Текст книги "Tank"

Автор книги: Carmen Jenner

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Текущая страница: 10 (всего у книги 16 страниц)

He pulls me down and threads his hands into my hair, smothering my neck and shoulder with kisses. There’s an urgency to his touch that wasn’t there before. “Babe, I’ve gotta fuck you now.”

I nod, rocking my hips in time with his, coaxing and willing him closer to the edge. I can’t think when he’s inside me, can’t form words. Not after he blew my world wide open with a few well-placed touches and that very talented tongue.

I deliberately clench my muscles and he hisses as if he’s in pain, and then his hands are gone from my hair. They grip my hips. His fingers claw at my soft flesh as he pumps in and out of me. Tank intensifies his pace, and I can’t hold back any longer. With a cry, I come. I shatter into a billion tiny pieces. I’m suspended around him, above him, and I’m spent. I’m undone.

Somehow, I keep time with him and, rocking my pelvis against his, I ride out my orgasm with my eyes closed and tears streaming down my cheeks as pleasure forces my body to jerk and quake and completely let go. Tank trails a hand up my back and grasps the nape of my neck in his hands. I open my eyes and smile down at him.

The reinvention of Ivy.

That’s what this is. That’s what all these gentle, sweet and achingly tender touches are about. He wasn’t kidding when he said he intended to show me something other than hurt. And I should be angry at him for wanting to change the way I’m hardwired, for wanting me to be something other than a fucked up pain junkie, but I’m not. I’m not anything but a boneless pile of muscle, tissue, sinew, and nerve endings. And I don’t care that he wants to put an end to all that mercilessness, because sometimes you have to break even the most wilful of things to make them fit back together whole, complete, and stronger than before.

Tank continues to move inside of me, and though I’m spent, I writhe against him, with him. When he finally does slip over the edge, I take his face in my hands and crush my lips to his. I kiss him so deeply I don’t know how we ever kissed any other way. I swallow his primal grunts and cries of pleasure, and he wraps his huge arms around me like a vice and squeezes me until I can’t breathe.

When his body goes lax and his breathing turns from heavy and strained to a light snore, I pull away a little, in order to see his face. His eyes are closed, his lips parted, and his face is slackened with sleep. Tank has one of those too-square jaws with sharp cheekbones, and dark, intense blue eyes that can be so full of emotion one second, and so devoid and cold the next. His full lips are always red from riding in the wind. His beard is dark and unkempt, and his hair too, most of the time, because he crops it himself with a rusted out old pair of clippers. When I met him it was down past his shoulders with natural light brown highlights from the sun. He looked a lot younger then, and I’d be lying if I said I didn’t miss being able to tug on it while his face was buried between my legs.

He’s far too masculine to be called beautiful, but I love that about him. Kick was pretty in a roughed up, hard-done-by kind of way, but Tank? Tank is all man. He’s hardened, yet somehow oddly vulnerable, with a face I could stare at all day. It has character. A story. A life of scars and hurt and struggle is written all over it.

On some level I think that part of him, that abused kid carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders, he’s still in there, and he calls out to the fragile, broken girl inside me. His demons rage and roar at my own, and when we’re here in bed like this, joined, our bodies grown soft with pleasure and lethargy, I think they even quiet one another. They soothe the wrath, the want to hurt, and be hurt, and they just … are. Like wild beasts snarling in the darkness, baring their jagged teeth and claws, eventually they find a middle ground, reach an impasse, and they curl up together and just be still.

And it’s enough.

We are enough.

When I know he’s sleeping soundly, I slide out of bed and walk naked out to the lounge room. I love this house, with its open windows, its seclusion, and its scent of pine and eucalypt. I love that even though it’s not, it feels like home. Or what I imagine home should feel like. It’s what I wanted my whole life, but never thought I’d get to experience, and I know that has little to do with the building around me and everything to do with the man who inhabits it. A man who’s quickly breaking down all my walls and slowly, second by second, laying claim to my heart.

I head over to the couch and pull out the sofa cushions, searching for the three tiny pills that I’d thrown at Tank earlier. I grope around in the darkness for a long time, and find two wedged in the crack between the base of the armrest and the under-cushion support. I fish them out, and after feeling around for what seems like an eternity, I find the other pill on the rug beneath the coffee table.

Walking over to the garbage disposal, I stare at the pills in my hand. It would be so easy to take them without Tank even knowing, and I close my eyes because the post-orgasmic high is wearing off and the oxy would go down a treat. Before I can think too much about it, I splay my fingers wide and let the little pills fall through into the garbage disposal. I don’t turn it on, because it would just wake Tank. Instead, I turn on the tap and wash them away, ensuring there’s no way that I can retrieve them. I run my hands under the warm water and contemplate a soak in the huge claw-foot tub. That would probably wake him too, and I’d really rather just go back to bed and lie with him, even if I can’t sleep. I like having him near. He makes me feel safe. He makes me feel loved, which is something I’ve never felt before. And I’m starting to think that maybe, despite what I told Adeline today, it’s something I could learn to do again. To love. To trust, and to place myself in someone else’s hands and be content there.

Turning, I grab the tea towel and dry my hands, then I hang it back on the hook beside the stove. I’m about to head back to bed when something catches my eye from the doorway. My blood runs cold. My heart beats faster. My head swims.

Not here. Not now.

Terror has me frozen to the spot. Dread glues my feet to the slate tiles. Panic seizes me head to toe, because it isn’t just that it’s the middle of the night and I’m standing buck-naked in the kitchen while a shadowy figure leers at me from the glass doors, or that Butch is now up off the arm chair and barking at the intruder, it’s that I know the man who stands on the other side of that pane of glass, and I know exactly what he’s capable of.

The porch is dark, save for what little light the moon casts on it, but I see him as clearly as I would if it were daylight. You never forget the face of the devil. A scream tears from my throat, and in the blink of an eye he’s gone, and Butch is no longer barking at the door, he’s barking at me.

Rough hands seize my shoulders. I scream again, lashing out at the man holding me. My nails rake his solid, tattooed chest, and then my frantic mind sobers long enough to recognise the hard set of his bearded jaw, and his worried blue eyes that are fever-bright.

“Ivy, what’s wrong?” he asks, shaking me. My gaze is locked on the middle of his chest, as though I could see right through him to the door beyond. As though I would still see him standing there.

My breath seesaws in and out of my lungs, ragged and tainted with fear. The dog is still barking, and Tank takes his eyes off of me for a moment to yell, “Butch, shut the fuck up.”

He takes my face in his hands and coos gently, “Babe, talk to me, please.”

“He’s here.” The trembling starts in my legs and spreads to my whole body. My gut twists and I feel as if I might be sick.

Not here. Not now.

“Who’s here?” Tank asks.

“My father, he was here.” My teeth chatter. Cold creeps into my bones as fear worms its way through every fibre of my being. “He was at the door.”

“You’re sure?” I nod. He smooths a hand over my cheek and says, “Wait here.”

“No. You can’t go out there. Tank, he’ll kill you. Please don’t go out there. Please?” I claw at him, desperate to keep him from leaving me alone.

“Babe, there’s nothing out there. The alarm hasn’t been tripped,” Tank glances at the little plastic security consul on the wall beside the door. The red light isn’t flashing methodically the way it normally does. He pales, and his eyes are wide as he glances down at me. “Fuck. I forgot to turn it on before we went to bed.”

“I saw him. He was out there. He was standing right there.” I gesture wildly to the door. “He’s going to kill us, Tank, he’s—”

“Shh,” he says, pulling me firmly into him and tucking my head against his chest. He rests his chin on the top of my head, and I feel his Adam’s apple bob as he speaks. “Listen, I read about people seeing things … hallucinating when they go through withdrawal.”

“I didn’t imagine it, Tank.” I shrug out of his embrace, and glare at him accusingly. “He was here. I saw him. The dog was barking.”

“Yeah, because you’re flippin’ out, Babe. You scared the shit outta both of us.” He exhales, and tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. “I need you to go back to the bedroom and wait for me. I’m goin’ outside to check on things.”

“No!” I shout. “Please don’t leave me. Please, Tank, please?”

“I’ve gotta, darlin’.”

“Tank—”

He takes my face between his hands. “Ivy, you gotta calm the fuck down. There’s no one out there. We’re a million miles from anywhere, and sleepin’ or not, I woulda heard a car comin’ up the drive, but I’m just gonna go out and double check for myself. I’m taking my gun with me. I need you to head back to bed. When I’m done out there, I’m gonna need your sweet arse to warm me the fuck up. Got it?”

I nod, even though I have a very bad feeling about this. “Yeah, okay.”

“I’ll be right back,” he says, and takes his gun from the table, where he left it when we came home earlier. He grabs a pair of jeans from the back of the chair that he’d hung out to dry this morning, and slides them on and heads out the door.

I wait a moment, watching him out on the deck before I pad softly down the hall. My legs tremor as I climb into bed. I shake all over. I bury my head in my hands and attempt to calm my breathing and the sick twist of fear in my belly.

I hear the sliding door leading out to the deck open and close, and heavy footsteps pound down the hall towards me.

Oh God, I wanna be sick. Please don’t let Tank be dead. Please.

“Jesus, fuck, it’s colder than a nun’s cunt out there,” he says, and I uncover my eyes and practically leap at him. His skin is freezing, but I don’t mind because I’m too warm and prickly with panic.

“Hey, not that I’m not grateful for the warm welcome but you need to calm down, babe. Your heart’s racing a hundred miles an hour.”

“Did you see him?” I ask, my voice pitched high with fear.

He slides his hands into my hair and leans down to kiss me. “Nothin’ out there but the icy cold wind, babe.”

I sit back on my heels. “But I—”

“It’s a side effect. It happens.” He takes off his jeans and climbs under the covers. “I set the alarm, I got a gun in the bedside drawer, and a hunting knife strapped to the underside of the bed. We’re safe as houses.”

I glance at him, annoyed that he’d had weapons stashed in this room, probably all over the house, and I didn’t know about it.

What I would have done with that information a week ago.

“Now get your arse in here,” he says. “My balls are fuckin’ freezin’ off.”

I rub my hands up and down my arms to ward away the goose bumps that have broken out all over my body, and then I climb under the covers. Tank rolls me on my side and pulls me against him. He’s freezing, so different for him, but I hardly feel it because the chill in my bones has already struck me to the core.

If he wasn’t here, then I hallucinated it. While that may be infinitely better than him finding me, it still means that no matter what I do, where I go or who I’m with there is no escaping my father.

Maybe this is my karma for all the shitty things I’ve done—to live in fear for the rest of my days, to have to run from not just my past, but my future too. I wish I had a hit right now. I wish I hadn’t tossed those pills down the drain, and I wish I hadn’t made promises to Tank I couldn’t keep.

Tank collapses on top of me with a groan. “Christ, you kill me, bitch.”

I laugh. “Yeah well, be thankful you only came twice. I thought by orgasm number six my clit was going to drop off.”

He groans and stirs, raising himself up on his forearms so I’m not completely squashed beneath him, and then he kisses my forehead. I close my eyes and sigh. Despite the restless night’s sleep, and the anxiety gnawing at the edges of my conscience, as if it were reminding me of something I forgot to do—hang out the washing, feed Butch, run for your life—I feel good this morning. Tank has a way of knowing just what a woman needs when she needs it.

Tank’s cock slides deeper as he shifts his weight again, and I suck in a sharp breath. He glances down at me with an eyebrow raised and an incredulous expression.

“Fuck, woman. You tryin’ to kill me?” I push my hips towards him and he growls. “You gotta give me a minute to catch my breath.”

I laugh. “Come on, old man. Surely you can go another round?”

He shakes his head gravely. “I need food before I go another anything.”

“Damn, here I was hoping you could just eat me.”

“Tempting,” he says. “Really, babe, but a man can’t live on pussy alone.”

“I’ll get you a sandwich.”

“Fuck no, you’ll probably poison me,” he says, and I pout. “I’ll make the food. You come sit your pretty arse on my bench and let me see that pussy while I cook.”

“Done.” I laugh and admire the view as he gets up. The huge demon tattoo on his back ripples as he moves. It’s such a terrifying piece; in fact his whole demeanour is a contradiction to such a sweet, attentive man. I laugh inwardly at the thought. If I said that aloud, he’d put me over his knee and spank me to show me how “sweet” he wasn’t.

Okay, so sweet might be a stretch, but up until this point all I’ve ever known from men is a hard hand and an even harder cock, and it’s always been enough. It’s what I was used to, but Tank shows me tenderness I’ve never known before, and it puts every kiss, every touch, and every damn whispered word that came before him to shame.

“What’re you thinkin’ ’bout, pretty girl?”

I smile and shake my head. “Nothing. Just it’s odd how I’m here, in your bed, you know?”

“Doesn’t look odd to me. Looks fuckin’ perfect, actually,” he says, pulling on his jeans and tucking his thick cock inside. He watches me, watching him. “Now get the fuck up before I eat you out again.”

I laugh. “Er … that’s not really a deterrent.”

“Oh, I’ll make it one. Get your arse in the kitchen, bitch.”

“No,” I say, and roll over onto my stomach. Tank climbs back onto the bed and hovers over me. He kisses his way over my arse and up my spine, and then finally lowers his body down on top of mine and whispers, “You have three seconds to get this hot-as-fuck arse out of bed and into my kitchen before I spank you like a naughty girl.”

I laugh softly and stay exactly where I am, and Tank sits back on his heels. “Gonna be like that is it? Alright then, but don’t say I didn’t warn you,” he says, and no sooner than the words leave his mouth his hand smacks my arse, hard. I squeal and turn around to glare at him.

“Arsehole,” I screech.

“I did warn you.”

I rub at my smarting flesh, but then find myself airborne and flung over his shoulder, as though I weigh nothing. “Put me down, you bastard.”

“No,” he says, as he slides off the bed and carries me into the kitchen, depositing me on the island bench. “Stay.”

“Bite me.” I scowl. Tank smiles and sinks his teeth into my shoulder. “Ow.”

I playfully shove him off, and he gives me this look that has my heart stuttering. He’s like a little kid, and it makes my chest hurt, though I’m not sure why. He leans in and kisses the teeth marks he left in my shoulder, and then takes my face in his too-large hands and tenderly kisses my lips. His tongue pushes into my mouth, but it’s not passionate, it’s not sexual. It’s sweet. He’s gentle, and I kiss him back with just as much tenderness, because he deserves that. He deserves so much more than that. In all the time I’ve known him, it never occurred to me that he might have needed me just as much as I needed him.

Tank cooks up entirely too much food—bacon, eggs, sausage and beans—and we sit at the dining table to eat. We sip coffee as though we both want to be exactly where we are right now, as though we hadn’t been thrown together by circumstance or fate, or his Prez’s orders. Somehow—despite years of friendship, tantrums, drugs, sex and lots of illegal activity—we are meant to be exactly here.

I stare at him for a long time over the rim of my coffee cup, and he stares back. It isn’t awkward; it’s enlightening. We’re reinventing, he and I, and I don’t think either of us knows how to stop it. Of course, I don’t think either of us wants to try.

When we’re done eating, I ask questions about his past: girlfriends—there were none, save for some girl in high school. Family—he tells me all about growing up with his mother, but doesn’t say a word about his father, and he changes the subject when I prod further. Finally, I ask what he would have done with his life if he’d never found the club, to which he just shrugs and says, “What’s the point in thinking about the maybe? All we have is who we are today, and who we’re satisfied with being tomorrow.”

And he’s right. I’ve never really thought about what could have been, if I hadn’t had a father who’d destroyed all the strength within me. I never gave those things any thought, because thinking like that was reckless and foolish. Thinking like that would get me killed. I couldn’t have had a life other than the one my father had created and I’d followed, but sitting across from Tank, in his quiet mountain cabin, thoughts of another life don’t matter. I have this life, and despite what I’ve been through, despite the fact that I still fidget and shake and my body still craves the poison I’ve willingly fed it since the time I was seventeen years old, it isn’t so bad.

“What are you smiling at?” Tank says, as he stands and takes the plate from in front of me, sitting it on the island bench behind us.

“I’m smiling because I’m really glad Prez ordered you to babysit me and not Country, or Grim, or … Kick.”

Tank comes up behind me and gathers my hair to the side. He gently kisses my neck, his hand coming around my front to squeeze my breast, as he whispers, “You’re here because I want you here.”

And I believe every word, because if there’s one thing I know about Tank it’s that he doesn’t bullshit, and he doesn’t say anything he doesn’t mean.

“Why do you want me, Tank?”

He continues kissing a path down my neck and across my shoulder. Both hands knead at my breasts, and I don’t really expect an answer, but I get one anyway, “I’ve wanted you in one way or another since the first day I laid eyes on you, babe. You sucked my cock and stole my goddamn heart, and I don’t even want the fuckin’ thing back. Keep it, ’cause I ain’t got no use for it without you in my arms, and in my bed, and on the back of my bike.”

He trails more kisses over my neck, and then he lowers his voice to a whisper as he says, “If there’s a God up there, I ain’t ever fuckin’ seen him, and if there is I know I’m goin’ to hell for all the shit that I do, all the people I killed, but I’d take an eternity in hell over never havin’ you in my arms.”

I don’t say anything to that. What can I say? I just push away from the table and turn towards him. Grabbing his face in my hands, I pull him down to me. I kiss him as I never have before. I kiss him as if we’re in a damn movie, and I don’t care that it’s cheesy, or that I can’t possibly feel the way for him right now that he does for me. I haven’t given him my heart. Up until now, I’ve been too stupid to see what I had right in front of me, but the fact that this big, stoic, scary-as-fuck biker has given me his heart completely? Well, you can be damned sure I’m going to take care of it, because no one has ever trusted me with that before. No one has ever treated me like I’m the most important thing in their world, until now.

Until him.