by S. E. Jakes
McKibbins definitely would be. He’d be checking my story and Ryker’s for any cracks. But right now, I was more interested in Ryker’s story itself. “How’d you set up an alibi for me?”
He didn’t answer that, telling me instead, “Just stick with the story and you’ll be fine. Happened on Havoc’s property.”
“I’ve never been to Havoc’s compound.”
“I’ve got a list of guys who saw you have your accident on the bike.”
Fuck, he was serious. I tried a different approach. “Pretty sure I left blood in the car.”
“Pretty sure that information won’t pan out.”
“Jesus.” Apparently, Ryker was a better criminal than I was. He’d tracked down the car after the crash . . . and he was here, after the accident. And maybe, just maybe, Ryker being here when I got home from the hospital wasn’t an accident at all. “Jesus, you’ve been watching me.”
“Yes.”
“Just like McKibbins.”
The words were barely out of my mouth before I found myself pressed between Ryker and the wall, not hard enough to hurt, but hard enough for me to know I wasn’t getting away easily. “You know better than that,” he growled.
“No, actually, I don’t.” Christ, I was irritable. I blamed the pain and the meds. The lack of sex. Being this close to the only man I wanted to have sex with and not being able to have sex with him. “Ryker, I’m twenty-fucking-four years old—”
“And you almost died the other night.”
“Not the first time and I’m sure it won’t be the last,” I told him as calmly as I could manage, but he didn’t react. At least not how I thought he would. Instead of anger, his eyes held a compassion that made my throat tighten. “I can take care of myself. I’ve been doing it for a hell of a long time.”
“This hit you hard. Up till now, you’ve been in enough crashes and close calls, seen enough shit on the battlefield and walked away in one piece, to think you’re invincible.” He paused, rubbed my cheek with his tattooed knuckles. “I want to keep you that way.”
“Why’s that?” I asked before I could stop myself. Because I was pissed. Pissed that he was being nice. Pissed that he wouldn’t let me pick this goddamned fight.
“Like I haven’t been showing you that for eight months?”
I blinked, because we’d been here before. It was maybe the third time he’d broken into my place. I hadn’t seen him for three months because I hadn’t been home. But there’d been a firefight and a bombing and my unit had seen a lot of action. All of us limped to a hospital in Germany and then back to the States, and I’d been put on a couple weeks medical leave to heal broken ribs and a sprained elbow.
I’d been pissed then too. Especially when he’d come in and tried to treat me like I was made of glass. I’d pushed then too—without words—and we’d ended up fucking like it was a fight. He’d held me down for most of it, mainly so I wouldn’t hurt myself.
Afterwards, when he’d rolled away from me, I’d muttered into the dark, “Don’t fucking need to be taken care of.”
In seconds, I’d been lifted and pinned to the wall and Jesus Christ, like he’d taken my words as some kind of dare, he’d stayed for hours more and he’d definitely taken care of me. I just hadn’t put it together like that . . . until right now.
And right now, he was watching me as I was lost in remembering. Nodding slowly as I focused back on him. “Whatever you’re thinking about is taking the anger out of your eyes, babe. You need reminding. When you’re better, I’ll remind you. Fuck you on every available flat surface. And the not-so-flat ones.”
“You want to take care of me.”
“And?”
“You’re talking about fucking me, which is different from taking care of me. And I don’t need to be taken care of.” Beyond the past seventy-two hours. But I wasn’t going to argue about the fucking because hey, needed and wanted.
His knee pressed my cock through my sweats. “You realize your dick gets harder every time I talk about taking care of you?”
“You need to let me the fuck down,” I growled.
Instead of complying, he tilted his head, examining me. “You’d get twitchy when you first came home from combat, no?”
His eyes bore into mine, and I didn’t want him knowing shit like that about me. I didn’t want anyone knowing anything about me, but he wasn’t going to let the subject drop.
“Sometimes,” I admitted.
“And that didn’t stop when you got out for good.” I didn’t confirm or deny. “I help with that, by fucking you so hard you can’t see straight, think straight, or walk straight. Till you’re holding on to me for dear life, yelling so loud the neighbors know my name. That’s taking care of you.” The shudder went from the bottom of my spine and spread everywhere. And he noticed. Nodded slowly. “Yeah, my baby liked that.”
“I’m going to lose my mind with you.”
“Gonna like it though.”
I had. I did. “What’s in it for you?”
“You, Sean,” he said, and I got that tight feeling in my throat again, because fuck, he really meant that. “I’d never do anything to get you in trouble. That’s first.”
I stared into his dark eyes, managed, “Good for you. I’ll get you a medal.”
His mouth twitched. “Don’t need one. Got you.”
“Again, you don’t have me,” I said irritably, mainly to hide the fact that yeah, he most definitely did have me.
“You woke me up. Getting me all domestic and shit.”
I rolled my eyes. “Last time I looked, I didn’t have a pussy, so cut all the romantic shit.”
“Babe, if that’s romance to you, you’ve been with guys who’ve been doing it wrong. Really goddamned wrong.”
Okay, fine, I liked being fucked by him, and if he wanted to consider that taking care of me, I wasn’t arguing. But I wasn’t telling him that either. “You’ve seriously been watching me this whole time?”
He nodded. “Not just me. You would’ve noticed.”
He was right. My body responded to him whenever he was in close proximity. Which meant . . . “You were at the race the other night.” He smiled. I took it as a yes. “I don’t get it—you’re bikers, not secret agents.”
“We all have our special talents.”
He wasn’t moving, wasn’t letting me down, kept my weight balanced against his and the wall, making my cock hard and my body ache for him. But fuck, I wasn’t giving in. I might not be able to move, but I wasn’t losing this round. “So what else did you learn over the last eight months?”
Ryker stared at me, his dark eyes like endless depths. “You go out a lot.”
“Excellent spy work.”
He seemed thoroughly unimpressed with my wiseassedness, and somehow amused by it at the same time. His mouth quirked up at the corner. “You get hit on a lot.”
I nodded my acknowledgment.
“And you flirt.”
Again, I nodded, realizing that maybe I wasn’t going to win this one.
“And then you leave.”
“Can’t sleep on a bar,” I pointed out.
“You leave alone.”
I shifted and his knee rocked against my cock and balls.
I might’ve whimpered.
He definitely might’ve noticed.
“Why not bring someone home?” he asked.
“Didn’t want to,” I muttered.
“Because your bed was already crowded.” He smirked. “Of course, if you were worried I’d crash your party, you could’ve gone to their place. Or a hotel.”
I closed my eyes, the only defense mechanism I could think of at the moment. Mainly because he continued rubbing my crotch with his knee, and I needed to come.
“You push people away,” Ryker continued.
“You don’t even need me here for this.” I wanted to point out that I wasn’t pushing him away at the present moment—that, if anything, I wanted him closer. But that would weaken my position eve
n more.
Ryker ignored me. “But you flirt, lead them on. You tried to pull that shit with me too. That first night when you propositioned me.”
I frantically sought out that memory and once again, failed to bring it to the forefront. I opened my eyes and asked, “That first night you broke into my bedroom and fucked me?”
“While you yelled out my name? Yes, that one,” Ryker said casually. “But suppose I’d taken you to the backroom?”
His knee stopped and I groaned. “Did you even try?”
“No. Because you would’ve blown me off afterwards. If we’d even gotten that far.”
My eyes narrowed. “You were spying on me in backrooms? How long was the surveillance going on for?”
“As long as it needed to.”
And all because I’d propositioned him? Dammit—I’d started this whole thing. “Let me the fuck down.” I shoved at him. He stared at me, then let me down, making it clear that he was letting me go rather than me getting away from him. Asshole. “You can’t do this. Can’t come in here and try to run my fucking life.”
“Not what I’m doing, babe.”
“Really? Spying on me?”
“Keeping an eye out for you. And good thing I was, yes?”
“No. Because I got myself to the hospital.”
Ryker swallowed. Hard. My words were an accusation to him too, and no matter how subtle, he’d caught it. “Where was your best friend while all this was happening, Sean?”
“He lost his phone. I called Linc, who was with Noah, and told him about the accident and then I didn’t call either of them back.”
“So you’re going to shoulder the blame for this?”
I ignored that—because why was he right all the time, dammit—and said, “It’s not your goddamned right to kick my friends out of my house, no matter how fucking pissed I might be at them.”
His tone was controlled when he answered. “It’s my goddamned right when you’re involved. Because I’m goddamned involved in all of this.”
“You put yourself in the middle. I didn’t ask you to alibi me for McKibbins. I don’t need to owe anyone shit.”
“I’m not just anyone, Sean.”
His voice had gotten low and dangerous, his expression tight, and I didn’t care. I was pissed at everything, including and especially myself, and I’d keep pushing. Mainly because he was right—he wasn’t just anyone, and I’d been too wrapped up to truly notice that. And I wanted him to get pissed, to lose control, because calm, cool, and collected screamed indifference to me. “What I do with my time’s my business, unless you’re planning on jumping to McKibbins’s side of the street and making a citizen’s arrest.”
“I’m involved, Sean, because you got me involved.”
“I got you involved?”
“Edmund’s a low-level player in the car theft game with ties to different mafias. And he’s using you.”
“I got paid. I was helping Noah get out.” And I’d enjoyed the fuck out of it until I’d almost died. And even that hadn’t taken away the need to steal. What the fuck was wrong with me?
“I’m not talking about payment.”
I stared at him, finally going back to the subject I’d been avoiding. “So the brakes being cut—was that a message to Edmund?”
“A message from him, actually. To you,” he added, like it was necessary to emphasize it. And fuck, it had been, because I didn’t want to see it.
But it was right in front of my face, and still, I was ducking and weaving.
“You’re saying Edmund tried to kill me? Because that’s a stretch.”
Ryker stared at me, leveling the fuck out of me with his gaze before hitting me with, “Do you think Noah has been stupid enough to mention your involvement with me?”
hit. I opened my mouth, then closed it. Because Noah would’ve definitely seen my relationship with Ryker—and Havoc—as something to mention, as an opportunity, even if he didn’t quite know what the hell kind of opportunity it was.
I did manage a “Fuck me,” then pointed at Ryker when his eyes lit a little. “I didn’t mean that literally. Okay, I did, just not right now. Fuck, I’m pissed . . . okay, come here.”
He kissed me, hard and fast, and I murmured, “Fuck. Fuck,” against his mouth, my mind reeling. “Ryk . . .”
Because he was involved. Because of me. Edmund’d tried to fucking kill me because of Ryker. Which meant somehow Ryker and I could both be targets of his.
My fingers curled into his hair, keeping him close. My entire body was a giant heartbeat, a throbbing, endless need I wanted him to fill. We’d done this dance before, so many times and ways, but right now, I knew what I had to do.
Normally, he kept me too on the edge to protest, even though we both knew damned well that I could. Kept me pleasured and pliant and willing. Kept me yearning. No one could replace Ryker’s touch, his tongue, his cock, his hands . . . the man dominated me without really trying, like he knew I’d strike back, buck, and run with an outward show of dominance.
Yeah, he’d gotten me from minute one, it seemed. And now, we managed to get to the bedroom and he was letting me climb him, his big body lying submissive for me. At first, I think it was shock, because really, I’d never actually fought his hold and I’m damned strong. I pushed his wrists up to the headboard and jacked his cock slowly, his jeans open but still on.
He groaned through his teeth.
“You going to keep your hands there?” I asked him.
“That’s what you want?”
“Yes.”
“Consider it done, Sean.”
He grabbed tight to the headboard. I glanced up from sucking his cock and balls and saw the muscles in his forearms straining.
The strange thing was, I didn’t want to top him. Not right now, anyway. This was about him being right, and me being angry about that, but accepting it anyway. I grabbed a condom, slid it onto his cock and added some extra lube, then lowered myself onto him without preparing myself. He almost stopped me—I saw it in his eyes—but then he didn’t.
I lowered myself—carefully, because that’s the only thing that made his jaw unclench and this was supposed to be my goddamned apology. And I had no other way to say it but this way. This and stealing—it was all I knew, and the danger of both was all I needed.
He was so goddamned big, and I took him inside me. Without waiting, I rode him, pressing his chest with my palms, holding him down (and he pretended I could) and fucking him, trying to force his orgasm first—a hoarsely rasped “Fucking hell, Sean” rumbling from deep in his chest.
One goddamned touch from him, and it was like he tamed some wild thing that lived inside of me that was ready and waiting for the right time to strike.
Conventional wisdom stated that the bottom was the one in control. Whoever made that shit up hadn’t been fucked by Ryker. Because I was on top, riding him, setting the pace and the only one orchestrating this thing? The dark-haired, dark-eyed man who undid me with a look, never mind his cock.
He smiled, a cat who ate the canary smile, as he flexed his hips, driving himself deeper inside of me. I came, splattering cum on my chest and his belly, and then I fell forward as he kept fucking me.
My lips trailed down his chest. I tweaked his nipples, tugged them between my teeth and his body tensed. I swear he got harder. But I wanted him begging, wanted to channel all our anger into the sex and let it burn there, let it diffuse. Turn it into something amazing and powerful.
“Hold me, Ryker.” Maybe I said it out loud. Maybe I didn’t. Either way, his arms went around me, holding me tight as I continued to shudder through my orgasm. And then I swear I almost came again when he came, and I shuddered all over again. I was hot and cold, my muscles loose. I was easy right now.
“I like you easy.”
“I bet you do.”
He laughed. “I’m not talking that kind of easy. I mean this.” His arms tightened around me. “Happy. Unguarded. Letting me inside.”
We
stayed like that, contented, for a while. At one point, he rolled away to clean up and came back with a washcloth for me. And then he got back into bed.
It was light out. I could see him—really see him. For the first time since the accident, when I wasn’t in pain or doped up. He was really beautiful. It was easy to miss with the leather and tattoos and the attitude . . . the sharp cheekbones, aquiline nose.
I could see the Indian heritage standing out in stark contrast to a lighter complexion. I traced his lips with my finger, then pressed it into his mouth. He sucked hard, and it jolted through my nervous system. My cock dripped.
“Come on, baby. Come let me suck on you.” His voice was a single point, a rasp, the only thing for me to hold on to as I completely lost control.
As if I’d ever had it with him.
I made my way up his body, until I was straddling his head. I grabbed the headboard for support at the same time he grabbed my hips and brought my cock to his mouth. As he stared up at me, he dragged his tongue along the slit and then took my cock into his mouth and sucked. His tongue lapped the broad head, tasting me. I watched, because this was everything I’d missed over the past months by staying in the dark. I’d been worried that turning on the light would break the spell—for both of us, maybe—and would’ve made this thing end much too soon.
“You never turned . . . the light . . . on,” I managed.
He pulled back a fraction. “You weren’t ready.” His warm breath brushed my cock and then he leaned in and took it in his mouth again, sucking with just the right amount of pressure that my mouth dropped and Jesus, it was perfect. The top of my head tightened, preparing to explode. I held the headboard for dear goddamned life as he made my entire body scream for mercy.
I was aware that I was babbling. Most of it sounded incoherent, but I know there was Ryker, God, and fuck in there . . . and he teased me. Brought me to the edge and pulled back until I was covered with sweat and trembling from exhaustion.
I might’ve stopped breathing when I came. All I know, beyond the pleasure, was Ryker helping me ease away from him, catching me before I fell completely off the side of the bed. He rolled me onto my belly and I lay there, splayed, boneless for him. He took me without mercy, his cock fitting into me, my body hitching for him when he came. And then I came again. Like, what the fuck? It wrung me out, left me helpless. And I didn’t care, because Ryker was there with me.