The prospects paused by the grill, staring with open-mouthed astonishment. Coyote’s eyebrows scooted up into his hairline, and Steele’s eyes threatened to pop right out of his head.
Oh… crap. What did I do?
Rose stared at her own outstretched hand—which still stung from the slap.
Coyote stood, grasped her wrist, and propelled her backward away from the two quarreling men. “Easy there, slappy. No need to smack someone else. We got it—you don’t like fairy tales.”
Duke wore a faint red imprint of her hand on his cheek. He stood in stunned silence for a minute, and then a megawatt smile lit up his face.
“That’s the fire I was talking about.”
“What?”
“I can’t train someone who doesn’t have the will to stand up for themselves. Sure, you can be snarky, but I didn’t know if you’d come after me. Maybe there’s a bit of Bonnie in you after all.”
“You aren’t making any sense.”
“Bonnie. Clyde. Teachin’ you to kick ass and take names?” Duke laughed. “You’re gonna have to be faster on the uptake, though. I’m sayin’ I’ll train you. Let me make the first rule very clear— you can only clock me when we’re sparring.”
“Agreed.”
Rose sank down into a chair with a thud, thoroughly stunned. She’d gotten her way and slapped a biker too. Suddenly, she felt a lot better about this whole situation.
Maybe Kent needed to worry about her this time.
Chapter Seven
“Come with me.”
Duke headed for the door and expected her to follow, and Rose did. She trailed behind him as he crossed the parking lot, and he could tell she was nervous by how slowly she walked, probably because she’d hit him.
She had no reason to worry.
As he reached the hotel room, Chesty emerged from the diner, hot on their heels. She darted over to him, easily outpacing Rose, who dragged her feet.
“What the fuck are you doing with her?” Chesty placed her hands on her hips.
Dammit. Not now.
Duke engaged in monogamous fun with the women he slept with, but it didn’t mean they had any real hold on him. He didn’t need a scene, especially in front of Rose. For some reason, her opinion of him mattered.
“None of your business. Go back inside.”
Rose came to a halt a few feet from them. She crossed her arms over her chest and looked off into the distance, trying to give them a bit of privacy.
“Are you gonna fuck her?” Chesty asked.
He glanced at Rose, and she slowly turned, eyes wide as saucers.
Fuck.
Duke raised his voice. “I said go back inside. Aren’t you supposed to be workin’?”
She pursed her lips in an exaggerated pout, reading his anger and changing tactics.
“Yes, but I want you, Duke. If you need to fuck the girl too, I won’t get in your way. We could have a threesome, or maybe you want to watch the two of us instead?”
Again, he stared at Rose, and she turned ashen. She openly watched them now, not even trying to hide it anymore. Duke had to shut this thing down, fast.
He ran a hand through his hair and mentally counted down from ten, trying to keep his temper in check.
“I told you, I’m only fucking you, but you don’t own me, and I don’t like drama. Now turn your sweet ass around and go back to the diner. I’ll see you when your shift is over, okay?”
“But—”
“Okay?” he repeated, more harshly this time.
“Okay, baby.”
She leaned in to kiss him—pushing her tongue into his mouth and running a possessive hand down his chest. After she tried to suck his face off, she turned on her heel and walked past Rose with her head held high, convinced she’d marked her territory.
Duke groaned.
When he’d been locked up, he used to fantasize about having a woman again, and it’d been all creamy thighs and pillowy breasts—nothing but soft, wet pleasure. The aggravating reality of dealing with a vertical woman’s mood swings and general craziness made him long for alone time again.
He swung open the door to the hotel room he’d been using and motioned Rose inside.
Giving him the evil eye the entire time, she cautiously made her way inside.
When he shut the door behind them, she sat stiffly at the table by the window.
“Are you pissed at me? I shouldn’t have hit you.”
The smart thing to do would be to reassure her, but his pride had been wounded. Did she have to act like sleeping with him would be horrible? He hadn’t missed the way she’d checked him out earlier.
Duke sat on his bed and patted the space beside him. “Come here.”
“No. I’m not having sex with you. Not ever.”
“Never say never. We both know you think I’m hot.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You didn’t have to. Your body language told me. But I ain’t interested in fuckin’ you, so don’t worry about it.”
“You aren’t?” He didn’t know if she was insulted or relieved.
“Of course not.”
Duke was lying. Oh, he’d thought about it, wanted it, imagined it—jerked off thinking about it, but she was off limits. She’d been traumatized—and the little sister of an old lady. Touching her would land his ass in deep dog shit.
“Why not?”
“Because you’re too young for me. So get over here already—I haven’t got all fucking night.”
Rose sat stiffly on the very corner of the bed. “What we doing in here? Shouldn’t we be practicing in a gym or something?”
“First off, I’m sorry I used the ‘G’ word to rile you up.”
She ducked her head. “Yeah, I understand you were trying to provoke me.”
“I won’t ever say it again.”
“Good.”
Duke reached for her, intending only to pat her arm, but she tensed, flinching before he even got near her.
“Before we train, we need to get more comfortable with one another, and by we, I mean you. You need to let me in your space without freaking the fuck out.”
“Why?” Rose frowned.
“Because we’ll be practicin’ attacks. After the trauma you’ve experienced, you’ll be extra sensitive to being handled—let alone being pinned down or grabbed.”
“I see your point—so what are we going to do?”
Duke patted the bed once more, trying to coax her closer. “We’ll spend some time together, but you’ll need to get used to me touchin’ you.”
She grimaced.
“Don’t look at me like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like I’m gonna pounce on you or something. I’m only talkin’ about innocent touching. I want to build trust between us.”
She raised a brow, skeptical as hell and full of grit. Smart girl.
“And did your drill sergeant get handsy with you?”
“Only to push his finger in my chest or shout at me nose-to-nose. But when I learned hand-to-hand combat skills, my instructor got us more at ease with our bodies and lettin’ others into our personal space. Your opponent can use the discomfort against you—throw you off guard by grabbing you.”
She inched closer. “I am already… familiar with that particular tactic, but I see your point. What kind of touching?”
Kent had probably played some nasty psychological head games with her.
“The platonic type. We’ve already started it. You’ve been lettin’ me examine you, which most people are comfortable with, but I won’t be in medical mode when we’re sparrin’. I’ll be more aggressive, which might trigger you, so I’m gonna put my hands on you ahead of time and get you used to me. We’ll desensitize you. Okay?”
“Okay.”
“Good. Come here.”
She scooted over so they were only a few inches apart.
Duke took her hand in his, marveling at its small size—his engulfed hers. He couldn’t remember the last t
ime he’d held a woman’s hand. Fuck. He might never have held one’s hand, other than his mother. It was a courtly gesture, and he was all about hot, writhing bodies.
Rose sucked in an anxious breath, staring at their intertwined fingers.
He placed his thumb on her pulse point, and he could feel the blood pumping hard. As he suspected, she had a real distaste for being touched.
“See? I ain’t gonna hurt you. I’d never hurt you.”
“I know that.”
Gradually, she loosened up, her hand relaxing in his.
After a few minutes, he checked her pulse once more, gratified to see it’d slowed down. Time to push her a bit. Duke ghosted his fingertips up her arm, along her shoulder, and up her neck to cup her cheek. Supposedly to ease her discomfort, but the cynical part of himself knew he wanted to get closer—and now, he had the perfect excuse.
Duke knew he shouldn’t be lusting after her. After the hell she’d been through, she deserved to have one man in her life without an agenda. Rose had crawled right beneath his thick skin. She watched him with big brown eyes, and he wanted to help her, protect her—be her fucking hero, real fairy tale shit. Dangerous thoughts. Duke was an anti—and depending on who you asked, a villain.
If she knew half the things he was thinking, she’d run screaming from the room. Duke was a dominant man, ever since he’d started having sex of his own free will. And Rose had submissive written all over her—the shy glances, those soft, sweet smiles—whether or not she realized it. While her experiences with Kent had been horrific and non-consensual, they’d formed a sexual template of sorts.
Duke couldn’t stop fantasizing about giving Rose a good experience in the bedroom, one she actually desired. He wanted to teach her that sex didn’t have to be about shame and pain—she could receive pleasure at a dominant’s hand.
But she’d already been traumatized—gaining her trust and building a relationship with her would be difficult. Maybe impossible.
It’d have to remain a heated sexual fantasy.
Duke stroked her cheek. “Close your eyes.”
“Why?”
“Because I asked you to.”
“Tell me something first. I hardly know you. Why do they call you Duke?”
His lips twitched. “The club gives you a road name. You don’t get to choose one on your own. They call me Duke because I came from a wealthy family.” Somehow, she seemed to pull confessions out of him. It was the damnedest thing. “And because of my fancy pants college boy talk. I dropped that shit for the most part, though—learned to blend in.”
She was silent for a moment, pondering what he’d said.
“I still don’t get it. How does someone from a wealthy family who went to med school end up being a biker?”
“Oh, you know, long story.”
She didn’t need to hear about his trauma. No one did. He’d shoved all of it down for years and never told a fucking soul—Duke had no intention of opening up about it now, despite her uncanny ability to reach him.
“Fine. Can you tell me your real name?”
“Tucker Collins. Feel better?”
“Yeah, a bit.” Her eyes fluttered closed.
His hand trembled as he began exploring her pretty face. He ran his fingers down her cheeks, over her pert button nose, eased gently over her soft eyelids, and finally down the long length of her white throat.
Letting someone stroke your face was incredibly intimate, and he’d used it as a shortcut of sorts to build a bond. As a med student, he’d learned to be careful when doing facial examinations to ease the patient into it. As a dominant, he routinely stroked his submissives’ cheeks and lips—demonstrating both control and concern.
Her breathing slowed, and she grew even more pliable in his grasp, leaning into him.
“There, that’s not so bad, is it?”
“I guess not.”
He’d been half-hard since they walked in the room because he had her alone on a bed with him, but he’d surged to a full erection just from stroking her. While her eyes were still closed, he adjusted himself. The last thing he needed was for her to see his cock trying to bust out of his jeans.
Duke released her. “You can open your eyes now.”
She did, nervously licking her lips.
He bit back a moan. God, he wanted to kiss her so badly, one bitty kiss. He wanted to know what she tasted like—Duke imagined she’d be sweet as sugar.
Duke cleared his throat. “Okay, then. I need to give you some rules.” His dominant side took real pleasure in setting guidelines for her. “We’ll train three or four days a week at my house, depending on my schedule, starting tomorrow morning.”
“Okay.”
“You’ll borrow one of the club trucks so you can come and go as you please. If my brothers see you on the back of my bike all the fucking time, they’ll start asking questions—believe me, they’re nosy assholes. And while we’re on the subject, I’ll make sure Coyote and Steele keep their mouths shut.”
“Okay.”
“When we practice, you’ll wear non-binding clothes and good athletic shoes since we’ll be movin’ around a lot.”
Though he doubted she owned any other kind of clothing. He’d never seen her in anything form-fitting since the first day.
“Tell me when I make you uncomfortable. I’m gonna push your buttons.”
She actually laughed—it was a great sign.
“Yeah, I’ll let you know.”
“Excellent.” He tried to think of anything else he might have missed. “We’ll do some hand-to-hand combat, some yoga to help you limber up, and maybe other fightin’ styles once I see what your strengths are.”
“You do yoga?” Her eyes were wide.
“Anyone serious about being limber does.” Though he’d deny it if his brothers ever found out. “We’ll start your lesson tomorrow mornin’ at eight sharp. Come to this address.” Duke grabbed a piece of paper from the nightstand and wrote it down for her. “I don’t like to be kept waitin’.”
“I’ll be there.” She jumped to her feet.
He ogled her ass as she walked to the door.
Duke needed to slow his roll. He was getting all hot and bothered over some hand-holding and face-stroking. You’d think he’d invited her over to train as his sub from the way he was acting.
Giving her orders was… exciting.
She paused. “Anything else?”
“No. You’re dismissed.”
She gave him a cheery salute, smiled, and then headed out.
This whole thing was one big, bad fucking idea. Big sis and his club brothers wouldn’t approve—and he’d to keep himself from temptation after he spent the day manhandling her.
Christ Almighty. He’d wear the skin off his dick.
Speaking of, Duke fell back on the bed and freed his aching cock from his jeans. It was swollen and hard as a fucking rock. He thought about grabbing Chesty and making her suck him off, but he didn’t want her. The only woman he wanted right now was Rose. He hadn’t jerked off since he’d been in prison, but sweet Lord, he needed to right now.
The head of his cock was purplish-red— pre-come leaked from the tip. He used it to lube up his cock then started to stroke, slow at first. In his mind’s eye, Rose crouched between his splayed thighs while he watched, arms folded behind his head. She kissed his cock lovingly, running her lips and tongue over the entire length before sucking him deep into her wet mouth and drinking him in.
Duke lifted his hips, thrusting into her throat. He imagined holding the back of her head while she opened for him, her eyes drowsy with desire. God, he could watch that all day, his dick disappearing between her sweet lips.
He rubbed his dick harder, hands moving furiously up and down the shaft now. Duke wasn’t going to last long, wanted her too fucking much. The veins stood out on his cock, pulsing with need. He arched off the bed with a cry and brought himself off, streaking his hips and chest with semen.
After a minute to catch
his breath, he staggered to the bathroom, dabbing at the mess with a damp washcloth.
Dammit.
Duke wanted Rose and not being able to have her would take a toll. He had to keep himself in check, for both of their sakes. Sure, he wanted to fuck her, but despite himself, he felt for her. They had a connection, a bond—he, too, had been used, beaten.
And he thought maybe, just maybe, if he helped her put the pieces back together, it’d mean something. It was too late for him, of course, but Rose still had a chance. He’d been down the road she currently walked, and it’d been torture.
Duke could ease her through it and make it less painful for her. He just had to keep his dick to himself.
Easier fucking said than done.
And most importantly, Duke had to protect her from the growing darkness within herself. Oh, he knew it was there—could see it in her eyes, even though she tried to hide those shadows. Anyone who’d survived what they had been through had an inner void—a black hole—like that Nietzsche quote.
Something along the lines of… look into the abyss long enough, and the abyss stares back at you. But everyone forgets the first part of the quote—it’s a warning not to fight with monsters, for fear you could become one.
Duke had become a monster long ago.
But he’d keep Rose from giving in to her dark side—she deserved to live in the light.
Chapter Eight
“Wake up, Goldilocks.”
Rose flinched as someone slapped her cheek. Kent! Her eyes snapped open. She must’ve blacked out.
He loomed over her, surveying her body as she hung limply—Kent had looped chains over one of the ceiling beams in the basement then attached manacles to them, which he used to handcuff her. He’d made the chains so short, she’d been forced to stand on her tiptoes.
The last thing she remembered were his hands clamped around her throat, squeezing her airway shut. Part of her wanted him to end it—finish her off. Another part—desperate to live at any cost, had struggled in his hold, gasping for breath until she’d lost consciousness.
“You didn’t think you could escape from me by blacking out, did you?” He tapped the tip of her nose. “Naughty girl. You still have to take your punishment. Tell me.”
“I-I’m sorry.” Her voice was raw from being choked.
Joy Ride: A Virgin Romance (Let it Ride Book 3) Page 19