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.
In turn, Shade would do anything for Easy. And the man knew that.
As they turned onto County Line Road, he realized they weren’t heading to Dino’s Diner. No one told him what the plans were after the run today, and he hadn’t asked. He should’ve known by the sweet butts showing up at The Barn early this morning before the ride.
Didn’t matter to him where they ate afterward. He was planning to grab some grub, then hit Chelle’s house for a few more hours of painting. There wasn’t much left to do to finish up that first room. Rolling a quick second coat should do it unless Chelle wanted something else done.
If he got that out of the way today or tonight, then he could concentrate on work and hunting the Shirleys this week.
That reminded him to pull Judge and Trip aside for a quick update.
Cage led the formation off the hardtop onto the rutted, rough lane of the farm. Trip had been putting off having tons of driveway stone dropped because riding a sled over a thick layer of that shit sucked. The prez would rather have most of the long lane paved, but that cost a shit-ton of scratch.
Anyway, that project had been put aside and the money spent on buying Cage’s modular home and getting it set up near Judge’s house just on the other side of the tree line.
Trip kept going back and forth on whether the club should invest in a business that specialized in emergency housing like what was brought in for Cage at first. Or buying more modular homes, setting up a little neighborhood on one corner of the large farm and renting them out, almost like a trailer park but with permanent housing on foundations.
Shade ignored most of that talk because he didn’t have a head for business. He only did what he was told or did what he knew needed done. He kept it simple and left the hard decisions to the ones in charge. That wasn’t him and never would be.
He liked that just fine, too.
They rolled down the lane, breaking formation. Some of his brothers parking their sled near The Barn, some near the pavilion, and some tucking theirs away in the shed for the night. Shade left his near the back door of the bunkhouse so he could take a quick shower after he ate and before he headed over to Chelle’s. He needed to rinse off the road dirt and the dead bugs.
He followed Sig—who had an arm draped loosely over Red’s shoulders—around the corner and over to the pavilion where everyone was gathering. The sweet butts had set up a spread like a buffet and Ozzy was checking the pig on the spit.
Just the smell of it made Shade’s mouth water. He never took good food, like Chelle’s homemade chili yesterday, for granted.
Rev was lighting the fifty-five-gallon barrels scattered around the courtyard. Whip was propping open the double side doors to The Barn. Judge and Deacon were carrying a cold keg of beer outside and setting it in a blue plastic half-barrel full of ice.
Shade preferred when they came back to the farm to party, rather than go to Dino’s. At the diner, they all had to sit at a bunch of tables pushed together in a back room. Where here, everyone was free to roam and do whatever the fuck they wanted.
Which was sex—and lots of it—drugs—for the most part in the form of pot—and loud rock and roll.
He also couldn’t forget the drinking.
Today he wouldn’t be drinking much, maybe a beer or two, before he hopped back on his sled and headed into town. He definitely would share a few bong hits, a few puffs off a joint or hits off someone’s pipe before heading over to Chelle’s, too.
He might not smoke hand-rolled tobacco like a lot of his brothers, but he never turned down weed. He relied on it to keep him sane when his past wanted to do nothing but spin him into insanity.