew I was being deliberately shitty. I couldn’t help it. I was stressed and far from home, and his calm about the whole situation was making me angry. “Care to tell me what the fuck please, sir?”

We’d reached his bike. He paused to kick the stand up, intending to walk it to the gas station just in the next lot. He didn’t look at me as he spoke. “Oh, honey. You’re going to pay for that.”

I followed him to the gas pumps, a few steps behind. What did he mean by “pay”? I should have taken off right then. Fact was, I wasn’t his prisoner and I wasn’t his family, and if I wanted to run screaming, no one would take his side. Hell, he might not even try to follow me. I could make my own way to LA, or to anyplace else. But something stopped me. That hint of promise in his threat. Something smoldered beneath the surface when he’d said it, and that something lit a flame in my belly and in my pants. I glared at his back, at his colors - those damn patches that stated loud and clear what motorcycle club he was in. He filled his gas tank just as calmly as ever, showing no sign that he was angry or upset with me. I watched his movements - deliberate. Patient. He was like an old oak tree, or a boulder. There were few storms in this world that could knock him over. I doubted anything I could throw at him would move him at all.

I waited outside while he paid, watching him walk to the store and back. Long strides, but no rush. He swung a leg over the bike and nodded towards me, indicating that it was time to go.
I could hitchhike. I could find a bus. I could ask for a job in the burger joint and never leave this block.
I climbed on behind him and clasped my trembling hands around his waist.

---

He made me wait outside while he reserved our room at the single-story motel on the edge of town.
One room.

I thought I’d hyperventilate as I followed him to the door. The closer we got, the more vulnerable I felt. We’d be isolated inside. I’d been alone with him in the desert, but that was on the open road. This was just a tiny room. It felt lonelier than the vast expanses of dust and cacti.

I followed him inside anyway. It went against my better judgment, my sense of self-righteousness, my anger. I shivered. Whatever was happening, I wanted it.

He didn’t let me speculate for long. As soon as the door was shut, he grabbed my wrist and dragged me to the bed. “What the hell are you doing?” I squealed as he tore my backpack away. He manhandled me expertly, spinning me around to free the pack, his grip firm but not painful. Strong, though; pulling away would be futile.

“
You were warned,” he said. “You’re going to learn to keep a tighter reign on that mouth of yours.” Spinning again, I hardly realized what was happening before he was seated on the edge of the bed, and I was bent over his knees, one arm twisted behind my back. Fear coursed through me, but at the same time, excitement. Anticipation. The dangerous old biker had me at his mercy. And part of me didn’t mind at all.

His hand came down on my ass. I should have expected it, prone across his legs as I was. Still, I yelped in surprise.
Did that seriously just happen?
My eyes watered as the delayed stinging sensation hit me. And my pussy heated. That was even more unexpected than the blow. I held my breath.

“
You’re going to accept your punishment?” he asked. He sounded a little surprised, but no one was more surprised than me. I nodded.

His hand came down again with a muted
smack
against my jeans. I whined as the sting washed over me, but I held still.

“
You’ll keep that sass to yourself for as long as you’re traveling with me.”

“
I will.” My voice sounded high to my own ears. Different.

Another hard smack made me cry out and jump. And then another. The only sound in the tiny room were his smacks and my cries and labored breathing. My ass felt like it was on fire. He really wasn’t holding back - and if he was, that was even scarier. I could almost sense bruises forming with each blow, feel my ass growing redder as my panties grew wetter. The pain and the growing need were too much - I couldn’t control myself. I moved my hips against him, seeking contact, pressure, anything at all to relieve that hot ache between my legs.

“
Jesus,” he breathed. Another blow landed, and his time his hand remained on the stinging globe of my ass, squeezing, kneading. It hurt, and it felt so good at the same time. I moaned.

“
I’ll be good,” I panted, “I’m sorry.” That didn’t sound like me at all. It felt like something had been unleashed inside of me, one blow at a time. Something I’d been fighting, but I didn’t want to fight anymore.

“
You damn well better be good,” he growled. He released my arm. “Stand up. Back to me.”

What now?
I obeyed automatically, wiping tears from my eyes. “Pull your pants below your ass and put your hands on the dresser.” He wanted to inspect his handiwork. I did as he asked, feeling terribly exposed. I could feel goosebumps raising all over my skin as I bared my reddened ass to him. Palms on the dresser, I reminded myself to breath and squeezed my eyes shut.
Just how much does he want to see?
If I shifted, he’d see the pink skin of my sex. Hell, he could probably already see the wet spot on my panties, smell my arousal on the air.
I
could smell it.

The rough pads of his fingers traced around the fiery skin of my ass. Gentle as he was, it felt like sandpaper on the raw skin. I gasped and moaned as he brushed across one globe, then the other. I could hear his breathing hitch.

“
Goddamn” he breathed. His fingers dipped lower still, just grazing my wetness. I squirmed against his touch, desperate for more. He pushed my pants lower. “Look at you. You’re loving this.” His other hand came down on my ass again, and I cried out. He didn’t strike as hard against my bare skin, but I was already bruised and sensitive. My cry was cut off as his fingers plunged deep inside my eager channel.

I couldn’t believe he was doing this. I especially couldn’t believe my reaction. I moaned and wailed as he reigned another round of open-palmed slaps upon my ass, and as he pumped one and then two fingers inside. I rocked against him with each thrust; my inner walls squeezed his fingers as I tensed with each blow.

“
You like this?” he asked, “You think you deserve this?”

“
Yes,” I gasped, “I deserve to be punished. Ahh…” I was rocked against the cheap motel furniture as he finger fucked me. “Punishment” wasn’t supposed to feel so incredible. Would he be mad if I came? I was close, but I was afraid of his reaction.

“
Damn right you do.” The slaps stopped. His fingers rooted painfully deep inside, pushing me higher up against the dresser, with my face against the wall. He leaned close to my ear and growled, “You need this. You need to be
fucked.
”

“
Oh, please, Wilhelm!”

His fingers withdrew and surged back inside with vicious force. I cried out. “It’s Nomad. Or it’s Mr. Green. Say it.”

“
Please, Mr. Green.”

“
I will. Eventually. I’ll fuck you long, and slow, and as hard as you need.” His fingers curled inside me, and with deliberately slow motions, he stroked my g-spot. “But not yet.” His other hand snaked around the front of my thigh. “Now, come for me. I have work to do.” He stroked my clit with a calloused thumb.

Just like that, his gruff words and rough treatment made me come. I wailed as my pussy convulsed around his fingers, as waves of pleasure and pain sent my head spinning to heights I didn’t know were possible. My whole world tilted.

His fingers still worked inside of me, drawing my orgasm out longer as I squeezed him tight with each pulse. When I finally returned to earth, he withdrew his fingers and stepped away. I regretted his abrupt absence. I wanted to remain as we were, where I could feel the heat radiating from his body, feel his breath against my neck.

But he stepped back. I turned, tugging my pants up. The air in the room changed. The electric spark was replaced by something colder. He turned away from me. “Try to get some sleep. I’ll be back before sunup.” He slipped inside the bathroom and slammed the door.
Did he just sound… sad?

Despite my exhaustion, I knew my troubled thoughts would keep me awake all night. What the hell had just happened? What did this mean?

I wiped my eyes. Wilhelm - Mr. Green - definitely didn’t seem interested in talking about it just then. I’d bite my tongue. I’d at least wait until he did what he had to do and returned in the morning.

I kicked off my shoes and jeans, slid my bra off, and crawled into bed. The sound of the shower running lulled me to sleep. I never even heard him leave. I must have been more tired than I realized. That or the storm of new emotions raging in my chest wore me right out. Maybe I could process them better once I was rested.

---

When I woke up later, I woke with a start. I had no sense of where I was, or when it was. Something had pulled me out of a deep sleep.

That something was a hand on my back.

"What..."

"Shh. Just me."

"Who?"

"Nomad."

The day rushed back to me. I tried to sit up, but he pressed me back down. "Sun's not up yet. Go back to sleep." Then why wake me? Just to check on me? My cheeks heated at the memory of what we'd done. My ass was still raw, and it stung when I moved, but I wasn’t really hurt or injured.

"I'm okay," I said.

"Good." He stroked my hair, and I sighed contentedly. I didn't think the old man could be so gentle. "You're a good girl. I shouldn't have hit you so hard. Or done... Well. I apologize. I'm old enough to be your father and then some."

What did his age have to do with it? "I'm fine," I said, rolling onto my side so I could see him. "It's fine." He avoided my eyes.
Shit, why the hell does he feel bad?
It didn't seem like him.

I noticed then the bruise on his jaw. I jumped up, surprised at my own alarmed reaction.
Why should I give a damn what happens to him? He's just my ride.
"What happened?" I asked, touching the discolored skin. It hurt to sit, so I knelt next to him on the bed.

"It's nothing."

There wasn't any blood, so whatever fight he'd been in couldn't have been that serious.

"Come on," I said, "I'm unbearably nosy. I'll bug you all the way to the coast."

He snorted. "I don't doubt it." He finally looked at me. His green eyes had dark circles beneath them. I decided to quit pushing the issue. For now.

Instead, I focused on another issue - the fact that he was looking at me as if he wanted to say something. Or
do
something.

I touched his jaw again. "Does it hurt?"

"No." His eyes flickered, just a brief movement before turning away.
He was looking at my lips.

I leaned closer, breathing in the smell of him - the leather of his jacket, cigarettes and beer. He'd probably been at a bar. Doing what? He didn't seem drunk.

The air between us was charged with something, though. I was drawn to him sure as a magnet. My gaze settled on the bulge in his pants.
Does fighting make him hard? Or is that because of me? Because of earlier?

He eyed me sideways. "I'm not like Bill," he said, "I don't charge for favors."

"But you're still sitting on my bed," I whispered.

His green eyes were dark when he faced me again. Whatever conflict he was having inside his head came to an end. He pulled me closer, guiding my leg so I was kneeling around him, straddling his thighs. Then he pulled me in for a kiss.