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Memphis
"Your bike is ridiculous, Memphis," Kylie complains, eyeing my Harley like it's a caged beast ready to pounce as we stand in the private garage attached to the bar. "It was built for a giant. I'm not a giant."
I can't help but chuckle at the look on her face. She's fucking cute when she's nervous. Not that I can blame her in this case. My bike is a fucking beast. The chrome and black Harley was custom built for a motherfucker my size, not for a girl her size.
"Get your cute ass on," I tell her anyway, plunking a helmet down on her head. It's way too big for her, but damn if she doesn't look sexy as hell wearing my shit anyway.
"Really, Memphis? I knew you had a big head, but this thing is enormous," she grumbles, clearly unimpressed.
"You haven't even seen my enormous head, Toto. Quit bitching and get your cute ass on the bike."
She huffs at me, but steps forward reluctantly. I offer her a hand to help her on the bike. She hesitates for a moment before slipping her hand into mine. I hold her steady as she swings a leg over, allowing me to help her slide onto the leather seat.
Once she's settled, I hop on in front of her and feel her wrap her arms around me, holding tight. Her hands are dangerously close to my cock, and I have to stifle a groan. I can't even lie, though. She's soft and cuddly as fuck—the perfect little backpack.
I rev the bike and take off, making her squeal and cling to me as if she's afraid I'm going to wreck this big bitch with her on the back. As if that will ever happen. I've been riding since I was a teenager. She's perfectly safe with me.
Within minutes, however, I feel her body relax against mine as we head toward my place. At one point, she even squeals with laughter. The sound sends a thrill through me that I didn't know I could feel anymore.
I decide to take the long way home, just to keep her close to me as long as possible.
Memories of the past still weigh heavily on my mind. I'm not sure why I brought them up to her. Actually, that's not true. I want her to know every single fucking part of me. It's been a long damn time since anyone has known me like that. Not even Riley and Cash know all my secrets. No one does.
But Kylie? I want her to know everything. Every dark corner and crowded crevice will be hers. She has a right to know what the fuck she's getting herself into. But goddamn, revisiting that shit isn't easy. I buried it for a reason, left the man I used to be in the past because there was no future in being him. There was just blood and pain and more fucking violence.
Everyone I cared about died in a spray of bullets, cut down by another MC in an attack we didn't see coming. I was the only survivor—luck of the draw because I wasn't at the clubhouse at the time. I was out making a goddamn drug run.
I made it back in time to watch my best friend take his last breath, and I couldn't stop it. I couldn't do anything but hold him in my arms as he gasped that he didn't want to fucking die.
Those words haunted me for a long time. They still do. I think they always will.
I took out as many of the Graceland Reapers as I could before I walked away. And then I rode my ass out of town, and I never looked back.
When I walked away, I was done with that shit. Being that man took everything from me. It took Jayson, my peace, and my own damn humanity. It turned me into a murderer—one who doesn't even regret his crimes.
I regret a lot of things, but not what I did. Those motherfuckers deserved the justice I meted out. My club may have operated outside the law, but we had no beef with them. What they did was unforgiveable.
But with Kylie wrapped around me and the road beneath us, the memories start to loosen their grip. The wind whips around us, drowning out the world. It leaves only the two of us in our little bubble, far removed from the past, the future, and anything resembling reality.
It's just us—the past a distant memory that holds no sway here.
"Memphis, this is amazing!" she shouts into my ear.
I can't help but grin, her voice chasing away the demons that haunt me.
Her grip on me tightens as we race through my neighborhood, each house situated a little further apart than the last. She splays her hands flat across my abdomen, sliding lower. My heart races as the heat of her palm sears me.
And when her hand slips lower, brushing against my cock through my jeans, I can't help but growl a curse, desperate for her touch. For her. Christ, she has no idea how badly I want her hands on my body.
I've thought of nothing else since she walked her fine ass into my bar and started reading in the corner. I don't even care anymore what she's up to or why she's lying about who she is. It doesn't fucking matter. All that matters is her and the way she makes me feel.
"Fuck, Toto," I mutter under my breath, bucking my hips into her hand. She wraps her fingers around me, squeezing through my pants. Her body presses closer, the heat of her pussy against my lower back, her tits crushed against me. That fucking hand slowly driving me crazy as she strokes me.
There's no way I can keep this fucking bike on the road with her hands on me like this. All I can think about is her. But we're nearly to my place.
I can make it.
Fuck. I will make it.
