Page 40 of Indie
“Daisy!” I hissed, pulling the back door open a few inches. “Daisy!”
The dog didn’t return. The barking stopped, a slow, deep growl coming from the shadows in the garden. And then a voice, velvety and familiar.
“S’ok girl. S’ok.”
“Indie?”
“Hey Spuggy.”
“What the hell are you doing out there creeping around in the dark?”
“Came to see you. But you must have put the dog out at the same time. Thought she was going to take my arm off.”
My heart leaped, not having caught up with the conversation, thumping against my chest like I’d just run a race. This man was going to send me to an early grave. For a moment, that thought meant little other than mere words. Yet there was a terrible truth behind them, because my choice in men had nearly done that. Now this one was the vice president of a motorcycle club, one well-known enough that when he got off his bike today, the riders that pulled us over went almost pale. And I was letting him into my home. I’d already let him into my heart, no matter how much I could try to fight it. Though I never had.
I beckoned for him to come in; the dog loping by his side. Then she stopped between the two of us and shook her whole body vigorously, rain droplets that had been sitting on her smooth coat firing at us. I shrieked, jumping backwards, away from the soggy dog who now sat at Indie’s side, her tongue lolling out of her mouth. He reached down, his fingersscratching behind a floppy ear. And if she could have smiled, she would have.
“How was church?” I asked, watching his hand stroke over her head.
“Boring. But we got done what we needed to do.”
“And what was that?”
“Just some matters of business that couldn’t wait.”
“Because of that conversation with those bikers today?” I asked. I was pushing my luck, asking about club business.
“Pretty much.”
But he wasn’t going to tell me. And neither did I really have the confidence to ask. Sometimes it was better off not knowing. I’d learnt that much from Gaz. Ignorance could be bliss, sometimes.
Indie dropped his hand from the dog’s head, moving across the kitchen floor towards me, the old lino clacking under his heavy boots. He was still dressed head to toe in his leathers, his cut hanging over the black bike jacket and the leather trousers clinging to thick thighs. And here I was dressed in my pyjamas, a thin dressing gown covering the vest and shorts underneath.
His arm shot forward, fingers linking in the ties of the gown, tugging me towards him. I stumbled over my feet, a pitiful squeak leaving my mouth as he scooped an arm around my waist and pulled me into him. The leather was cool through the thin material, making my nipples tighten, pushing out through the layers of thin cotton and shiny silk. Indie dipped his head, saying nothing as his eyes scanned my body, resting on my chest for a moment longer than everywhere else. Then his voice purred, a deep vibrating rumble.
“Little sparrow. So nice to see you in the flesh, not hidden behind your uniform.”
His fingers tilted my chin, in that gently commanding way that left me nowhere else to look. Then his lips pressed against mine, hot and hungry, his hand moving to the back of my head, keeping me pushed into him, giving me no room for escape. This kiss was hard, and meaningful, and far from the careful, controlled way he’d kissed me before. And now my stomach was aflame, and those flames touching somewhere deep inside me, a sudden pressure taunting me.
I gasped, as much for air as for him. He barely let me breathe, his lips crushing mine, his tongue hard and almost forceful, taking the kiss from me, one hand in the back of my hair, fingers grazing my scalp and the palm of his other hand wedged into the small of my back, pushing my body into him.
I thought I could feel him through the leather, a roughness against the most sensitive part of me. He walked me backwards, his lips and tongue never leaving mine, his stubble scratching my skin, a leather covered hard-on teasing against my stomach. Then he stopped for a moment, his hands grabbing my waist and picking me up and depositing me on the edge of the kitchen table, a sudden rush of cold bleeding through the thin material of my pyjamas.
Indie nudged my legs apart, stepping between them, the leather-clad erection now pressing against my pussy, driving a surge through me, an embarrassing squeak leaving me at the sudden roughness of his bike trousers. He smiled, knowing exactly what that had done to me, acknowledging the control he was taking from my body. From me. And right now, I wanted to give it all to him.
He kissed my mouth again, his tongue pulsing in and out, teasing and taking as I tried to keep up, but was left hopelessly behind. His hand wrapped around the back of my neck, the movement of the rough pads of his fingers sending an electrified shiver right the way down my spine. His lips pushed harder, taking more and more, his weight pushing down on me. He swiped the dressing gown off my shoulder with his free hand, the callouses on his palms scratching the warm skin underneath. His lips never leaving me, he tugged the other side down my arm.
And then he hesitated, taking his mouth from mine, yet his lips still lingered there, like he couldn’t move far from me.
“Can I touch you, Emmie?” his voice was strained, struggling with control.
I faltered for a moment. I’d never been asked before whether that was what I’d wanted. And now I didn’t really know how to answer. Indie took a step back, looking at me intensely.
“You can say stop, Spuggy. At any time. I won’t ever force you to do something you don’t want to do.”
“I want to do this.”
“Then tell me.”