No, she was a hot blonde. A younger, wilder version of Deacon’s ol’ lady. She began to insist on coming along for the club runs from the day she learned about them, even though women usually weren’t included unless they were an ol’ lady or a “regular,” meaning a constant in someone’s bed.
Reilly was neither of those.
She usually bounced around with who she rode with, usually whoever would take her. And what fool would say no to the opportunity of having a hot blonde’s tits—and not small ones, either—pressed to their leather?
Even Shade had let her ride with him one Sunday, to the surprise of everyone.
But on his sled in the wind, he didn’t have to make conversation. All they had to do was enjoy the ride and the sense of freedom it brought. Every ride cinched their brotherhood even tighter.
After each official club run, they got the chance to eat, drink and be fucking merry, along with getting laid or a really damn good blowjob. Or whatever they were in the mood for, depending on a brother’s taste.
As long as getting laid, head, or whatever, didn’t involve Reilly, Tessa or Saylor. Those three ladies had “no trespassing” signs tacked to their foreheads by their president, sergeant at arms, Reese and even Rev.
He wondered what it would feel like to have Chelle’s arms wrapped around him, her hands pressed to his gut, her tits to his back and her pussy hot against his ass.
A fantasy that would never happen.
No one broke away from the pack today to sneak off for a “sled screw,” what they called getting laid on a sled.
He heard the women talking after a run one Sunday about how a sled’s vibration either got them horny or got them off. He’d been so quiet, the sisterhood probably didn’t even realize he was nearby and could hear them.
No matter what, their ol’ men usually benefitted in one way or another. Either on the run or after. With their women either on their backs or on their knees.
The thought of Chelle soaking her panties while riding with him woke up his dick and finally freed him from the dark cloud hanging over him since the early morning nightmare.
Sometimes those memories lingered like a rotten fucking smell.
Funny how the ride itself hadn’t helped clear his mind, it took thinking about Chelle to do so.
Whenever he got a chance yesterday, he’d sneak a peek at her. Whether she knew he was watching her or not, he didn’t know.
Actually, he didn’t care.
Truthfully, if she had turned around, caught him looking and invited him to fuck her right there on the plastic-covered couch, he wouldn’t have said no.
He normally didn’t jump on every opportunity offered, but he’d have a tough time resisting Chelle. He’d never been so drawn to a woman before. Never thought about a woman much past when his dick was inside her.
So, to think about Chelle like he was kind of worried him.
But something about her soothed his soul. Maybe that was what his brothers felt when they’d met their ol’ ladies. When they found the women they wanted to stick.
Listening to Ozzy, Dutch and those who could remember the Originals, it seemed bikers normally weren’t loyal to their other halves. Cheating was accepted, even expected, by the club members.
He hadn’t seen that with Trip, Sig, Judge, Deacon and now, Cage. Those men kept their eyes on their prize and didn’t dare let those eyes wander.
Would that change eventually? Shade had no fucking clue. He didn’t know shit about MCs until accidentally becoming a part of the Fury.
He’d rolled into The Grove Inn almost two years ago. Ozzy spotted his sled and began to chat him up. Then Shade noticed his cut and asked about it.
After a few beers and no better place to land, he ended up wearing a prospect patch and finding himself living in a clean room, access to plenty of food, booze and weed, and with a job.
Shade saw it as his luck finally changing.
He went from no family to a fucking huge one. Loud and obnoxious? Sure. Loyal as all fuck? Abso-fucking-lutely.
Best part was they usually didn’t dig. If he didn’t want to talk about his past, he didn’t. And so far, no one had picked up on him not being able to read or do complicated math.
If someone guessed, like he thought Easy had, it wasn’t even mentioned.
Live and let live.
He was pretty fucking sure Easy picked up on his inability to read because whenever a customer walked into the office and Cassie wasn’t around, Easy insisted he help that customer. When the local vet trained the two of them on the crematorium furnaces, Easy had always read instructions out loud, claiming it helped him learn faster.
Easy had quickly became a brother in truth.
He didn’t make Shade feel stupid. He never fucking once made fun of him, either, even in jest.