CRASH: An Evil Dead MC Story (The Outlaw Series)

by James, Nicole

  He reached out and grabbed her hand, pulling her back. “There’s one more.” Her eyes met his, and then dropped to his hands when she realized he was unbuckling his belt. They flew back to his eyes. “You said all of ‘em, Princess.”

  “If you’ve got one on your-”

  “Relax, sweetheart, it’s just low on my belly.” He opened his jeans, the plackets falling to reveal a V of skin and watched her eyes drop to it, drawn.

  There, in an arching scroll across his lower belly it read, Show No Mercy

  “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

  He grinned. “Truth or Dare, Shannon? Come on, babe,” he taunted as he did up his pants. “Take a dare.”

  “Fine.”

  Crash got a lascivious grin on his face. “God, I was hoping you’d say that.”

  “So what’s the dare?” she asked.

  “You let me do a belly shot off you.”

  Her mouth fell open.

  He grabbed her by the hand, and they went upstairs. Walking over to the bookcase by the pool table, he got down a bottle of Tequila. Turning back to her, he nodded to the pool table. “Hop up, babe, and lie back.”

  “What, here?”

  “Sure.” He watched her, almost daring her to back out. Finally she hopped up on the end and lie back. He lifted his chin toward her torso, and she swallowed and pulled her shirt hem up to her bra, revealing her flat stomach, that sexy-as-hell piercing and about two inches below her navel to the waistband of her low riding shorts.

  He smiled at her. “Damn, baby, but you’re a pretty sight lying there. Gives a man all kinds of ideas.”

  “The dare was a belly shot, nothing more.”

  He poured the golden liquor into her navel, and she jumped at the coldness. “Easy, darlin’, or there’ll be tequila in all kinds of places you may not want my tongue…just yet.”

  She held as still as possible under the threat, and he imagined she was picturing the scene he’d just described. She trembled.

  He hesitated, poised over her, and he caught her eye. “You’re trembling, baby. Imagining my tongue on you?” Before she could answer, his mouth was there, drinking up the liquor. His soft beard brushing against her softer skin, tickling. His tongue lapped at her, until he got up every drop. He rose up, his face above hers. “Delicious, baby. Nectar of the Gods.”

  “Can I get up now? Are you done?”

  “Not by a long shot, but yeah, you can get up.” He took her hand and helped her up and off the table. “Your turn, Princess.”

  “Truth or Dare?” she asked him.

  “Truth,” he replied, almost afraid what kind of dare she’d throw at him, the fire still in her eyes.

  “Do you even like me?” she snapped immediately.

  He wasn’t ready for that question and blinked. “The truth? Yes and no. I don’t like the stuck-up, rich-bitch attitude you walked in here with that first day. I don’t like that you think you’re incapable of doing things—or maybe it’s that you think you’re above doing them.”

  She turned to stomp away. “I’ve heard enough.”

  He grabbed her wrist and pulled her back, having seen the flash of hurt in her eyes. He continued, “But there are parts I like a hell of a lot, Shannon. Your sweet side, when you show it. Your vulnerable side, when you let me see it. God knows you’re nosey, always getting into trouble, but you’re adorable when you admit you don’t have a clue what you’re doing, and you try anyway. I like your courage in getting through what you’ve been through. And I like your pretty body, especially that soft, lick-able belly.”

  She tried to stay mad, but his words had touched her. She hadn’t a clue he’d thought those things, any of those things.

  “That a good enough answer?”

  She nodded.

  “Truth or Dare, Shannon?”

  “Truth.”

  “When you sleep in my bed, do you ever think about what it’d be like to let me fuck you?”

  Her mouth parted, and her eyes met his.

  “The truth, Shannon.”

  “Yes, I’ve thought about it.”

  “Good, because I think about it every damn time you crawl in it.” He poured a shot.

  “Truth or Dare?”

  He leaned against the pool table. “Truth.”

  “When was your first time?”

  “What, sexually? The first time I ever fucked? Fifteen. But that wasn’t the best.” He downed another shot.

  “Tell me.”

  “A couple of years later I started cutting grass for a new lady in the neighborhood. She was maybe early forties, but hot as hell. I was seventeen, already six foot and muscled. Rock-hard abs.” He grinned, patting his stomach. “We had an affair that lasted a year. She taught me a lot. She was totally uninhibited in her sexuality. She answered every question I had, and I had a lot. I learned how to please her, what turned her on, what turned me on, and how to watch the signs a woman gives.”

  “Signs?”

  “Signs. I learned to tell when she wanted it slow and gentle, and when she wanted it rough and hard. Every way there was to fuck, every position you can imagine, she taught them to me. And not just how to fuck, but how to give pleasure. Sometimes it wasn’t even about the sex. Sometimes it was just about touching.”

  Shannon looked away, lifting her hair off the back of her neck.

  A smile pulled at the corner of his mouth. “You’re getting hot and bothered.”

  Her eyes came back to him. “Am I?”

  He nodded. “Want me to help you out with that?”

  She rolled her eyes and looked away.

  “Truth or Dare?”

  Her eyes came back to him. They stared at each other a long moment before she swallowed and murmured, “Dare.”

  “Walk over here and kiss me.” He watched her eyes get big. “Come on, Shannon, where’s all that courage now?”

  She took in a breath and walked over to him, her eyes skating down over his bare chest and arms. She stopped in front of him.

  “Kiss me,” he ordered.

  She went up on tiptoe, her hands lightly touching his abs to keep her balance, and she pressed a soft kiss to his lips. It wasn’t bad as kisses go, but it wasn’t nearly what he’d had in mind. She dropped back down.

  “Like you mean it, Shannon.”

  Her eyes moved from his eyes to his mouth, and this time her soft hands came up to cup his face, determination to meet his challenge clearly written on hers. She tilted her head to the side and opened her mouth over his lips. He opened, inviting her inside. After a moment’s hesitation, her tongue slipped inside, tentatively at first, then with more boldness.

  He let her lead, let her set the pace, following wherever in this dance she wanted to take him, taking whatever she gave, but not asking for more. He could sense her uncertainty when he broke off this time. She’d expected him to take control, which was exactly why he hadn’t. “Ask me, Shannon,” he demanded.

  “What?” She frowned, confused.

  “The game, it’s your turn.”

  “Truth or Dare?”

  “Dare. And make it good, Shannon.”

  “Kiss me. Kiss me the way you want it.”

  He grabbed her face in his hands this time and pulled her face up. His mouth came down on hers. A moment later, his arms slid around her, one pulling her hips against him, the other sliding up her back—his hand sifting into her hair. His fist closed over her hair, and he pulled her head back giving him more access, taking control of the kiss. His mouth plundered, his tongue sweeping inside. It was a long time before he came up for air. When he did, they were both breathing hard.

  He stared down into her bewildered face, wondering if the kiss had affected her as much as it had him. “Truth or Dare, Shannon?”

  “Truth,” she whispered, wondering what he would ask.

  “How long has it been?”

  She cocked her head to the side, questioningly.

  “When was your last time?” He didn’t know why i
t was important to him, but it was.

  She suddenly pushed out of his arms and spun around. “I don’t want to play this game anymore.”

  Crash wasn’t sure exactly why the question had upset her or what had caused her sudden mood swing, but he wasn’t about to let it slide. “Did I hit a nerve, Shannon?” He moved in close behind her and trailed his finger down her spine from her neck to where her silky tank started at her bra strap. She arched her back in reaction, and he watched from over her shoulder as her breasts thrust out.

  “Quit!” she snapped.

  “Ticklish?” He did it again, mostly to watch her chest pop out again. Fuck that was hot. She spun around, slapping at his hand. He grabbed her hand. “So, you didn’t answer the question. Are you taking the dare?”

  “Fine.”

  His eyes slid past her to the pool table, and he nodded toward it. “Play a game of pool with me,” he challenged, dying to see her bent over the table in those short shorts of hers.

  “Pool?” She glanced over at the table. “All right. Sure. Why not?”

  “You haven’t heard the rest.” He quirked a brow. “I get to choose the stakes.”

  “Stakes?”

  “Yep. Gotta place a wager on the outcome of the game, otherwise it’s no fun.”

  Shannon rolled her eyes. “Okay. Fine. What’s the bet?”

  “You lose, ink of my choice anywhere on your pretty body I want to put it.”

  “Ink?”

  He tapped one of the tats on his arm. “Yeah, a tattoo. Ink. I lay ink anywhere on your body I want to put it.”

  “You? You know how to tattoo?”

  “I got a lot of talents, Princess. I’m an artistic guy. Sculpting’s not the only form I know.”

  “Really?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “Hmm.” She glanced at the table considering and then back at him. “And if I win?”

  “Same. Any ink you want. Anywhere on my body.” He saw her reaction, and the corners of his mouth pulled up. He watched her eyes drop to his chest and skate over his body, and he knew her imagination was running wild. “I can see that got your interest.”

  “It’s kind of…hot,” she admitted in a whisper.

  “Princess, there’s no ‘kind of’ about it. It just plain is hot. You in?”

  “Yes,” she agreed, the word coming out in a breathy voice he liked a hell of a lot.

  His grin turned lascivious. “Rack ‘em, love.”

  He gave her first shot, and she broke cleanly. Parking his ass on a barstool he pulled over from the island, he watched as she sank three balls before missing a shot. He had to admit she had some skills. “You’ve played before.”

  She straightened from the table as he got up to take his shot. “Some. My father had a table.” She took the barstool he’d vacated.

  He raised his chin in acknowledgement. “I see. You’re not bad.” He leaned over the table and sank two balls in separate pockets with one shot.

  “You’re not bad yourself,” she observed.

  He sank another ball and glanced over, catching the look on her face as she worried, her lower lip caught between her teeth. He decided to prolong the game and purposely missed the next shot. “You’re up, Princess.”

  She slid off the barstool and walked around the table, studying the available shots.

  He sat on the barstool, his cue clenched between his fists and watched her as she moved. She came around to his side of the table and leaned over to make a shot. Crash’s eyes fell to her ass which was thrust up so prettily right at him. He was so caught up in studying her ass in those short shorts that he didn’t realize he was getting in the way of her stick.

  “Excuse me.”

  He looked up to see her eyes looking back at him over her shoulder as she bent over the table. She moved her cue forward and back an inch, and he saw he was blocking her shot. He scrambled off the barstool, pulling it out of her way. “Sorry, darlin’.”

  She made the shot and straightened, walking around the table, contemplating her next shot. She bent and sank another ball, then missed on her next shot.

  Crash stood up and chalked his cue. His eyes met hers. “So, you decide yet what ink you want to put on my body if you win, Princess?”

  She shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe my name in big block letters across your chest.”

  He chuckled and leaned down to make his shot. “That’s not very original. Come on, baby, you can do better than that.” He sank the ball and moved to another.

  “Where did you say the most painful area was? Your ribs? Maybe I’ll put it there.”

  “Ouch!” he said around a grin as he sank another ball. He looked up to see her studying the table. He had only one ball left and the eight ball. He could finish her off right now, but he was really curious to see just what she’d pick if she won, so he decided to give her one last shot at it. He sank his last ball and purposely missed on the eight ball.

  When he looked up this time with an, “Oops,” he saw she was on to him.

  She slid off the barstool with a smirk, moving up to him. “You want to give the game away, I’ll take it. Maybe you enjoy pain.” She cocked her head sideways, her eyebrows raised as she slid the tips of her fingers down the ink on his ribs.

  His eyes bore into hers as her touch set a flame tearing through him. “Go ahead. Finish me off, and we’ll see. Otherwise, it’ll be me putting my mark on you.” He watched her swallow, and he smiled.

  She moved to take her shot. She sank the first of the two balls she had left on the table easily. Moving to the eight ball, she realized how tricky a shot it was going to be. She had to stretch across the table to get her cue in position. She was practically lying across the felt, her ass once again in the air. She glanced back and caught his eyes moving over her ass and legs again, and he watched her as she trembled.

  They exchanged a look that said it all. In another minute, one of them was getting ink.

  She pulled back her stick and tapped the cue ball. He watched as she scratched, and her head dropped to the table. A moment later he was leaning over her, his chest pressed up against her back, covering her, his arms coming to rest on the felt on either side of her. He whispered in her ear, “I know just what I want and where I want it, Shannon.”

  “Oh, God,” he heard her say into the felt and chuckled.

  “You’re not gonna wuss out on me now, are you? That’s called welshing.”

  “I’m not a welsher.” She turned her head to the side.

  “Prove it,” he said in her ear.

  “Fine. Let’s do it.”

  He lifted off her and pulled her up and around to face him. Then his eyes moved past her to the pool table and the light hanging above it. “This is as good a place as any. The lighting’s perfect.” His hands went to her waist, and he lifted her up and set her ass on the pool table.

  She looked up at him, startled. “Crash, what are you doing?”

  “Gonna lay my ink on you. Here’s as good a spot as any. Lie back, darlin’.” She stared up at him, and he could see the confusion and maybe a little fear in her face. He lifted his hand to her cheek, cupping it and looked into her eyes. Stepping closer, he pushed between her knees. “I don’t want you to be afraid, Shannon. I can’t promise you it won’t hurt, because it will. It’ll sting like a bitch, but I’ll go easy on you, sweetheart. That I promise. All right?”

  She looked up at him, and he could swear he watched the fear slide right out of her eyes. And then she nodded, gazing up at him trustingly.

  “That’s my girl. Lie back for me, baby,” he coaxed softly. She did as he told her, and he found himself standing over her, his hips wedged between her spread thighs, her knees hooked over the wide table bumper.

  “What…what are you going to put on me?” she asked him in a hesitant voice.

  “You’ll see when it’s finished.”

  “Where?”

  He stared down at her, and then his hands moved to the snap of her shorts.
“I’ll show you.”

  Her hands clamped over his, stopping him. “Crash.”

  “Princess, trust me. Okay?”

  Her hands released his, and he undid the snap and zipper, spreading the placket wide. His thumb traced along the edge of her panties. “Right here, I think. Low enough nobody gets to see it unless you want them to.” His eyes met hers, and he could see his touch was having an effect on her. Her chest was rising and falling with her accelerated breathing. He needed to get started before she freaked. “Stay right there. Let me get my stuff.”

  He moved off and returned in a few minutes, laying his tools out on the felt beside her. He watched her eyes fall on the equipment as he plugged it in and returned to the table. Scooting the barstool up, he sat between her knees. Then he snapped on a pair of black surgical gloves and picked up a marking pen to sketch out his design in freehand on her belly. He paused, looking up. She was staring down at the pen poised over her belly. “Na-uh. No peeking.”

  She rolled her eyes and looked away, but a moment later they returned to his hands as she jumped at the first stroke of the pen tickling her belly.

  His eyes met hers as he leaned over her. “Babe, you jump like that when I got the needle to your skin, it’s not gonna be pretty.”

  “Sorry.”

  He started the sketch again, his eyes flicking up to meet hers. “You’re watching.”

  “Sorry.” She looked away.

  He tossed the pen down, getting up.

  Her eyes came back to his. “What are you doing?” She followed him as he moved around the table.

  “Solving this problem.”

  “What problem?”

  “You. Not being able to keep from peeking.” He returned to the table with one of her scarves in his hands.

  Her eyes fell on it and got big. “What are you going to do with that?”

  “Blindfold you. Make sure you can’t peek again.”

  “Oh, no you’re not.” She started to scramble up. He pushed one open palm to her chest and gently pushed her back down.

  He grinned to reassure her. “Relax, Shannon. It’ll help you relax if your eyes aren’t darting all over. Now close your eyes, calm down and trust me.”

  Reluctantly, she did as he asked, and he tied the scarf over her eyes. “You okay?”