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Come With Me Tonight	By : copperleaves Category: S through Z > Sons of Anarchy Views: 2631 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I don't own Sons of Anarchy, and I'm sure as hell not making any money off of this. I do own Olivia Gable and any characters associated with her history.

Chapter List
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it might as well be you that i wake up to tomorrow

and it might as well be you that tonight whispers my name

and it might as well be you that i cling to

that i laugh with and sing to

that i kiss goodbye to never see again

Del Amitri, "It Might As Well Be You"
He'd been sort of expecting it, but it was still a surprise, and for a split second he froze. Then instinct kicked in. He skimmed one hand up the line of her back while the other went to cup her face. He stroked her neck with his thumb and enjoyed the low noise of pleasure she made against his lips. She tasted like bourbon and Altoids, and the hot/cool mix was heady enough to make him dizzy.
She pulled away, breathless and wide-eyed. Her pale cheeks were flushed and she brushed a strand of hair off her forehead. "I'm feeling better about this idea," she said with an ironic little smile.
"I was on board from the beginning."
"Aren't you smart," she murmured and kissed him again.
Her tongue slid against his, a heated glide, and she ran her hands over his chest. He broke away from her mouth and pressed his forehead against hers. Their eyes locked, and as he toyed with the buttons on her shirt his asked just one question: okay?
"Let me help you," she said with a smile. She leaned back and handled the top few buttons while he went for the bottom ones. They met in the middle and she shrugged the shirt off. He helped her pull the camisole over her head, and his laugh died in his throat.
"Whoa," he said. It was a grossly inadequate expression, but it was the only thing he could think of as his eyes traced the elaborate tattoo on her side. He brushed his fingers over it and she shivered.
"Ribs," she said. "Tickles."
The ink started somewhere below the waistband of her jeans and spread up the entire length of her left side. It ended just below her armpit, but then branched out to curve above her breast. It was done entirely in subtle variations of gray—from a pale, barely there wash to a deep charcoal, but never true black—and occasional touches of deep purple and amethyst. It looked like a tapestry. Flowers and thorns and butterflies (moths, he thought, not butterflies) and the occasional beetle. There was a skull near the middle with a moth perched on its orbital bone. The winged insect looked so real he poked it.
"It's a memento mori," she said. "A reminder. The flowers are life, but the skull and the beetles are death. The butterflies remind you how short life is, and that appearances can be deceiving." Her mouth quirked. "They're carrion eaters, you know."
So they were butterflies after all. Carrion eating death butterflies. "That's pretty intense."
"Mmhhmm. Almost as intense as covering yourself in Reapers." She tapped his arm. "Anyway, you're looking at the last five years of my life. Took me that long to save the money between each session, and to forget how much the last session fucking hurt. I'm a wuss about pain."
Something about the tattoo made him think she'd known her share of pain and weathered it just fine, but he didn't comment. The kind of woman who tattooed a death reminder on half her body; the kind of woman who threatened a guy three times her size with a knife because he called a complete stranger a nasty name; the kind of woman who'd built her car practically from scratch and drove it like a demon from hell—that kind of woman didn't need to explain herself or justify her pain to anyone.
"You're thinking very loudly," she said.
He shook his head and finally tore his gaze away from the tattoo. "No, I just—it's amazing." He ran his hand up her side from hip to shoulder. "Sexy," he said, his voice going husky.
She used his shirt to tug him closer before she pulled it over his head and tossed it away. Her fingers skimmed his chest and up the side of his neck. She sucked his lower lip into her mouth and then they were kissing again, all lips and teeth and tongues and hot breath. She had his belt undone and was working on his fly when she pulled back with a hiss.
"What's wrong?" he said with a frown.
"Do you have a condom?"
"Oh, shit. Yeah, I think so." He fumbled in his pocket for his wallet, and after a brief search emerged with two condoms.
She lifted a brow. "Two? Someone's awfully optimistic."
"What can I say?" He shrugged and grinned. "I'm a dreamer."
Olivia laughed and took them from him. Ripped them apart and tossed one over to the bed and dropped the other one onto the table behind her. She took a moment to toe her shoes off and kick them out of the way, then she hooked her fingers in his belt loops and pulled him against her. He made short work of her bra, and she gasped as his hand closed around her breast. She bit her lip, and he watched in fascination as a flush spread across her chest. He'd been right about her skin.
He was trying to unfasten her pants one-handed (he had no intention of letting go of her breast; it felt too good in his hand, and the noises she was making as he played with her nipple were hot as hell) when she laughed and did it for him. She wiggled out of her jeans and a quick glance down revealed that the tattoo draped over her hip before it finally ended about a quarter of the way down her thigh.
He dropped to his knees in front of her and ran his tongue along the vine that dangled the lowest. She let her fingers glide over the curve of his skull as he kissed and licked and nipped his way up her side. Each drip of color earned extra attention, and by the time he'd reached the vine that caressed the side of her breast, she was panting his name in sharp little gasps. His mouth closed over the nipple and she dug her short nails into his back.
His hand slipped over the soft swell of her stomach and stopped at the top of her panties. He cut his eyes up to her face.
She nodded. "Don't stop, baby. Please."
He slid his fingers beneath the cotton and sucked in a hard breath when he felt how wet she was. She laughed low and silky, a hot ripple that cut straight through him.
"Parts of me were as on board with this from the beginning as you were," she said. She pulled him to his feet and for a long time they stood locked together, kissing and touching and laughing.
He stroked her clit between kisses, at first feather-light touches, but then more firmly until she was rocking her hips against his hand. She clung to him and moaned his name into the side of his neck. He slid two fingers into her; teased her with them; brushed his thumb over her clit; ground his palm against her and wriggled his fingers deep inside.
"Yes, baby!" she said, her breath hot on his skin. "Yes, fuck, so good!" He stroked in and out, twisting his hand with each thrust and flicking across her clit. The heat was a long, slow build until it crashed over her in one hard, molten wave. She bit down on his shoulder as the orgasm rippled through her, and she probably would've fallen if he hadn't been there to hold her up. As it passed she rested her forehead against his neck and struggled to get her breath back.
"Wow," he said.
She laughed. "I was kind of thinking the same thing." She took his hand and sucked his fingers into her mouth each in turn, swirling her tongue around them until they were clean. "To be honest, I wasn't sure I would come with a guy."
He stared at her. "Then why—?"
"Don't be offended." She dropped a quick kiss onto his shoulder, the spot that still bore a mark from her teeth. "It's just been a long time, like I said, and before that…" She trailed off with a wry shake of her head. "It doesn't matter. We're here now."
"Yeah, but—"
She slid her hand down his pants and grinned as she wrapped her fingers around the hard length of him. "Do you want to talk about my boring past, or the much more exciting present?"
He let out a strangled gasp and managed to nod. "The present. The present sounds much better."
"I thought you might say that." She reached behind her for the condom, and she'd just pushed down his pants when they started to ring. Her brow lifted and her mouth curved.
"Fuck," he said. "Just, uh. Just gimme a sec." He retrieved his pants and searched the pockets for his phone. He managed to grab it just before it went to voicemail. "Hello?"
Olivia didn't see any reason why his phone call should interfere with her plans, but she did try to muffle the sound as she ripped the condom open. Juice shot her a glare and she smiled sweetly. She could hear a voice through the phone; a man with an accent (Irish? Scottish?); and he was talking about church. The term was familiar from her time in Las Cruces (and other places before that), and she knew it didn't mean religious services.
Juice drew in a sharp breath as she swirled the tip of her thumb around the head of his cock, and the guy on the other end of the phone broke off mid-sentence. "No, yeah, fine. Just, uh, got shocked. Listen, Chibs, I'm gonna be a little late tonight. I got a flat and—"
The guy interrupted him with a stream of words she couldn't make out. She ran her fingertips up and down the length of his shaft. He glared at her and she stifled a laugh.
"No, man," he said, "I just need somebody to come pick me up in the tow truck. In, like, an hour." She squeezed. "Or two."
A smirk, and she cradled his balls in her other hand. Squeezed them gently as she stroked him with a loosely-fisted hand.
"Hey, I gotta go. Can you just send one of the prospects in a few hours?" He swallowed hard. "Have him call first so I can tell him where to meet me." A pause. "Nah, man, everything's fine. Just, ya know. Something came up."
She understood his next question perfectly, and Juice took a moment to trace his eyes down the length of her body before he answered.
"Yeah. A pretty great rack. Nice ass, too."
She swatted him in the stomach with the back of her hand, but he dodged it. "Gotta go, brother. Cover for me and I'll owe you." He flipped the phone shut and tossed it away.
"Good chat?" she said.
"Uh huh."
"So you think I have a great rack?"
"Uh huh," he said with an appreciative nod.
"And a nice ass, too?"
"Yup." He grinned. "You're also kinda evil. I like that."
She laughed. "I just wanted to make sure you didn't forget about me, sugar."
"I don't think that's likely."
"Good," she said. Her lips were curved in a smirk as she discarded the wrapper and rolled the condom up his shaft. She let out a little squeak as he grabbed her around the waist and lifted her onto the table. "Pretty cheap table," she said, breathlessly. "If it breaks you're paying for it."
"Deal," he said and slid into her with one long, easy glide.
She gasped and dug her nails into his shoulders. "Did I hear him—ooo—call you Juicy?"
"Uh huh." He grasped her hips and pulled her to him. The table creaked alarmingly, and she laughed into the side of his neck. It turned into a moan halfway through as he thrust deeper, hard and slow.
"What's your—" She lost the thread a moment as she rocked against him. "What's your real name?" she managed.
"Juan Carlos," he said with a grin. He bit the side of her neck and sucked softly. "Ortiz."
Another low, breathy laugh. "You should've just told the bartender that. He probably would've—mmmm, that's good!—had a heart attack right there, and we wouldn't be in this mess."
"I don't know," he said, his voice rough and strained. "I'm kind of enjoying this part of the mess." He groaned as she squeezed him deep inside, and he moved faster. Harder. "Would we still be here in your version?"
"Mmmmm…maybe. You were awfully cute about my wallet."
He smiled and her legs tightened around him. He shifted the angle a bit and she whimpered. "Good?"
This time she could only nod, and his grin deepened. Their pace quickened and the table groaned in protest. He murmured her name again and again, a breathless accompaniment to the sound of skin against skin.
"Olivia—fuck—I'm so close!"
"Me too, baby, just—just a little more…!"
He slid his hand between them and found her clit. He stroked the slick nub and thrust hard. Her head fell back and she rocked forward to meet him. His name fell from her lips; he felt her go tight around him. He gathered her close and buried his face in her neck as his own orgasm hit. The force of it staggered him, and he felt her come again as his fingers danced over her clit.
They both went still, arms around each other, foreheads pressed together, eyes locked. Their breath mingled as they panted. She ran her fingers along the curve of his skull and he traced his hands up the lines of her back. The moment was sharp and clear, crystalline, and they both felt its quiet power.
She broke away first, and the table creaked as she shifted. "Well," she said, "that was something."
He turned away to get rid of the condom and almost tripped over his pants, which were bunched around his ankles. She muffled a giggle. "A little wobbly?"
"Maybe I should've taken my pants off."
She shrugged and slid her hand down his back. "We were in a hurry, I think."
He mumbled an agreement and tugged his pants up far enough to allow him to hobble across the room and toss the condom in the trashcan. She slid off the table (gingerly), and he turned around in time to appreciate the view as she sauntered to the bed and stretched out like a smug, indolent cat. He sat down on the edge of it and unlaced his boots. Shucked his pants and underwear.
She sat up to drape her arms over his shoulders and drag him back onto the bed with her. "You don't have to stay if you don't want to," she said. "You could call your buddy for that tow truck."
His brow furrowed and he brushed a coppery strand of hair off her damp forehead. "Do you want me to go?"
"No, not really," she said. Her head tilted and her smile turned impish. "Besides, we still have that second condom."
He groaned and fell back against the pillows. "I'm gonna need a minute. We've got another hour and a half."
"Hhhmm." She twisted around until she was straddling his hips. Leaned down to kiss him long and slow. "We better get started then."

An hour and a half later (give or take twenty minutes) Juice shrugged into his hoodie and zipped it up over his t-shirt and holster. Olivia pulled him down for another kiss, and he ran his hand up under her robe. She laughed and swatted him away.
"Go on," she said. "They'll be here any minute."
"Will I see you again?"
Her mouth quirked. "You know my name. My car. Where I'm staying. It wouldn't be hard for you to find me."
She didn't tell him it would be even easier than either of them had reckoned when she'd first invited him back here. She knew his ink. She knew his club. And she had no doubt the garage he'd mentioned was Teller Morrow—her soon-to-be workplace, if everything went well with her interview.
"I don't wanna stalk you," he said, his voice interrupting her musings.
She skimmed her hands down his chest and raised her head to kiss him low on the jaw. "This was fun, Juice. A lot of fun. But maybe we should call it a good time and move on."
"Yeah." He shook his head. "Yeah, of course." He wasn't entirely surprised, but he couldn't help the twinge of regret that pinged through him. He'd kinda hoped—well. It didn't matter. "Maybe I'll see you around," he said with half a smile.
"Not in that shit hole down the road."
"Fuck no. Never again."
They smiled at each other, and if there was something wistful in either face, neither one wanted to mention it. His phone rang and he jumped.
"Go! They'll think I've kidnapped you."
He pulled her against him and kissed her. Savored the taste of her mouth and the feel of her soft, full lips against his. "Bye, Olivia. I hope everything works out for you."
She smiled. "You too, Juice. Try to avoid racist bartenders, okay?"
He nodded and stepped out onto the sidewalk. She stood in the doorway and watched him until he turned the corner and disappeared from her view. She shut the door, set the locks, and leaned back against it.
Fuck, she thought. Once again she'd acted without thinking. Once again she'd done the stupid, rash thing instead of the wise, careful thing. Her own lack of foresight was going to get her killed one day, she had no doubt. For now it was just going to make for an incredibly awkward work situation, because as much fun as the last few hours had been, the last thing she was looking for was any sort of relationship—especially not with a Son.
She was no sweetbutt, and she sure as hell wasn't anyone's old lady. She was a mechanic. And that's all she wanted to be to anyone at Teller Morrow.
She wondered if she should've told him. How would he react when he saw her at the garage? Would he be pissed? She told herself it didn't really matter either way; she hadn't lied to him, and it was her business whether or not to tell him about TM.
It wasn't that she was a heartless person. She didn't set out to upset anyone, and she was mostly polite and rarely threatened people with knives. In general she lived her life and let everyone around her live theirs, and if they had an issue with the way she lived hers…well. They could shove it, pretty much.
So why did it matter if Juice Ortiz—a guy she'd known for about four hours—were upset with her? They'd both had a good time (he couldn't deny that), and if she didn't want to spill her entire life story to him, that was her prerogative.
She realized she was thinking in circles. With a sigh she pushed away from the door and headed toward the bathroom. She needed a shower. Maybe another bourbon, too. She let the robe fall from her shoulders to puddle on the floor and tugged the elastic from her hair. She finger-combed the braids out and shivered as the dangling strands brushed the small of her back.
She hesitated for a moment as her fingers passed over the wide leather cuff she wore around her left wrist. She'd seen Juice notice it and visibly decide not to comment. She'd been relieved. She pulled the cuff over her hand and ran a thumb along the thick scar that snaked up the inside of her wrist. Some questions, she thought, were better left unasked.
Old ghosts crowded close as she stood beneath the shower's hot, fitful spray. She should have let him walk away. She shouldn't have called him back. She sure as hell shouldn't have kissed him. If she hadn't kissed him she probably would've been fine—but something had happened in that kiss, and it was like she forgot every rule she'd ever made for herself. She rested her forehead against the shower wall and watched soap bubbles circle the drain.
She had a feeling sleep would be a long time coming tonight.

Juice climbed up into the tow truck's cabin and raised his brows at Chibs. "What, the prospects were busy?"
Chibs shrugged a shoulder and put the truck in gear. "I was hoping to get a glimpse of this mystery woman with the great rack. She charge by the hour?"
Juice glared at him and settled back in the seat. "Take a right," he said. "It wasn't like that. She was nice."
"Nice?" He shot Juice a skeptical look and chuckled. "I didn't realize nice girls hung around in places like this." At Juice's stony silence Chibs rolled his eyes and tried another tack. "What was this nice girl's name, then?"
He almost didn't answer. For some reason he thought Olivia would rather keep the details of their encounter (even something as simple as her name) between them. But he also knew Chibs wouldn't let it go, and at this point it would look strange to not say. He shrugged a shoulder. "Olivia," he said.
"Classy name. Doesn't sound like a working girl."
"She wasn't a hooker, man." He gestured. "Turn here."
"You picked a woman up here? And she wasn't a hooker?"
Juice rolled his eyes. "She's new to town. She's staying at that motel until she gets a real place, and she came here because it's close to the motel. It's not like she knows the area."
Chibs wondered why Juice had been here. It wasn't a place any of them frequented. He cut his eyes across the cab. "You need a change of scenery?"
"Somethin' like that," Juice said. He cleared his throat. "We sorta had an issue with the bartender."
"What? He hit on your nice girl with a great rack and you took exception?"
"Not exactly," he said, his mouth twisting. He told Chibs what the bartender had said and how Olivia had reacted, including the switchblade. "We kinda got chased out by the guy and two of his big dumb buddies. My bike had the flat, so that's how I ended up back at the motel with her."
Chibs let out a low whistle. "Sounds like quite a woman. Glad she was around to defend your honor."
It was the same turn of phrase Olivia had used, and he ducked his head to hide a smile. "Yeah. Good thing. C'mon, let's get my bike loaded up so we can get outta here. The two of us could probably take those guys, but I'd rather avoid bloodshed."
"You've had enough of a workout for one night, eh, Juicy?"
"Yeah, Chibs," he said as he jumped out of the truck, "I'm fuckin' exhausted."
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Come With Me Tonight