Iron Disciples MC 2 Giving It All To The 1% by Eliza Stout Page B

trying to find
ways to pass the time after the battery in my phone died. When I
heard muffled voices out in the main barroom area of the clubhouse,
the clanking of glasses, and that familiar edgy bluesy rock music
crank up again, I knew that my wait was about to be
over.
    The door swung open and Johnny stepped
in, shutting it and holding his hands flat against the door behind
him as if to keep the entire world out.
    “Well… that’s finally over with,” he
said, sighing.
    “What’s wrong?”
    “Tough vote. We figured it out, don’t
worry.”
    “What about?”
    “Club business, baby. You know the
deal.”
    “Sure. Of course.”
    He was wearing a plain long sleeved
button up, untucked and with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows,
the top few buttons undone a good ways down his chest showing off
his well defined pectorals and ever so much of his black inked
skull tattoo. Of course, around his shoulders and draped over the
button up was his leather kutte. I was rather fond of that look.
The button up gave him an air of sensibility, but the tattoos and
the Iron Disciples MC kutte roughed it all up, gave him an edge…
something I had found myself unusually attracted to since we first
met. I rose to meet him at the doorway, running my fingers over the
soft leather of his kutte. I liked the feel of it. My fingers
traced across the sewn on patches… Vice President, Heinous Handful,
1%, Wicked One, Born to Ride… and probably the most important of
all on the back side of the kutte, Iron Disciples MC, the large
logo of a skeleton eagle with its wings spread wide, and then
Nevada rocker underneath that.
    “Why would I want to worry about any
of that stuff, anyway, when I’ve got a sweet little peach like you
in front of me just waiting to be eaten?”
    My fingers traced back up the leather
kutte, across his collarbone and over his adam’s apple.
    “I don’t know, Johnny. You tell
me.”
    “How about I just show you,” he said.
He put his hands on my shoulders and began to move forward, leaving
me no choice but to backpedal or else be walked over by his weight
that was nearly double my own. A couple of those backpedaling
steps, and I could feel the edge of the bed pressing against the
back of my thighs. Johnny gave me a gentle, but firm, shove and I
fell backwards onto the bed, bouncing slightly as I landed on the
springy mattress. And then he was on top of me. We were a tangled
mess of arms and legs and mouths desperately kissing at one
another. It seemed as though we couldn’t get each other’s clothes
off fast enough. The Iron Disciples kutte slipped off easy enough,
but with all of our twisting and writhing around each other’s
bodies, I couldn’t quite thread the buttons of his shirt through
the holes, and he was trying to strip my tight jeans from my legs,
but they were getting all tangled up around my knees. Eventually I
threw my proverbial hands into the air and placed a hand on either
side of the shirt, yanking them wide in opposite directions with a
forceful movement. The buttons came loose one by one, like dominos,
with neat little popping sounds. I could hear them tink-tinking
across the floor as they scattered all around the bed.
    “That’s one way to do it,” Johnny said
in between heavy breaths, and then dove back in towards my face,
his lips meeting mine once more and preventing me from saying
anything in response. I kicked my legs, trying to free them of the
constricting jeans, while his hand strayed south, grazing across my
bare thighs, reaching around to firmly grasp my backside. We
weren’t kissing each other anymore, well not on the lips anyway. My
mouth was tracing down his body now, down his neck and onto the
bare chest that was laid plain for me to see where I had ripped his
shirt open. I pressed my lips against the hard muscle, closed my
eyes… and then heard shouting.
    My eyes flicked open, my lips still
flat against Johnny’s chest, and I saw behind him the door burst
open. Johnny