He inhales sharply and spills himself into me, thrusts slowing as we both come back down to earth. He kisses my ankle, the inside of my calf, his rough hands a beautiful contrast to his soft lips, both touching me so softly I can’t believe this is the same man who ruthlessly fucked me not even a minute before.
And then he falls next to me. He rests his head on the same pillow my head’s resting on and wraps his arms around my stomach. “Hey.”
The sweat cools on my body. My hair’s plastered to my neck, face, and chest. I can’t stop panting. And while that much-needed oxygen fills my lungs, my brain starts working.
I just got fucked by Damien.
Controlling, dominant, irritating, insatiable Damien.
In my bed.
Slowly, I sneak a peek at him. His dark eyes take in my naked body. He moves his hand over my body with a predatory satisfaction, like he’s happy it’s finally his. I glance down his tattooed, perfect, sculpted body to his…
Jesus. Fucking. Christ.
His cock is still huge. He’s a shower and a grower. And, somehow, I had that in me.
I can’t believe we got all that in me!
I reach for my poor pink sheet to pull it over my body. Damien grabs my wrist, stopping me. “Hey, what’s that about?”
“Um, what’s what about?”
“Why do you want to hide yourself from me?”
I still can’t bring myself to look at him. “I’m cold.”
“Are you really cold, or is it something else?”
I can feel my eyes bulging. Is he really asking me that question?
“Hey, it’s okay,” he whispers as I shiver. He kisses my temple and hugs me closer. “Don’t worry, Princess. It will just keep getting better and better.”
What will keep getting better and better? Sex? Why is he talking like we’re going to do this again? I thought this was just an opportunity to, I don’t know, “fuck out” our problems because we apparently couldn’t talk them out.
“Princess,” he whispers, lips curling into a dark, demonic grin.
I don’t like the looks of that grin. I like even less the affect it’s having on me. Why the hell is my body demanding we go again, right now, after all that?
“Want me to show you, Princess?”
“Show me what?” I squeak.
In one swift movement he’s back on top of me, pinning my hands above my head. I whimper, spreading my legs so he can slide back in between them.
“I can’t believe how dirty you are,” he growls. “How insatiable.”
“You sure you aren’t just talking about yourself?”
“Oh, I already knew I was both those things, Princess. And I already knew I’d never be able to get enough of you.” His eyes darken and my body goes weak from the knowledge of the pleasure that’s coming. “I just never, not even in my dirtiest, most insatiable dreams, allowed myself think you’d be the same.”
“You didn’t?”
“No.” He kisses my jaw. “You’re too fuckin’ perfect. Now, I’ll never be able to be a good man, Princess. I don’t think I can ever let you go.”
Never let me go? Wait, what the fuck is he talking about? Before I can ask his mouth moves down my neck, in between my breasts, to my stomach. I arch my back, pushing my cunt into his chest, crying out as I grab the sheets.
Oh God, I want it so bad, there’s nothing on this earth that can stop me from fucking him again right now, right here.
And then, we hear a cough at the door.
I shriek, pulling the sheet over my body. Damien gets up and leaps in front of me. I’m staring at Damien’s tight, naked ass.
Ryder groans, shielding his eyes. “What the fuck, man? Put on some clothes.”
“The fuck you doin’ here?” Damien bellows.
“I’m picking up your sorry ass. God damn! You need to lock the door next time or somethin’. Would have fuckin’ knocked but…what the fuck did you do to your doors?”
“You have five seconds to get your ass out of here,” Damien growls.
“So do you,” Ryder counters. “Prez needs you.”
I gasp. Oh my god, what if my dad knows what Damien and I just did? Damien doesn’t seem to be affected, but his ass cheeks clench.
‘It’s not, uh, this,” Ryder continues awkwardly. “It’s the Judas’ Children MC.”
“What the fuck about them?” Damien asks, voice deadly.
“They’ve decided to accept the peace treaty. Not sure what’s changed, but it’s happening. Everyone needs to be at the barn. Now.”
Ransomed MC Princess #2
Chapter 1
Damien runs his hand through his hair. “Fuck.”
I shiver and hug the sheets to my body. I’ve heard Damien say that word ‘fuck’ so often in the last hour. I’ve said it myself, too. Many times. Like, a seriously embarrassing number of times in a seriously embarrassing number of positions while we participated in some seriously embarrassing…
I shut my eyes. I don’t think I can stand hearing him say that word anymore, knowing all I know now. Which is unfortunate since the asshole’s vocabulary is so limited that he often literally uses it every other word.
Ryder grabs Damien’s pants and throws them at him. “For the last time put some fuckin’ clothes on. Not all of us want to see your shit.”
Old Damien would have responded by saying something about “his shit” with a cocky smile. Then, he would’ve looked over at me to make sure I was an unflattering shade of strawberry or raspberry or some other shade of fruity red.
That’s not what happens. This isn’t old Damien, and while he used to be an asshole, this new Damien scares me. His biceps work as he grips his pants like he was gonna rip them in two. His jaw clenches as he scowls down at them like he just asked a magic 8 ball an important question and received a less than satisfactory answer.
What the fuck, man? They’re just pants! They house your junk, not the secrets to the universe! I almost yell at him.
But then, he looks up at me with dark eyes that pierce my soul.
What the hell? Why is he looking at me like that? What the fuck did I do?
“It wasn’t supposed to be like this, Princess,” he whispers.
“Dear God, did you not hear me?” Ryder yells. “Put. Your. Pants. On. Please. I’m tired of talking to the dimples in your ass!”
Damien balls his pants up in his fist and shakes it at Ryder. “Didn’t I tell you to get the fuck out?”
“Look, I don’t have time for your crap. We’re not there, Prez is gonna come lookin’ for us and take one guess where he’s gonna start?”
I shiver beneath the sheets. Oh God. They were going to come to the compound, weren’t they?
I feel a weight on my shoulder. Looking up, I see Damien glancing down at me with the softest expression I’ve ever seen on his face. “I don’t want to do this in front of Ryder or anyone, so when I get back, you and me, we gotta talk.”
I gulp. “Talk?” Why did we need to talk? Not ever talking again—or looking at each other again—was fine with me!
Damien bends over, steps into the legs of his pants, and yanks them up. “Yeah. Can’t talk to you the way I want to in front of anyone or with my pants half on.”
Wait, does that mean he wants to be alone when we talk? What the fuck does he have to say to me that he can’t say in front of an audience?!? And what the hell was up with that cryptic “pants half on” comment? Does that mean he wants to talk with his pants on, or with his pants off? What kind of fucking conversation did he think we were gonna have?
I feel my eyes bug out.
Oh no. Oh God no. He thought we were gonna talk like that!
“Don’t worry,” Damien whispers, punctuating that horrific response with a smile. It’s a nice smile, not the sardonic and cocky smile of an unrepentant asshole.
Fuck! That can’t be a good sign! I have to do something about this fast!
“We already talked,” I squeak. “I mean, we didn’t
talk that much. Um…but we tried to talk, I think? Like, we did some talking, before…uh…the other stuff…”
Damien’s eyes are growing softer by the second. It’s making my heart beat so fast I feel like I’m gonna pass out. What the fuck is he planning? What’s his angle? And I don’t mean the angle of his hips as he pounds into…
Okay. Hold up. What’s wrong with my mind? What is happening to me?!? I’ve lost control. I shut my eyes, wanting nothing more than to throw the sheets over my head and continue this conversation from the safety of a pink blankie cocoon.
The sound of Damien’s zipper rips through my happy thoughts. “Sorry ‘bout all this,” he says, pulling his aged leather belt strap through the gleaming metallic buckle. Then, he bends over until all I can see is his massive, strong, tattooed chest.
Oh fuck. Here it comes. I don’t know what “it” is yet but I know it’s gonna be bad!
His rough fingers cup my cheeks, tilting my head up. I can’t make out his expression. We’re too close, and the overhead light is too harsh. But, very unsurprisingly, Damien uses his mouth for something other than talking.
First he kisses my forehead, then the tip of my nose. His lips barely touch me. These are airy, sweet kisses, not hungry and dark, but by the time his mouth finds mine I’m already breathless and so giddy with anticipation I can’t think.
His fingertips softly dig into the back of my head as he draws me closer until there’s nothing between my chest and his but a thin layer of cotton. My heart’s pounding. I know he can feel it—how could he not? I lean back, opening my mouth more as he claims me tenderly.
His lips are so much warmer than mine. Just a few minutes ago we were entwined as if we were one person instead of two. I remember how hot he was—how strong. I shouldn’t feel so cold now, after just a few minutes apart.
My hands act on their own, grabbing his wrists as if they want to keep him close. He sighs and steps back.
What the hell? Why is he stopping? I frown, reaching for him, until I hear a cough.
Ryder’s cough.
Oh shit. Ryder’s still in here. He just saw me make out with Damien. And more than that, he found us in bed together! Oh my god, he knows we fucked! How could this possibly get more embarrassing?
Oh, why do I even ask questions like that when Demon Spawn is right next to me?
“I’m comin’ back as soon as I can, and when I’m back, we finish this,” Damien says. Then, he smiles. “Don’t worry, Princess. We haven’t even started talkin’ yet.”
We haven’t even started talking? What?!? How the hell was that supposed to prevent me from worrying? Considering how intense our last “conversation” was was, I don’t think I could survive another one!
I bite my lower lip. Damien breathes deeply and slowly, like he’s trying to suppress a growl. “God damn, I’d kill to know what you’re thinkin’ ‘bout right now, Princess.”
“Please don’t make her tell you,” Ryder interrupts. “I am still here, and she’s practically a sister to me.”
Damien frowns. “That makes your presence here even more messed up, perv.”
“Aww. That almost sounds sweet when you say it,” Ryder jokes.
Damien whips around. “The fuck? I’ll show you sweet!”
Damien stalks forward like he’s about to hulk out. And Ryder…Ryder’s smiling as he holds his hands in front of his face half defensively, you know, like thinly veiled death threats are fun. I really don’t think he’s considering the gravity of the situation.
Damien grabs Ryder’s shirt, bringing them face to face. “Only reason why you’re not fucked up right now is ‘cause we gotta go to the meeting and I don’t want them askin’ questions. Two weeks from now, I am gonna beat the shit out of you.”
“Okay bro.” Ryder laughs.
I don’t think this scene could possibly get more surreal. Why is he laughing? When you receive a death threat, the proper response is not “okay bro.”
Ryder raises his eyebrows. “And just so you know, only reason why I’m lettin’ you touch me right now is ‘cause you finally put your pants on. Now Prez is waitin’. Let’s go.”
“Fine.” Damien lets go and walks to the door. When he reaches it, he looks back at me and points. “See you soon, Princess.”
What the fuck does that mean?
Then Damien leaves and Ryder smiles at me as he follows. “Glad you two worked everything out, Princess,” Ryder says and I swear to fuckin’ God his eyes are twinklin’ like he’s fuckin’ Santa. Well, this sure as shit doesn’t feel like Christmas morning. Does he really expect me to react to being left alone with Damien like it’s the best present I could have ever gotten instead of 10+ inches of infuriating, angry, rock-hard coal? I mean, what the hell was I supposed to do with that?
You know exactly what, my traitorous body replies, making me shiver.
Damnit!
As their footsteps fade out down the hallway, I retreat under my bed. Finally, I am in my special pink hideaway. I breathe deeply, trying to make sense of everything that just happened and get my body under control.
It’s at this moment that I realize my sheets smell nice.
Really nice.
Damn, they don’t usually smell this good. I inhale deeply, taking in the rich, tantalizing, masculine scent. It makes my heart race and my toes curl and my mind go to deliciously dark places.
Like…to Damien.
My eyes pop open.
What the fuck?
I did not just think that. There’s no way. I inhale again, nostrils flaring, as I realize that rich, tantalizing, masculine—no, I mean that disgusting, infuriating, manwhore—scent is him.
Oh my god! That asshole contaminated my bed! I have to fix this fast!
I jump up and rip every pink, frilly piece of stupid fabric off the bed. Holding the pile, I race down the hall to the washing room. Immediately I get to work, first moving Reggie and Kimchi’s dry clothes out of the dryer, and then Turtle’s clothes from the washer to the sink. He must’ve left them in for a few days because they smell funky.
Goddamnit Turtle!
Cringing, I shove mine into the washer and pour aqua blue detergent it over the sheets. It’s about four times the amount of detergent I need, but I can’t be too careful. I’ll never be able to live it down if anyone finds out. Well, I guess Ryder already knows but if anyone else finds out, then I’ll never live it down.
Never.
Damien and I were like oil and water. Cats and dogs. Clichés and B horror movies. And sure, some people fucked with the B Horror movie formula. You’ve got your Cabin in the Woods, your Evil Dead 2. But never, under any circumstances, did someone actually fuck the formula.
“Jesus, what did I get myself into?” I moan, leaning against the wall and sliding down.
And, unfortunately, on my way down I look down.
“Oh no.”
There are other things I could have said, like: What the fuck is that?!? If this monstrosity had been attached to anyone else, then I might have actually asked that. But the monstrosity was attached to me. My vajazzle had been through a lot this evening and, well, there’s no nice way to say this, but it looked like it had been through a lot.
It had started the night by parading on a makeshift bar stage in front of a legion of drunk bikers.
Then, it had stolen Damien’s bike and totaled it.
After that, it had swooped through the canyon like a fuckin’ bald eagle before landing in a tree, where it had been rescued by a smooth-talking stranger. And what did vajazzles do when they were saved by sexy, dark, mysterious men? They offer themselves to said stranger on a platter, even if he was their father’s enemy.
I cringe. “Fuck.”
Oh, right. Fuck. Yes, that had been the cherry on the top of this godawful night—my vajazzle, getting the living daylights fucked out of it by Damien.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” I ask it.
It sparkles back at me, or at least tries to. Actually
, it kind of flickers on and off like that busted neon light OPEN sign in front of that diner that kept giving its patrons salmonella right before it went out of business.
Yeah. Good times.
The clothes twist together in the washer like they are getting their necks wrung by German Headmistresses, then tumble together in a torrent of soap and scalding water. As I watch them, a strange sort of peace settles over me. This counts as the worst night in my life, right? Or at least the one night where I’d really gone off the tracks. It wasn’t possible for things to get any worse.
And then I hear footsteps.
I glance down.
Vajazzle, check.
Nothing else, check.
I scream. Shit! I’m not wearing any clothes! Why didn’t I grab a t-shirt or something before rushing down the hall? It’s like, when I hid under my covers, I’d hot boxed myself with Damien’s strangely intoxicating scent and now all my brain cells were dead.
I glance around, but the only available clothes are Turtle’s neglected, damp shirts that are currently molding in the sink.
Fuck!
“Annie!?!”
It’s a female voice. Alright, that’s better than a man’s voice, but the only female who would be at the club at this hour would probably be Cheyenne, my dad’s old lady.
Cheyenne’s my rock, and I’m the daughter she never had. We’ve talked about a lot of stuff over the years, but there’s one conversation I never want to have with her—the one about tonight. Why? Because Cheyenne has always told me to respect myself and my body, and I don’t see how parading around naked, fooling around with random men, and allowing manwhore Damien to take my virginity counts as respecting either. First thing Cheyenne is gonna do is tell my father. Then, my dad’s gonna beat the shit out of Damien and I will die of mortification because after that everyone will know.
There’s only one way out of this: I have to hide. I grab the detergent and hold it in front of my body. Then, I close my eyes because even though this is the worst “hiding place” ever, I’m out of time.
The door’s open.
Chapter 2
“ANNIE!”
Bad & Bold - A 7 Book Bad Boy Romance Collection! Page 61