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Maybe one day.
Or he’d buy something similar to Fallon’s Scout Bobber Twenty once he started checking off his sled bucket list. Because her sled was sweet as fuck. He could see himself riding that on the club run. While his sled wasn’t the nicest one in the Fury, it wasn’t the worst, either, since he kept it in tiptop shape.
His Harley got him from point A to point B. Plus being a bike mechanic, over the last couple of years he’d also put money into tweaking the engine and increasing the horsepower.
He now had a powerful beast between his thighs.
“What’s her name?”
He finished securing her bag and straightened. “Who?”
“Your bike.”
“Didn’t name it.” And if he did, it wouldn’t be a name like Agnes.
“Reilly said you all belong to a motorcycle club. I would think a biker would be more attached to his ride.”
“Don’t need a name ‘cause I’m not sleepin’ with it. I ride it. It don’t ride me.”
Her lips twitched and crinkles appeared at the corners of her eyes. He was glad she found that amusing and not offensive.
Even though he might have the urge to fuck her, she was a customer first and foremost. He told Dutch Trip would hire him for the repo business, but Whip didn’t want that, he loved tinkering with bikes. He loved making them purr.
Just like he did a woman. Besides the rumble of his straight pipes, no sweeter sound existed.
He straddled his sled and tipped his head. “C’mon. Get on.”
She pulled her helmet over her head—hiding her eyes behind the tinted face shield, hiding the hair he wanted to fist while she was on her knees at his feet sucking him off—and tightened the chin strap.
She had spent a healthy chunk of change on that brain bucket, too. It probably had Bluetooth and all the extras.
While some of his brothers wore skullcaps when they rode, he usually wore a five-dollar baseball cap. He bought cheap ones because he’d lost too many in the wind.
When she threw a leg over his bike, instead of pushing herself back against the sissy bar as far as she could to keep a gap between them, she wiggled forward until the V of her legs was smashed against his ass. Her arms snaked around his waist, too.
Damn. He expected her to keep her distance like on the ride this morning to the garage.
He glanced down at where her hands were planted on his gut, studying her long, slender fingers with rounded nails. They weren’t super long or painted a crazy color like the sweet butts. Instead, they were painted a neutral color. Only a single, simply designed ring could be found on her right hand. A gold band embedded with blue gems. Sapphires, he guessed.
Classy.
She was too fucking classy for him.
He bet she had no tattoos or piercings other than the two small gold hoop earrings in her ears.
Fallon might be dressed casually, but he could still tell she belonged in a boardroom and not on a bike.
He imagined she looked pretty damn good on her Scout, even though he hadn’t seen her straddling it yet. He also figured she looked pretty fucking good as his backpack.
He pressed his hand over top of one of hers, gave it a squeeze and asked, “You good?”
“Yes,” came muffled from under her helmet.
He’d tell her to hang on, but she was already doing that without him having to mention it. Between his sissy bar and her baggage, she didn’t even need to do that. With his sled’s back rest, she could sit back and give each other space.
For some reason she chose not to and he wasn’t going to complain. She felt good pressed against his back. Except for that fucking helmet digging into his spine and shoulder.
None of the Fury sisterhood wore brain buckets even though they could choose to. Whip might not be ready for an ol’ lady but when he saw the ol’ ladies with their cheeks pressed against their ol’ man’s colors, it was a sight to be seen and something about it pulled at him.
A couple of times before Reilly became Rev’s ol’ lady, she’d rode with him, but it wasn’t the same. Riding together seemed to bring a Fury brother and his ol’ lady closer together.
Not one of the Fury sisterhood had their own sled. He wondered what the reaction of his brothers would be if one of them wanted their own. He doubted it would be a huge issue unless they wanted to ride solo on the club run.
Then there’d be a major issue because it just wasn’t done.
However, it was difficult to haul around babies and kids on a sled. And a lot of the sisterhood were baking or popping out future Fury members. Because of that, they should stick with their SUVs and crossover vehicles. Except Whip wasn’t telling anyone in the Fury sisterhood that.
