by Alexis Davie
As she straddled the bike, she turned her head to look back at Blaze, but he had already retreated into the precinct. All Sage was left with was a growing wet spot between her legs.
She was painfully aware of the looks she received from passerby as she quivered in her painted-on outfit, mounting the broad seat of the Hog, trying to keep her hips from rocking as her arousal grew. With the bright lights of the station illuminating her sensual frame, there was no reprieve from the stares in the darkness.
There was nothing she could do except wait for Blaze to return. But she could not stop her mind from envisioning what would happen once he returned. She wondered what he was going to do with her in the upcoming minutes.
* * *
Blaze watched Sage from the double glass doors, his tongue lolling around his mouth. It was obvious she was uncomfortable, attracting the attention of the officers coming and going as they checked out her slender frame, pressed against the leather seat of his bike.
“What are you doing?” Henry Sandz asked, joining him to peer into the night.
“Just wondering how you allowed such a stupid thing to occur on my watch,” he replied smoothly, tearing his eyes away from Sage to glare at the detective.
Henry shrugged almost indifferently. “We got a tip about—”
“If you feed me the same shit story you fed Sage St. Clair,” Blaze interjected, “I will maul you.” Henry grinned.
“All right,” he agreed. “The tip was from someone we couldn’t ignore, even though it had no real basis. If we had known you had a personal interest in the club, we obviously wouldn’t have seized it.”
Blaze’s black eyebrows shot up.
“Who?” he demanded. “Who called in the tip?”
* * *
It was almost an hour before Blaze returned to the bike, and a combination of irritation and titillation filled Sage as he ambled out of the building toward her. A part of her wanted to scream at him for taking so long, but she decided not to, noting the look on his face as he approached.
Without a word, Blaze climbed onto the Harley and zoomed away faster than any man in a police parking lot should. It only added to Sage’s stimulation, and she deliberately wrapped her arms around the thick leather of his black jacket, pressing her crotch toward him. She hoped he could feel the moisture, despite the heavy padding between them.
She wondered where he lived. Someone like Blaze Connor probably had some gorgeous house off Route 27 with a seven-car garage and a stable or something equally as lavish.
Yet as they spun through the streets, Sage realized they were heading back to Picante.
“Why are we going back to the club?” she called to him.
“I didn’t say you could speak,” he answered.
Her entire body lit up at the response. They were still in role. That was why he wanted to return to the club.
Blaze pulled up to the front of Picante, yanking his helmet from his head as Sage followed behind him.
He acts like he owns the place, she thought, watching him stalk up the red carpet without checking to see if she was behind him, but Sage knew why: there was no doubt in his mind that she was there, trailing after him. And he was right.
Her heart was racing as she caught up to him, paused at the entranceway. She stared up at his chiseled face, and the urge to kiss him was suddenly insurmountable. He was the one in control now, though—if he wanted them to kiss, he would initiate it himself.
Blaze returned her gaze evenly, a small smile teasing the edges of his mouth, and Sage inhaled shakily, closing her eyes to feel the brush of his lips against hers.
Except it did not come.
“Open the door,” Blaze commanded, and disappointment flooded through Sage. Her dark eyes flew open, her mouth parting slightly to protest. In the end, she didn’t say a word. Instead, she fumbled through her purse for the keys, unlocking the entranceway with trembling hands. “Now go to the dungeon,” he instructed.
Heat and cold washed simultaneously through Sage’s body, her heels reverberating against the marble as she walked. Blaze’s eyes were burning holes into her as she moved—she did not need to look to tell.
Inside the red-lit room of leather and steel, Blaze pushed her forward onto the weight bench just beyond, and Sage’s hands reached out to brace herself as a loud slap hit her firm buttocks. She winced but did not make a sound until the second spanking followed, harder and sharper.
“That’s it,” Blaze murmured. “Meow for me like a good pussycat.”
His voice was low, sexy and husky as he began to strip off the outfit clinging so desperately to her lean form. He was not gentle, and the sound of the fabric tearing only added to Sage’s pleasure. She glanced over her shoulder to look at him, and Blaze straddled her naked rear, pulling her arms upward to the straps hanging from the weight hold.
Oh, my God, this is really happening, Sage thought, the bonds wrapping around her wrists as Blaze’s hardness grew against the small of her back.
She had never been on this side of the bench before, and she was consumed with lust when Blaze reached around the front of her body to roughly squeeze her rigid nipples. Again, she yelped out, but this time her cries were rewarded with another slap on the ass. She exploded in pleasure, a stream of her arousal slipping along her inner thigh while Blaze continued to explore her nude form, his breath hot against her shoulders, his weight crushing her downward.
“Did you think you were going to tie me up?” he asked, and Sage slightly shook her head.
“No,” she said. “Not unless you want me to.”
Blaze laughed throatily, his lips tracing the lines of her shoulders, his palms spreading her full cheeks apart. Instinctively, Sage struggled against the straps, wanting to partake in the act, but the move was futile; Blaze had her exactly where he wanted her, and she wasn’t going anywhere.
The mixture of his tender kisses on her skin and his harsh pinches across her flesh was driving her to delicious heights, the cleft between her legs becoming warm with anticipation.
Another smack made Sage jump, Blaze’s chest at her lower back, his erection pressed against her thigh. Blaze spread her legs wide, his hands gently guiding her movements. A blast of cold air entered her, and Sage squealed, throwing her head back to stare at the black painted ceiling.
She did not anticipate the plunge of his thick, wet tongue against both her openings, and she jerked her waist upward in surprise.
Another slap met her fiery ass, and Sage screamed as Blaze continued to tease her with long, wide strokes of his tongue. Blaze’s finger dug into the creamy flesh of her thighs, holding her in place as each lick pushed her closer to the place she had deigned to be since the moment she had laid eyes on him, only a few hours ago.
Had it really been only a few hours?
Why do I feel like we’ve done this before? she idly wondered through the arousal clouding her mind. Why do I feel like I’ve had thousands of orgasms at his hands?
Euphoria overtook her, and she screamed in ecstasy. Her body spasmed, bucking again to dig his face deeply inside her core as she spilled her pleasure all over his waiting face.
Blaze pulled himself back, a finger dipping into the tender middle.
“Good girl,” he said gruffly, a rock-hard shaft replacing his digit, and Sage was once again thrust into a painful elation as his broad hips met her raw rear. He leaned forward against her back, gripping her shoulder with vice-like hands, and penetrated her deeper than she had ever felt.
“Oh, oh, shit,” she moaned, but her breath caught as his member became a steel rod, thrusting into her with a calculated frenzy. She gasped, unconsciously pulling her wrists back, as though she were trying to free herself, but she wanted to remain exactly where she was.
Blaze’s fingers inched toward her jaw, tilting her head up so Blaze could suck and kiss the skin of her neck, and Sage grew lightheaded as he continued to thrust himself forward. She was soon wracked with another orgasm that overtook all her oth
er senses as she exploded against him, their fluids mixing into a puddle of feral juices.
Blaze shuddered almost violently, his hold on her jaw loosening slightly, and Sage whimpered as her body struggled to collect itself. Slowly, he withdrew from her, droplets of his seed dripping against her legs. Sage fell forward onto the bench, quivering fiercely.
“You belong to me now,” he murmured, and Sage craned her neck to look over her shoulder.
“Yes,” she replied, nodding her head. “I do.”
Blaze smiled, straightening his body to unbind her arms, which fell to her sides like dead weights.
“I feel like I’ve met you before,” he told her, dropping to his knees so he could capture her wrists in his palms. He tenderly stroked them, bringing her arms to his mouth to pepper them with kisses, and Sage was warm all over as she studied his face.
“Me too,” she confessed. “Like from another life or something.”
Blaze chuckled, rising to meet her mouth with his, and Sage felt a sudden whoosh of relief course through her entire body.
That’s what I was waiting for, she realized. That kiss right there. She stroked his face, her fingertips tracing the perfect structure.
“I’m sorry about tonight,” he mumbled against her lips, and Sage furrowed her brow.
“I’m not,” she said. “Why are you?”
Blaze shook his head. “It was our fault you got busted tonight.”
Sage’s eyes widened. “You called in the tip?” she demanded, a flutter of betrayal tickling her gut.
“What? No! No, of course not!” Blaze grunted. Then he sighed. “But I know who did.”
“Well?” Sage questioned. “Who? And why?” Blaze slipped onto the bench beside her and pulled her against his muscular shoulder.
“Carmen’s fiancée, Emilie,” he answered. “She found out that he was here tonight and flew into a jealous rage.”
Sage pulled back and gaped at him. “And the police just accepted that at face value?”
“She’s the mayor’s daughter,” Sage explained, and Sage groaned as all the pieces fell into place.
“Oh,” she moaned. “Well, there goes my business!”
“Not at all,” Blaze assured her with a soft laugh. “But I think it’s safe to say that there will be no wedding tomorrow.” Sage wasn’t sure whether to laugh or cry. Before she could decide, Blaze pulled her back toward him and spoke softly into her ear. “Promise me one thing,” he told her softly.
“Anything,” she said, and at that moment, she meant it. She belonged to him as she had never wanted to belong to another man. He had ingrained himself into her just as she had done to him.
“Don’t pull a stupid ass stunt like that at my bachelor party, okay?”
Sage laughed, her face flushing crimson with happiness.
“Nope,” she replied. “I can’t promise you that.”
* * *
THE END
Wrong Mate
1
Harley pulled his hair back. “I don’t want to hear it.”
Across the table, his friend Ross took a long swing off his beer. “Why don’t you just cut it off? You’re not dating Chelsea anymore, so it’s not like you still need all those flowing locks.”
“Maybe I kind of like it now,” Harley said, jokingly fluttering his eyelashes.
Ross laughed. “You mean the girls like it, right?”
With his swarthy skin and athletic build, dark hair, and eyes to match, it wasn’t like Harley needed any help in finding girls. Now that he had let his hair grow out in an undercut, he had been confused for a biker and for the front man for a metal band a few times.
Ross also stood out from the crowd, except for completely different reasons. He was dark-skinned, bald, and his piercings weren’t for the faint of heart. As a tattoo artist, he felt it was an artist’s duty to express themselves at all times. He took body decoration more seriously than most.
“Excuse me?” The waitress who had taken their table came back with another beer. “I thought you could use another one of these.” She placed a napkin on the table and then put the bottle down. She winked at Harley and walked away before he could thank her for the beer.
“You should probably turn it over,” Ross said, a sly smile on his face.
“What?”
Ross gestured to the napkin. “Turn it over.”
Harley grabbed the beer bottle and turned the napkin over. The waitress had written her phone number on it, as well as her name and a kiss mark.
He turned to Ross. “How did you know—”
Ross sat back in his chair and raised his empty bottle, hoping to catch another waiter’s attention. “It should have been obvious. She’s been eyeing you since we came in here.”
Harley looked back at the napkin in his hand. Then he balled it up and tossed it onto the table.
“Oh, come on!” Ross exclaimed. “You’ll hurt her feelings! At least put it in your pocket! Give the poor girl something to dream about tonight.”
“Dating girls in Birch City is a no-go,” Harley said, his tone overly serious.
“What?” Ross asked. “Afraid Chelsea will find out and come a-knocking?” Harley’s glare made him shrug his shoulders. “You could always try dating online. I know you said you didn’t believe in that crap, but weren’t you considering moving somewhere else, anyway? Maybe Cupid will tell you which way to go.”
It wasn’t the first time Ross had brought up the possibility of Harley trying online dating. Harley had been adamant at first, but then he had decided to make a profile and see if anything happened, though he hadn’t told Ross about it just yet.
Besides, Harley had always been more worried about getting a job than about finding a girlfriend. He wanted to secure a job interview in a larger city, hopefully securing the job itself in the process, and then he could browse through the profiles of available women in the area to see if he found a match.
It had taken a few weeks, but his efforts had paid off: Harley had managed to land an interview with a naval architect firm in Houston, as well as a date with a girl named Missy.
“Yeah,” Harley told Ross. “Maybe.”
Ross simply rolled his eyes at him and continued waving his empty beer bottle around.
* * *
Houston was bigger than Harley remembered, with more traffic than he thought humanly possible. To be sure he would be on time for his date, he left his hotel an hour and a half early. The taxi only took 45 minutes to get him to his destination: a skinny brick building with a black and white sign that simply said “Gastropub.” Inside was an oversized black granite bar full of people talking over each other, trying to order a drink. A handful of tables dotted the main floor.
Harley was greeted by a hostess at the front of the pub smiling politely at him. “Can I help you?”
“Yes,” Harley said. “I have a reservation.”
“For one?”
“Two, actually,” he answered, holding up two fingers. He gave the hostess his name, and after confirming his reservation, she led him to a small table for two. Harley tried to order some water to calm his nervousness—it had been quite a long time since he had been on a date, especially a first date—but all of the servers zipping by his table were careful not to make eye contact, as if they could pretend to be invisible.
Soon enough, Harley had to grab the arm of one of the servers rushing by in order to catch his attention. “Excuse me, is there any way I can at least order a drink?”
The server obviously attempted to hide a scowl, but it still came through.
“I can get you a glass of water,” he said. “But this is not my section. You’ll have to wait until your server comes over to place an actual order.”
The waiter wandered off and came back with a tall bottle of water. Harley didn’t pay him any attention as the man proceeded to pour the water into a glass—a woman who looked a lot like the one in Missy’s profile picture had just come in, and she was talking to the hostess
. The hostess pointed in Harley’s direction, and he waved tentatively, signaling his table.
Missy’s eyes widened when she saw him. She turned back to the hostess, shook her head, and then walked out of the building.
Harley sighed to himself and looked down at his attire. Perhaps he should’ve worn another shirt. Maybe he should’ve covered his sleeve tattoo.
“So,” the waiter said, and Harley broke out of his shocked stupor to look at him. “I assume you won’t need this table any longer, sir?”
Harley slammed his hand down on the table and stood up, pushing his chair back. He was tired of being treated like an annoyance, and the waiter seemed to shrink under his glare.
“I’ll just—” Harley took a deep breath, but the rest of his sentence still came out as a snarl. “I’ll have a seat at the bar.”
He pushed his way through the rest of the customers waiting for a drink and sat down on one of the few empty stools. Before he could raise his hand to flag someone over, a glass was placed in front of him. Harley looked up to see a petite black-haired woman with blond highlights smiling at him.
“It’s on the house,” she said.
The sharpness in her blue eyes made Harley want to shiver. Luckily, instead of making a fool out of himself, he just raised his glass.
“Thank you.”
The woman winked at him and went to attend to her other customers.
A few beers later, the crowd had thinned considerably. The stunningly beautiful bartender made her way back to Harley, wearing a cocky smile on her face that had Harley smiling back as soon as she approached him.
“Ivy,” she said, tossing her hair back before she started to wipe down the counter.
“Harley,” he said.
Ivy glanced up at him, and the amusement in her voice was obvious when she spoke again. “You ride, then?”
“Yeah,” Harley answered. “I’ve got one back home.”