Forbidden (Devil's Sons Motorcycle Club Book 1) (10 page)

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CHAPTER 1

“There are worse things than being single,” said Quentin with a lecherous grin. “You could be shackled to a wife you can’t stand. Come on, man. Perk up. We’re celebrating!”

Kaleidoscope handed Sam a beer, French swear words floating off her tongue like a ribbon of silk. “Besides, you’ve always got me, lover boy. That girl was taking up too much of your time and energy anyway.”

“To races won and more to come.” Brick, the Southern Wonder, sat down at the table with a satisfied grunt, muscling the others on the bench out of the way. He held up his beer, and the crew clinked glasses. They had just made it back in town from the desert race, and they were in high spirits. Money in each of their pockets meant the night was sure to become a drunken good time.

But, Sam wasn’t enjoying himself. He was putting on a show. He knew his best friends were right. He should be celebrating; yet, he didn’t feel particularly celebratory. He felt like he was missing out. Like he wasn’t where he needed to be. He toasted with the others and sank into his thoughts as he sipped the brew.

“You want to talk about it?” Q asked. The table had cleared out, and it was just the two of them.  Sam shrugged.

“Really not much to talk about. We had a thing going. I thought it was good. I guess I wasn’t. It’s about her folks, you know. Culture clash.”

“It’s like that sometimes,” Q admitted. “I told you early on leave her alone. This might be a case of the universe stepping in where common sense didn’t.”

“How do you figure?” Sam bristled.

Quentin shrugged and smacked his lips after taking a long gulp of warm beer. He patted Sam on the back, knowing he could be candid with the guy who had grown up in the same trailer park as him, both of them raised by single moms, both of them making it out and making something of themselves one way or another. Quentin crossed his arms and studied his longtime bud. It was time for some hard truths.

“Guys like us, Sam, we don’t have room for sweet little innocent lovers, long as we’re doing this kind of stuff. Think of the shit we get into man. How do you think Afia would’ve felt about you entering that race today? Okay, we ain’t out there running drugs or smuggling hot shit, but we got our share of business dealings that ain’t exactly on the up and up—if you take into account the racing. The way I see it, she did you a favor. You didn’t have to break her heart, and you didn’t have to keep her around and make her worry about what day you’re gonna come home in a body bag.”

“You make it sound like a guarantee.”

“Damn sure might as well be. We’re gettin’ old for this shit, man. I mean, it was a blast in our early twenties, but it’s about that time you either settle down with a normal, Regular Joe life or you marry the road. Some folks are made for this lifestyle, bro. I can tell you I’m starting to feel it ain’t in me.”

“What are you talking about, man? Don’t tell me you’re abandoning me, too.” Sam shook his head and shoved his empty bottle across the table in frustration. “Let me ask you something. What kind of life is getting up, going to work, and coming home to the same predictable shit every day, huh? Biking is the only way I feel alive.”

“Hmph. You ain’t looking too lively ever since your girl left you—in my opinion.” Quentin looked at him pointedly. “Look, all I’m saying is, if it’s racing and riding bikes that you love, then you gotta put that other shit out of the picture.  You’re into a lifestyle that she can’t be a part of, and I guess she’s got a lifestyle that you can’t be a part of. It’s even-steven. Let that shit ride and come on out on this dance floor while you still got me on the team to show you some pointers on how to dance.”

Quentin chuckled and waved him out of the booth of The Wisecrack. For a handful of hours into the endless night, Sam felt more at peace, but when he finally made his way home hours later and threw his exhausted body into a hot bath, he was alone with his thoughts with nobody there to talk him down off the ledge. He rested his head on the lip of the tub and contemplated whether or not he should call her. She hadn’t called him, and she hadn’t answered any of the hundred calls he’d already placed. It had been three days since he had last seen Afia. She had come to his bed one last time and disappeared before the sun rose, but the memory replayed in his mind like a special type of torture.

The way she had held him… Her mouth on his had been velvet desperation slick with tears. He had tasted her sorrow as she willingly undressed before his eyes, but he hadn’t understood why she was crying. At the time he hadn’t known what had transpired in the lapse of time from her older brother catching them kissing outside under a streetlamp and her calling him to come pick her up from her home after Rayan left. He had only known she wanted to be with him with a fire that had been missing during their first weekend together. The first had been about exploration. The last, he was realizing, had been about goodbye.

She was a sad song stuck in his head. The last time, she had stripped naked as soon as she had walked into the house, grabbed him by the collar of his shirt, and ripped it over his shoulders and head. Her mouth had gone immediately to his small, dark nipples nestled in chest hair, and she had kissed him all the way down his torso. She hadn’t hesitated. She had eagerly dropped to her knees and unfastened his pants.

With lips untested, she had placed her mouth to his swollen member and flicked her silken tongue down his length. Growing bolder by the second, she had taken him into her mouth, as Sam stared down at her with shocked pleasure. The way she’d felt! Sam had had his share of women before, but none like Afia. It was her innocence that heightened the experience. Her dainty hands fluttered over his shaft, her tongue inquisitive, her lips seeking the appropriate pressure—all of it had blown his nearly jaded mind.

He’d tangled his hands in her thick brown hair and felt it ripple through his palms like a river as he released her, grabbing her by the shoulders and dragging her up to his lips for a kiss that branded her as
his
. He had moved her over to the sofa to lay her down and return the favor. His mouth had devoured her while his soul fed her ecstasy, feeling her thighs clench around his face and her fingers tug at his hair.

He had suckled her sensitive clitoris until she had begged for him to give her what she needed. Then, he had mounted her perfect, lithe body and poured his lust into each stroke and caress. In and out with heightening frenzy, their mating had been a hurried affair. Had he known it would be the last time, he might have lingered.

Yet, he had pleased her and taken her upstairs. There he bathed her and put her to bed. It was almost like a dream—until she broke all contact. Now, it was a nightmare.

Sam pushed his weary body up out of the lukewarm bathwater, realizing it was near dawn, and he trudged to his bedroom to pretend like he didn’t still smell her on his sheets. He fell asleep dreaming of her, knowing he would wake up and she would still no longer be a part of his life.

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