The Brody Bunch Collection: Bad Boy Romance

by Sienna Valentine

  A dark thought flashed, for just an instant, as he did so. But I wasn’t about to entertain it. Not when we were having such fun.

  He likes ‘em easy, Hannah. Give him what he wants.

  I whined for him, but the cloth muffled the sound. On my tongue, I tasted my sweet desire for him, the spice of my lust. That was what this was all about anyway, right? This thing between us—it was lust.

  Well, what else would it be? It certainly wasn’t love.

  “Hold on tight,” Ash warned me as our efforts finally bore fruit. His jeans and boxers were down enough to let his cock spring free, and though I desperately wanted to grab hold of it—to feel its weight, its warmth, the yearning of its pulse—he was already grabbing me and sliding me to the very edge of the sink. We lined up perfectly; his bare tip slid in a soft arc up my cleft, coming to rest right over my clit. As I shuddered, reveling in the thrill of us being skin-to-skin, Ash dug into his pocket and pulled out a condom, the foil coming apart easily in his teeth. I watched with anticipation, and a little primal disappointment, as he rolled it down his length and sheathed himself from me.

  It was smart. It was the right move. But damn, did his velvety cock feel so right against my netherlips, against the heat of my core.

  I dug my nails into Ash’s shoulders and raised up, offering my hips for his taking. He wasted no time in obliging me; when he impaled me on that thick, diamond-hard dick, I felt like he’d pushed all the way through me. Now I knew for sure I was leaving marks all across him, red slashes that would haunt him beneath his shirt. He growled a low warning in my ear, as if to tell me that was just the beginning—that there was so much more to come, and that I needed to prepare myself for it.

  But I knew there was nothing I could do. Ash was going to take me in a way that would leave me a quivering, breathless, bruised mess… and I wanted it. I wanted it more than I’m sure he even imagined, maybe even more than he did.

  His hands found the bones of my hips, pulling me onto him as he thrust into me, and once again in an involuntary spasm I let my head hit the mirror, my knuckles whitening around the edges of the sink. I closed my eyes, biting down hard on my panties and surrendering to the violence, to the wicked passion a man like Ash Brody was so easily consumed by. I’d known men like him. Plenty of them. And yet, in some ways, I’d never known a man like him at all.

  There was honesty in this. Nothing about us was riding on pretense. We were fucking. Not having sex. Not making love. Ash was taking me, using me. And I was letting him. I was submitting to the carnal desire I knew we carried in us both. I was helpless to it, and so was he. We were monsters, rutting in dim light, baring our teeth and claws to one another because we knew no one else would be able to handle it. No one else could possibly understand.

  From the moment I’d set eyes on Ash Brody, I knew we carried the same burden. I knew we bore the same scars. I knew we’d both seen some real shit. Darkness pervaded us both; our souls both buckled beneath the weight of our pain and our sins. We each had a past shrouded in misery; we were both running from memories that hungered for our blood. When he’d snagged my gaze from the shadows, I’d known without explanation that we were similar beasts. This—our frantic, vicious fucking in the bathroom—that was just the proof of it.

  We were no better than animals. So why try to be human? Besides… wasn’t it easier to think of ourselves this way?

  But then Ash just had to go and surprise me. The strokes he made inside me slowed and he lifted one hand to the back of my head, shielding me from the glass behind it. His touch was tender, protective. It startled me enough to open my eyes, even before he murmured in those irresistible, husky tones, “Look at me, Hannah. Look at me…”

  I did as I was told, even though I was sure he could see the confusion that twisted my face. He’d noticed my head against the mirror? The warmth of his gaze told me he had; I could see it glowing there, a soft ember behind the flames of his desire. My heart hammered as he kissed my forehead, flooding me with uncertain, but not unwelcome, affection. This was… unexpected. This was not what I was used to.

  There was really nothing I could’ve done to prepare myself for Ash. Not on that day, and not on any other.

  Fucker.

  I held his gaze as he pumped into me, feeling at first vulnerable, but gradually losing myself in his stare. I didn’t notice he’d taken his hand off my hip until he moved it between my legs, using his thumb to tease my wet and swollen clit above the sawing of his cock. He was still fucking me—there was no question about that, nor was there any about how much I fucking loved it—but there was something else between us, too. Something that made it just a little different. Enough so that when I came—when my muscles clamped down in ecstatic bursts around his shaft, milking him for all he was worth—I wailed his name and meant it.

  Ash snarled. He pressed on my clit, drawing me up to new heights, and with his free hand he tore my panties from my mouth and kissed me, hard, on my lips. I kissed him back, his face clutched between my palms, my thumbs dug into his cheekbones. And I meant that too—the kiss. Our kiss. And I knew that meaning was shared.

  “Fuck,” I hissed as he emptied into me, his forehead against my shoulder, the condom the only thing that kept him from filling me to the brim. He blew a hot breath against the curve of my neck and I leaned back, careful of the mirror, as I muttered, “You’re gonna be trouble, Ash. I can tell.”

  “I’m going to keep you out of trouble, is what I’m going to do,” he replied, his voice thick, rich, and dark with the remnants of his orgasm. I smiled and shook my head. I loved that tone on a man.

  “And you’ll get your brothers to agree?” I asked him, holding him for as long as I could inside me. “I have a feeling this isn’t going to be an easy task. It’s gonna have to be more than just you.”

  Ash, with a reluctant grunt, pulled himself free and worked on getting the rubber off his cock, tossing it into the nearest trash can. He pulled his pants and boxers up and helped me off the sink so I could get my jeans around my waist, as well. Pity about my panties—I was not a fan of going commando, and I still had hours left on my shift.

  “I will,” he said at last, peering over my shoulder to fix his hair in the mirror and adjust his clothes. “Don’t worry about it, love. I’ll figure something out.”

  “Hope so,” I said, folding my arms, “because I just paid in advance, and these are my sisters. No half-assing it, all right?”

  Ash arched a brow. It was adorable. “And what a payment that was… Anyway, when have you ever seen me half-ass anything?”

  I rolled my eyes. “Offhand? Well, there was the night that one chick kept buying you drinks, and halfway through your shift you two disappeared and left me to handle the drunk and disorderlies by myself.”

  “Right,” he said thoughtfully, “Tanya.”

  It was my turn to look incredulous. “Do they all have names, or is that one special?”

  “They all have names,” Ash replied, though a roguish grin soon wiped away any trace of indignance he might have felt at the accusation. “Why? Are you jealous?”

  I snorted and waved him off, but some small chord in me had been plucked, and I knew it. Still, no sense showing him that. “What I am is late getting back from my break—which you promised I wouldn’t be—and you’re late meeting your brothers.” Ash made a move for the door but I stopped him, fingers splayed across his broad, well-muscled chest. The chest I had yet to see in its full glory, thanks to our choice in location. “No. I go out first. Wait five minutes. Then you can leave too.”

  “And if my brothers leave because your dignity is holding me hostage?” he asked.

  “I assume they have phones,” I replied, unlocking the deadbolt across the inside of the door. “And make sure you get rid of those panties, will you? Seriously, find somewhere to put them that’s… not here. I don’t want anyone finding them and… I don’t know, tacking them to the break room bulletin board.”

  “Don’t worry
,” Ash purred, stuffing them into the pocket of his leather jacket. “No one will find them.”

  I took that to mean he was going to hang onto them. Fine. Let him. Spoils of war. After all, he’d won.

  Or at least, that was what I was willing to let him think—that he’d finally found a way to get into my pants. That he had seduced me. That he alone had been responsible for my eventual—and in his opinion, probably inevitable—submission to his desires. The easiest way to play a man was through his ego, and Ash was no exception to that rule. As a player himself, you might think he would’ve picked up on the con, but no. What man wants to admit he’s a means to an end?

  Well… maybe that wasn’t true. Not entirely. The whole truth was that Ash and I had been dancing around each other for months, flirting with growing intensity. Maybe we weren’t dating, but we’d spent time with each other outside of work. He was a bouncer, which meant his schedule was flexible as he wasn’t married to any specific location. He got around—and in more than just the professional sense.

  I’d intended to make him work a little harder for his prize, but that was before I’d gotten word my sisters were finally coming into town. My Amish sisters. On Rumspringa. And I’d known without a shadow of a doubt they’d need to be looked out for, and not just because they were innocent down to the bone, but because seeing me again, for the first time since I’d left our Amish roots… it was forbidden. And our father wouldn’t take that sitting down.

  They had no idea the kind of damage he could inflict, the lengths he would go to in order to ensure obedience. I did. I knew only too well. But they weren’t ready for the truth yet. They weren’t ready to know why they had to stay here in Bright Falls and never look back. I was going to have to convince them of the merits of a modern world—an “English” world, as the Amish called it—while at the same time protecting them from the retribution I was sure would come.

  That’s where Ash and his brothers came in. That’s where the transactional nature of our relationship comes into play. He wanted to fuck me, and I wanted security for myself and my sisters. And, if I was being honest… I wanted to fuck him, too.

  No reason to tell him that, though. That was an important rule when it came to men like Ash Brody—you could never give anything away, especially not your heart. Not to someone who called women “love” and never meant it.

  Better this way, I thought to myself as I exited the bathroom, leaving Ash to linger behind me. Better if no one knows the whole truth about you. Better if no one gets close enough to figure you out.

  But as Ash grabbed my ass just as I cleared the door, I had to admit to myself a sad truth: he had at least one thing figured out about me, and in retrospect, it turned out to be the most dangerous thing of all.

  2

  Ash

  My ass hadn’t even hit my seat yet and Reid was already grating on my nerves. “There he is,” he said as I joined him and our younger brother, Wyatt, at a small table near one of the TV sets. “How’s the syphilis?”

  “Fuck you,” I replied. Not my best comeback, but what could I say? After what had just gone down in the Trick Shots bathroom with Hannah, I was a little drained. And if I was going to put up with Reid’s bullshit tonight, I was going to need a drink. Stat.

  A waitress passed us and I reached out for her, my fingers closing around her wrist. She stopped, and I felt her pulse quicken as she looked down at me, her eyes wide.

  “Hey, babe,” I said, my words coming thick and lazy—the result of delicious afterglow. “You mind grabbin’ me some whiskey? On the rocks.”

  The waitress—I wanna say her name was Kimber—tossed her hair and flashed me a pretty smile from between glossy lips. “Sure thing, handsome,” she said, just as I knew she would. “Any kind in particular?”

  I returned her smile, but part of me noticed how it was nothing like Hannah’s—how it didn’t seem quite as meaningful or genuine. “Surprise me,” I said.

  I let her go, and she tittered as she hurried away from me, approaching the bar where Hannah had returned to her duties pouring drinks for assholes like me. I tried to catch Hannah’s eye as she listened to Probably Kimber relay my order, but in true Hannah fashion, she wasn’t giving me the time of day. Damn, that girl was hot and cold, and it frustrated me to no end.

  See, most women looked at me in the same way Probably Kimber did. It was a gift, a natural talent I’d been cultivating since I was twelve or so, one that afforded me all kinds of leeway and got my ass out of more scrapes than I’d care to count. They were like open books to me, written in a language that few men were as fluent in as I was. Yeah, I struck out on occasion, but more often than not I had my pick of the litter. It didn’t take much—a smirk here, a smoldering gaze there, a too-forward comment or two to make ‘em laugh, and the next thing you knew…

  Confidence. That was the key to most women’s hearts. Or at least, to the slice of heaven between their legs.

  Which pissed some guys off. Guys like Reid, whose egos defined them and were put off by the very idea of some dude getting more pussy than they were. He was glaring at me from across the table, snarling something about my lack of preference in whiskey brands, I’m sure.

  I just shrugged, still stealing glances at Hannah. But no matter what I did, she wouldn’t look my way.

  Damn her. After a fuck like that, I was sure she would’ve dropped the Ice Princess act…

  But Reid was talking again, pulling me from much nicer thoughts. “Well,” he said, setting down his beer bottle, “you always were a man of discerning tastes.”

  I gave him a hard and weary look, the one I reserved almost solely for him. I knew he wasn’t talking about the whiskey. Not really. He was doing his damnedest to knock me down a peg because he thought I’d wasted his time showing up late for our little meeting. And, okay, I had. But only because I had better things to do.

  No, that’s not entirely true. There was another reason, too—I loved pissing Reid the hell off.

  At present, however, I wasn’t in the mood for his passive-aggressive bullshit. If he wanted to snipe, fine. I’d just have to lay down some suppressing fire.

  “At least I have some,” I shot back, regarding his beer. “Real men drink liquor, Reid. Not Coors.” I curled my lip in disgust, then glanced over at Wyatt, who’d thus far been silent. It was cruel of me to pick on him, but his stupid ass was the original reason I’d called this meeting, so I had no qualms about venting some of my annoyance in his direction. “And whatever the hell this is,” I added, turning his bottle around and staring at its label in shock. “Pabst?”

  “Fuck you,” Wyatt muttered, pulling his beer out of range, his attention momentarily drawn away from the TV screen and the MMA fight playing across it. “I like PBR just fine.”

  Of course he did. Because he was still a goddamn infant. And as such, he had no business getting thrown in a holding cell because of a stupid turf battle that could’ve been a whole hell of a lot worse. A battle that had started because Wyatt was doing his level best to go down the same hellish road our father had so many years ago.

  The Bright Falls Beasts were a black mark on all our records. They were the local chapter of an MC dear old Dad had founded back in the day, one that left a legacy of bloodshed and terror. A legacy that had been assigned to the three of us by proxy. We were his sons, and as such, we carried the sins of our father. None of us more than me—I was the eldest. I was the one he’d groomed to take over someday. Out of the three of us, I’d been the most involved.

  I’d done things I knew I could never fully outrun. I knew my hands would never be completely clean. And sometimes, it felt like I should’ve been more forthcoming with Reid and Wyatt about that. Especially now, when Wyatt’s dumb ass was so close to ruining the more noble reputation we’d all been working so hard to build over the past few years.

  Sure, we were still the Brody Bunch, still the bad boys, still the ones mothers raised their kids to stay away from. But slowly, we were throwing
off the mantle of “public nuisances” and well on our way to earning our keep in this town. I used to get pulled over all the damn time for what we called “driving while Brody,” but in the past six months, I could count on one hand the amount of times I’d been hassled by some cop with a grudge. I’d kept my head down. Took legitimate jobs. Stayed far, far away from anything to do with the Beasts and their crumbling empire.

  At one point, during the height of Dad’s reign, they had stretched all the way from Arizona to Montana, and as far west as Washington and Oregon. They were the most feared gang north of the Rio Grande, rivaled only by the cartels down in Mexico. They lived up to their name, lived up to their patches that marked them as one-percenters. Comes from that time the American Motorcyclist Association commented on the public’s perception of motorcycle clubs, stating that ninety-nine percent of members were decent, law-abiding citizens. Which left one percent as outlaws. In my youth, that distinction appealed to me. What young man didn’t want to be seen as dangerous, as powerful, as the heir to a kingdom? It was a status that came with all kinds of benefits, including, but not limited to, a steady supply of wanting, willing pussy.

  But that shit all takes a backseat when your dad goes off the deep end and starts shooting at the Feds. It’s around that time, when you’ve just turned eighteen—when you’re looking at the faces of your younger brothers and knowing nobody’s gonna take them in—when you’re thinking how Mom’s been dead for years, and maybe if she wasn’t, the Beasts wouldn’t have ended up quite so bad—that you start worrying about bigger problems. Like how the fuck you’re gonna keep your family intact after you watch your father get hauled to prison on live TV. Or killed.

  Neither Reid nor Wyatt had any idea the kind of deal I made to keep their asses out of the fire. To get custody of them both so neither one of them had to live through the horrors of foster care. I tried my best to shield them from that sacrifice, thinking it was the noble thing to do. But on days like today, I wondered if I’d done them some kind of a disservice. Reid was an ungrateful bastard, and Wyatt treated our old man’s legacy like it was something to be proud of. Like the mighty had fallen, but would someday rise again.