Drilled: (Hard 'n Dirty Book 7)

by Ava Sinclair

  He nods. We’re on the same page.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Cal

  She’s mine and I’m never going to let her go.

  We drive to the next town, where I pay sixty bucks for a simple but clean room at a hotel. The young clerk seems bored with her job. It’s a bonus that she’s obviously not someone who’d recognize us from the news. She hands me the key without having much to say.

  “I feel like a teenager.” Iris walks around the room, inspecting it. “Checking into a hotel without even a toothbrush.”

  “Did you really do that as a teenager?”

  She shakes her head. “No. I was boring. My parents wouldn’t even have noticed if I did. My mom was always shopping and my dad ignored me. It’s no fun to rebel when no one cares what you’re doing. I was just told not to do anything that would end up in the paper. Ironic, huh?”

  “Come here.” I sit down on the bed and hold out my hand. Iris walks over. I take her hands in mine and pull her to sitting on my lap. She sighs and rests her head on my shoulder. “Tell me what you want.”

  She turns my head to hers and kisses me. “For the first time, I don’t want anything other than what’s right in front of me. You make me feel … overwhelmed, but in a good way.” She worries her lower lips. “How do I make you feel?”

  “Fierce.” It’s my honest answer. “Like I’d rip apart anyone or anything that tried to hurt you. Like a tiger protecting his mate. You put fire in my blood, baby. It burns hotter every time I touch you.”

  She reaches for the hem of her dress with one hand and hikes it up, guiding my other hand between her legs. “You’ll need something wet to put it out.” Her voice is husky sweet. My cock feels hard as iron.

  I tip her from my lap and rise from the bed. “You’re so damn sweet. So delicate. I have to control myself with you.”

  Her eyes meet mine, smoldering and certain. “No you don’t.” She closes her eyes and sighs as I stroke her pussy through the soaked panel of her panties. “I…I like it when you’re…rough. I like it when it hurts. Is that weird?”

  “No, baby. It’s what turns you on, see?” I slide the panel of her panties aside and slip my finger into her body, thrusting once, twice before withdrawing my finger.

  “See how sweet you are?” I put the finger to her lips and watch as she sucks her own essence from the tip.

  I kiss her then, tasting her arousal as I do. I grasp her ass cheek with one hand as I unzip her dress with the other. She shrugs her shoulders out and I pull it down until it pools at her feet. She’s wearing a lacy little bra, her perfect breasts swelling over the cups. I crown the top of each mound with a kiss. She’s so damn perfect, but she’s not as delicate as she looks. I’m squeezing her ass hard enough to bruise the skin, and she moans in response.

  She’s mine now, no matter what. It’s time to make her feel like it. I unsnap the bra, pulling it free, then kneel to jerk her panties down. I grab her buttocks in both hands, dragging my tongue up through the seam of her pussy, lapping away her wetness until her knees buckle from her first orgasm. I catch her as she falls, lifting her in my arms. Her pumps fall from her feet, clunking to the floor. I take her to the desk built into the wall next to the dresser. There’s a phone and a lamp, which I push to the side. I bend Iris over, admiring the line of her back, the curve of her waist, the twin dimples just above her perfect ass cheeks.

  Those cheeks could use some color. I grasp her hair, leaning over her. “Such a bad girl,” I say, putting my fingers between her legs. “Look how wet you are.”

  She arches her back, pushing her pussy against my fingers, trying to press her clit against them.

  “No, no,” I say. “I’ll touch you there when I’m ready.” I lick the shell of her ear. “I’m in charge, baby.”

  She shudders with pleasure, just like I knew she would.

  “Do you need me to remind you?”

  “Oh, yes…”

  I raise my hand and bring it down onto her ass, the sound of my palm impacting her skin loud in the room. The cry she emits ends in a whimper. The imprint of my hand is blooming across her skin. I rub it. I can see wetness trickling down the inside of her thigh. Iris likes being spanked. That’s good. I’m going to love spanking her.

  I land another spank on the other cheek, moving my hand from her hair down to the small of her back to keep her in place as I begin spanking her in earnest. Iris is squirming and kicking, her round ass going from pink to deep red as her whimpers become cries.

  There’s a reason I’m doing this, and it’s not just sexual. She’s not cried since her father’s collapse. She was remarkably composed after we left the hospital. She needs release, not just sexually but emotionally.

  “Stop. Stop!” She puts a hand back, and I catch it and pin it to her back. She’s shaking, close to breaking. I land two more spanks low on the tender skin between her buttocks and thighs and she breaks into sobs.

  I stop, rubbing her ass. “It’s okay, baby. Let it out. Let it out.” I lift her to standing and turn her to me.

  “It’s so confusing,” she said. “I feel good with you, but…”

  “Life is like that, baby. It’s like licking honey off a thorn. There’s pain and there’s pleasure. You need to accept both.”

  She sobs into my chest, releasing the hurt and stress.

  “Let yourself feel, baby. You’re safe with me. You can be honest with me. You can hurt if you need to. You can feel good when you want to. I’m gonna take care of you. I’m gonna make it all better.”

  Iris wraps her arms around my neck, putting her desperate mouth to mine. This time it tastes like her tears, but she’s ready. She’s ready to give herself permission to express herself as she likes without feeling judged.

  “Make love to me,” she says. “Please.”

  I take her to the bed and lay her down. She looks up at me with such beautiful trust as I pull off my shoes and shirt and pants. My cock is straining toward her, eager to nest itself in her body.

  She feels like home. If I’m her protector, she’s my haven. Despite our differences, we were made for each other. She’s my perfect fit.

  I slide into her welcoming pussy, reveling in its silken grip. Her arms and legs go around me, melding my body to hers. We move as one, my hips working like a piston between her gripping thighs. I can feel the hard nubs of her nipples atop the cushion of her breasts pressed against my chest. Her slim fingers wind in my hair and move down my back, then up again, the manicured nails raking my skin.

  My kitten has claws. I grasp her ass, pulling her down the bed as I stand up. Her hips are off the bed, her arms thrown behind her. Her curtain of blonde hair fanning out on the rumpled bedspread. I hold her lower body suspended, fucking her hard. Iris lifts her legs, hooking her heels over my shoulders. She’s alternately moaning and crying as I fuck her.

  “Can I come?” she cries.

  I smile down at her. She’s asking my permission.

  “Not yet.”

  Her pussy clenches at my refusal. She craves control almost as much as she craves my cock. I pull almost all the way out, pushing back with excruciating slowness as she squirms in my grasp.

  “Please…” Her pussy is starting to squeeze in rhythmic clenches.

  “Wait, or I’ll spank that ass again.”

  She bites her lips, her hands moving down to fist the covers. She thrusts her hips toward me. I lean back down, pushing her into the mattress, holding her face between my hands.”

  “Come for me, baby.”

  She does, her orgasm milking my cock so that I come with her. She holds on to me. I feel love in her embrace. I feel trust. I feel complete. Iris is mine. And I’m hers.

  Forever.

  Other Hard N’ Dirty Books

  Can’t get enough of Hard ’N Dirty guys? Then check out the other standalone books in this series:

  Getting Dirty by Aubrey Cara

  Filthy Fight by Alta Hensley

  Hard Wood by Tara Cr
escent

  Blaze By Renee Rose

  Hammered by Alexis Alvarez

  Jacked Up by Jane Henry

  Beauty and the Lumberjacks by Lee Savino

  Excerpt “Beauty and the Lumberjacks”

  Releasing on Oct. 8 by Lee Savino

  A frostbitten breeze slices through my hoodie, pinches my skin and sweeps on to send trash flying down the sidewalk. I hunch my head and clutch my backpack to my chest to give me a buffer against the wind. Even summer is chilly this far north.

  Empty buildings turn a blind eye to my progress. Halfway across an empty parking lot, a wave of sickness hits. I hurry to an alley and dry heave. There’s nothing in my stomach but it cramps anyway, muscles tightening like a fist around emptiness. I slump against the dirty wall.

  Not now. I don’t need to be sick on top of everything. I fumble in my backpack for my water bottle and swish some water in my mouth. I don’t know if the metallic taste is from the tap water, old plastic, or some mysterious illness I’ve caught, on top of everything else. It’s probably just hunger. It’s been way, way too long since I had a good meal.

  After a few minutes leaning against the wall, I make myself get moving. Across the street and up ahead, a big sign announces, “Randy’s Place.” I cross the street, an obstacle course of broken pavement and half-frozen puddles, wincing as the mud stains my tennis shoes. I’m not at my best to go begging for a job. But I won’t need these shoes to be a stripper.

  As I hit the sidewalk a truck rolls by, close enough to spatter my jeans with dirty water. Just the final sprint in a run of shitty bad luck. I plan to strip down to my bra and underwear before the interview. Randy wasn’t too happy to see me yesterday; I’m not sure why I think today will be different. Desperation and delusion caused by an empty stomach.

  If he would just give me a chance, I know I have a pretty enough face. With more food, I’ll have all the lady goods I need to barter with. But I need cash to buy food, and to get cash I need a night on the pole.

  If I were smart, I’d move on from this tiny town, where the best employment option is a rundown dance bar catering to truckers. But I don’t have the money to run far and can’t risk poking my head up in a nearby town. The Hell Riders own this part of the country.

  My only hope of hiding is this pit of mud and broken pavement, too small to support much more than a couple of gas stations, a general store that sells everything from chainsaws to underwear, a dingy 24-hour diner, and Randy’s.

  The neon sign is off, but the door is cracked open. I pause in the alley, comb my fingers through my hair and try not to think of the last time I showered. Maybe Randy will let me freshen up in the bathroom before he puts me on a pole.

  A deep breath, and I walk through the dark doorway. A man sits on the stage, rifling through CDs. The strip club’s namesake, ugly even in the silted shadows of his club. He fat and balding, blunt fingers scratching his neck with a sandpaper sound.

  But he’s king here, and he knows it. He glances at me as I walk towards him and huffs in disgust. Hope dies, but I plant myself in front of him.

  “I wanna dance.”

  “Thought I told you ‘no’ already.” Randy goes back to sorting CDs. “Don’t need a stripper with no tits.”

  “Put me on a pole and see what I can do.” I’m bluffing. I’ve never danced naked in my life. But I know enough about how rough guys like their women. Growing up in a motorcycle club will teach a girl.

  “Just told you. Don’t need another dancer. Get your skinny ass outta here.”

  Fuck this. I stride away, detouring a the last second to the bathroom. Randy didn’t even look at me.

  Inside I wash my face, take a good look and grimace. My skin is so pale it’s almost translucent. There are ditches under my eyes. One glance, and Randy will know I spent last night curled in a doorway in a back alley—and that I’m desperate not to do it again. I look gross at best, or maybe hungover. My hands shake a little as I apply a little makeup. I’ll wait in here until I feel less like a junkie, then go out and insist the proprietor of this fine establishment give me another chance. I’ll grovel and do it sexy. I’ll do what I have to—even suck Randy’s dick.

  By the time I’ve worked up the nerve to exit the bathroom, a deep voice fills the club. I slip from the bathroom but stay in the shadows.

  Fat Randy has another petitioner.

  “Just want you to hear me out.” A big man spreads his hands. His broad shoulders block my view of Randy. The newcomer is big, but not with fat. From the solid way he fills out his flannel shirt and jeans, he’s all muscle.

  “No broad of mine is gonna up and leave to service a bunch of—”

  “We’ll pay. Room and board, ten thousand at the end of the season. More if she does a good job. My guys might tip.”

  I hug the wall, what I just heard reverberating through me. Room and board and ten thousand dollars.

  “Eh,” Randy grunts. “I’m not gonna let you poach my girls. They’ve got a good thing here and they know it. Summer’s the busy season. They’re not going to go to bumfuck nowhere and dance for a crew of dirty lumberjacks.”

  “I just thought—”

  “The answer’s ‘fuck no.’ Now get the fuck out. If I hear you’re hanging around, talking to my girls about this, I’ll have Bernie make sure you get the message. Bernie!” Randy shouts and a tattooed hulk appears from the smoky gloom, plants his fists on the bar and leans forward like a gorilla.

  Randy smirks. “Bernie doesn’t talk much. He uses his fists instead, you get me?”

  Shaking his head, the big guy pivots. I shrink into the shadows and watch his boots clomp past.

  I get a quick look at his face—black beard clipped tight to a clenched jaw—before he hits the door with his hand and shoves it open. I’m following before I can stop myself.

  “Hey, you,” Randy sees me and shouts. “Get out of here. Don’t need no more dancers.” I leave before he calls a bouncer to toss out my ‘skinny ass.’

  I scurry up the sidewalk, chasing the big guy. “Hey!” I call but it comes out a raspy whisper. He keeps walking. He’s got a nice stride, long and loose. Faded jeans, stained and washed clean. Boots and a thermal shirt under Carhartt plaid. He looks like a lumberjack, a rugged sort that grew up here with the pines.

  Be brave.

  “Excuse me,” I get close enough to touch his elbow. He swings around and glowers at me, black brows knotted, beard hiding a frown. I try not to cringe.

  “Um... did you say you were looking for a female entertainer?”

  His eyes skip up and down my lean frame.

  I raise my chin and puff out my chest a little. “I’m game.”

  He just looks at me. His jaw is square and hard under a bristling black beard.

  “You work there?” He tilts his head towards Randy’s neon sign.

  “Not yet. I was going to apply, but I like your offer better.”

  He looks away a moment and I see him thinking of a way to blow me off.

  “Where would I be staying?” I blurt.

  “Logging camp about fifty miles north of here.”

  “I didn’t realize there was anything north of this town,” I try to joke.

  “There isn’t. The camp’s remote. Nothing but bears, trees and us.”

  You’re not a bear? I shut the teasing down. “And you just want a dancer? Not anything else?” A breeze kicks up and I shiver. The thought of taking off my clothes makes me cold.

  He looks at me a for a second, his gaze distant like he’s seeing right through me.

  “Did you eat?” he grunts.

  “What?”

  “Breakfast.” He jerks his head down the street at a diner. “My treat. We’ll talk.”

  *

  Lincoln

  The girl slides into the booth, visibly relaxing into the warmth. She’s all skin and bone in tight jeans and a fucking hoodie. A hoodie, during this cold snap. She looks like she’s barely outta high school.

 
When I first saw her out of the corner of my eye at Randy’s, I clocked her as an addict, but her eyes and voice were clear and brave. It took courage to run after me, and I respect that.

  I’ll warm her up, buy her a good meal, give her some money to buy a decent jacket, and let her down easy.

  She’s biting her lip, shoulders hunched. Fuck, I don’t want her afraid of me.

  “How old are you?”

  She licks her lips. “Twenty-one.”

  I can’t keep from scoffing.

  She meets my frown with a proud chin. “Here.” She fumbles in the backpack she’s been gripping like it’s a safety blanket. Slaps down a plastic rectangle. ID.

  Sierra Woodhouse. Organ donor. Motorcycle license, too, which is interesting. And yes, if I did my math correctly, she’s twenty-one.

  I relax a little. She looks like jailbait, but unless this is a forgery, she’s not. I hate the thought of someone so young working at a place like Randy’s. But I ain’t paid to care. Everyone’s got their own fucked up story. The best thing about living away from civilization is that I don’t have to deal with people’s bullshit anymore.

  “Tell me about the job,” she demands. Feisty. Stronger than she looks.

  “Food first,” I prop up my menu. Workman’s special right at the top includes two of practically everything on the breakfast menu. They know how to feed men around here. I order the meal and coffee from the tired waitress and wait for Sierra. She’s biting her lip, looking at the menu with an almost pained expression. Nothing hurts an empty stomach like a possible feast.

  “Make that two coffees and two specials.” I hand back my menu but take Sierra’s and set it aside. “I’ll let you know if we need more food.”

  Sierra keeps her gaze on the table, like trying to choose what to eat took the fight out of her. Her eyelashes are dark smudges against her pale skin. She has a few freckles.