Strip You Bare

by Maisey Yates

  Micah wasn’t certain which Blue he was staring down today. He was pretty attached to his spine, so he had to hope it was the former.

  “Doesn’t much surprise me,” he said, rolling his shoulders back. “My family, as a general rule, is a bunch of rich fucks who have money where their souls should be. I don’t know why Sarah should have grown up to be any different.”

  Now, for some strange reason, he felt defensive of Sarah. And he was the one who had just called her a rich bitch. But he had been lying. The problem wasn’t Sarah; the problem had never been Sarah. The problem was how Sarah made him feel. And that he was impatient to get back home. Leon didn’t know that. Leon was being insulting.

  “Don’t take it too far, Leon. I’m just saying she clearly doesn’t know anything.”

  “Someone does,” Ajax said. “And you’ll continue to keep your ears open.”

  “I think Blue should go deal with his cousin,” Micah said.

  “We already discussed this,” Blue said. “We don’t need to bring baggage into it. As far as I’m aware, nobody in the Delacroix family knows where I ended up. I’m not in a hurry to change that. We need to figure out what all of this means independent of me. Because I sure as hell didn’t have anything to do with the club ending up with this mansion. I don’t want to create connections where there aren’t any.”

  “Bullshit. You don’t want to deal with her because you don’t want to deal with your family.”

  Blue shrugged. And Micah had a feeling he was about to sit and have a beer with his spine in place. Because when Blue was casual, you were usually in danger. Instead, the other man crossed his arms over his broad chest and leaned back. “I don’t. There’s nothing in it for me. There’s certainly no reason to make things any more dramatic for Sarah than they need to be. I’m happy to keep those ties severed, thanks.”

  “Just shut your whore mouth and deal with it, Prince.” This came from Ajax, unsurprisingly.

  “I’m dealing. But I don’t have anything to report. If you do, that would be helpful.”

  “Not yet,” Travis said. “Billie interacts with a lot of the people here in town at the gallery, so she’s been feeling things out.”

  “Not very successfully,” Billie said.

  “You’re trying,” Travis said, smiling at Billie in a way that could only be described as tender. Shit. What was the world coming to?

  “Thanks to Alice we have a direct line with the Ministry now. Unfortunately, that hasn’t turned anything up, either.”

  “The Ministry aren’t behind it,” Ajax said. “I’m satisfied enough with Blade’s word on that.”

  “But,” Leon said, “there are connections within connections that we’re trying to use. Alice talks to a lot of people that come through her garage. Real salt-of-the-earth types.”

  “I bet,” Micah said. “I’m sticking close, but at this point all I can guarantee is that I will be attending a very fancy Christmas party when I would much rather be at home dealing with my own shit.”

  “I suggest you get in the holiday spirit,” Ajax said. “Because you’re here for as long as we need you.”

  He couldn’t foresee himself getting in the holiday spirit anytime soon. He was, however, definitely in the spirit to push one very uptight socialite against a wall and screw her until neither of them could breathe.

  He shouldn’t have come here. He shouldn’t have left the mansion. He should have stayed there and done just that.

  “I hate you,” Micah said, no real venom in his words.

  “You and my own mother,” Ajax said. “Am I supposed to be bothered by that?”

  “I’m leaving.”

  “Go,” Ajax said, clearly disinterested.

  Somehow, during this exchange Micah had a feeling he and Ajax had patched up a few things. He wasn’t sure how.

  “I’ll walk you out.” This came from Blue, a surprise. Micah wondered if Blue hadn’t decided to spare him, if he’d only just decided to wait and kill him outside where he wouldn’t make a mess.

  “His ass is mine, Blue,” Ajax said. “If I find out you had him out in some alley, I’m going to be pissed.”

  Neither Micah nor Blue responded, both continued out of the Priory. Micah started to walk down toward the mansion, but Blue stopped. He said nothing, but Micah knew it was his signal to stop too.

  “What, Leon?” He used his given name on purpose.

  “If you hurt my cousin, I’ll skin you alive, make a jacket out of you, and ride down Bourbon Street wearing you like my new colors. So we’re clear.”

  “If I hurt her? You mean if I bang her?” Micah laughed. “What are you, her overprotective dad? Since when do you care about shit like that?”

  “Usually? I don’t. But Sarah isn’t Sophie, or Alice, or even Billie. She’s not one of the chicks we used to take back to the clubhouse. She’s not a part of this world. You have no idea how protected they would have kept her. She’s got to be naïve as hell. She doesn’t know what kind of man you are.”

  “She’s a grown woman, she’ll make her own decisions. If she wants to suck me off, I’m hardly going to say no.”

  “I’m starting to think you have an active death wish.”

  “If I did, I would have left already. But I genuinely believe Ajax would cut my tattoo off, so here I am.”

  “Is that the only reason you’re still here?”

  Micah cleared his throat. “For Priest. That’s the beginning and end of it. I . . . I don’t know what you get out of this life. I don’t know, I don’t care. But understand it didn’t do the same thing for me. It kept me from dying for a while, but in the end it would’ve killed me. But Priest was a father to me when nobody else was. For all that he was a bad guy, he was good to me. And whoever killed him . . . I want them to pay. Don’t tell Ajax I said that.” Micah turned away and kept on walking. He stopped when Blue spoke again, but didn’t turn.

  “Glad to hear it. But I’ll still fucking kill you if you hurt her.”

  “Then I won’t.”

  He had a feeling they both knew that was a lie.

  “What are you still doing here, princess?”

  Sarah turned at the sound of that familiar voice that created an instant response in her body. It was strange how quickly she knew him. But no one sounded like Micah. His voice was everything he was. Grit. Depth. Honesty.

  She could hear all of that in the sound of his voice, and it made her wonder what was wrong with her, since she couldn’t tell if her best friends were being nice or bitchy half the time in a twenty-minute phone call, never mind a greeting.

  She was so tired of it. Tired of all of it. He would help. He would strip all these layers away she couldn’t seem to take off on her own. He could be the one to shatter her.

  “I don’t know why I’m here,” she said. Liar.

  She needed to cling to that harder now, to make it all the more satisfying when he took her. Because that was what she wanted. For him to take control. For him to strip her completely.

  “Oh, honey, don’t try that with me. Not when I can see straight through that sweet little look on your face. You aren’t here for nothing. And unless the cleaning crew is still hiding out, I think it’s for me.”

  She closed her eyes and swallowed hard. He knew.

  “No,” she said, her voice echoing in the entryway.

  He advanced on her then, a dark flame in his eyes. He reached out and gripped her chin, and her breath froze in the center of her throat, a restless surge bursting through her. Arousal. Complete and total. Blotting out everything else.

  His grip hurt, and she was afraid of what he might do. Afraid of what she might do. But it didn’t matter. Not when walking away was so much scarier. Walking right back into that perfectly pressed mint-julep world, when she could stay here and ride the hurricane.

  “You’re so pretty. But you’re such a fucking liar,” he said, his tone soft, deadly. “You know exactly why you’re here. Wearing that prim little dress like it d
oesn’t show your tits and how pretty your ass is. Like you didn’t come back here so I’d shove it up your hips and bury myself in your pussy.”

  Her face heated. Her whole body heated. Sure, men shouted words like that across the street, but she let those slide right off. These didn’t slide off. They sunk in deep beneath her skin, burning right through down to her blood. Pooling in her stomach. Lower.

  Her internal muscles clenched tight in response. In desire. She wanted him more than she’d ever wanted anything. Even a handbag.

  She didn’t know him. They’d spent a couple of days hanging around each other, and he’d done nothing but act like a jerk. They hadn’t had any real conversation.

  Nothing like the cabal who’d known her since she was an infant. Nothing like her family. Who’d decided, long before she ever had, just what and who she would be.

  That damned double-edged sword of her position in life. That gave her power and stripped her of it all at the same time.

  But Micah didn’t care who she was. And she didn’t care what he thought.

  Where else would she ever have that? Not in New Orleans. Not in this life. But in this moment? In this house? With him?

  Maybe for just an evening she could strip it all off. Forget what she should be, and be who she was. Maybe she wasn’t this. But if she didn’t try, she wouldn’t know.

  At least that was her justification. Because it was what she wanted. And right now that was the easiest choice to make.

  She said nothing. She wouldn’t need to. He would tell her what to do. He would know what she wanted.

  Slowly, so achingly slow, as if he read her mind, he leaned in. And he pressed his lips to hers. Heat spread through her like sunlight breaking through a cloud, rolling slowly over each and every part of her.

  And then when he touched his tongue to hers, it burst into flame. She arched against him, desperate for more. Desperate for everything. But he held her fast, his hand like iron as he forced her to keep still, as he kept her just where he wanted her while he subjected her to a kiss so carnal it surpassed every other sexual experience she’d had.

  They parted again and she was breathing hard, his dark eyes cutting into hers like a blade. “Liar,” he said, his breath hot against her cheek. “You knew this would happen. You wanted this.” He bit her bottom lip and she gasped as his teeth scraped over the tender, swollen skin. “But because you lied to me, you’re going to have to earn it.”

  He reached down between their bodies and she felt his hand moving. Working his belt. A tremor shot through her, anticipation rendering her utterly motionless.

  “Get on your knees,” he said, his voice rough. “You’ll start by sucking my cock.”

  She shivered, need taking hold of her. She loved it when he talked like this. When he told her what to do. Like he didn’t give a fuck who she was, what she was. He wasn’t careful with her. Didn’t hide what he wanted. It made her feel . . . it made her feel free.

  He released his hold on her chin, reached around, and tangled his fingers in her hair, tugging hard, guiding her down to her knees. And she followed. Obeyed. Her legs shaking as she went to the newly polished marble floor of the proud Delacroix family manor.

  He slipped the end of his leather belt through the buckle slowly, and she drew in a sharp breath, everything in her body heightened by awareness. Anticipation.

  His fingers went to the snap, and the sound echoed in the room, along with the slow slide of the zipper.

  He had nothing on beneath the rough denim, and when he parted the fabric, he revealed the thick, hard length of his cock. He wrapped his fingers around his shaft and tugged himself free, the head hovering near her lips.

  She’d done this before, with Charlie. But it had been so different. Always, always he’d been apologetic. A simpering look on his face as he’d tugged his dress pants down and exposed himself. He couldn’t help it. He needed relief.

  He was sorry.

  Micah wasn’t sorry. Micah had his hands in her hair, ready to close the distance between her mouth and his dick if she didn’t do it herself.

  Micah stood there like a king expecting to be worshipped.

  She was a willing supplicant.

  None of this fake bullshit. None of this I want to protect you by making sure the orgasms are only mine.

  This was honest. At least this was finally honest.

  He wasn’t asking for a favor with false regret in his tone. And she wasn’t doing him a favor. She wanted this. Needed this.

  He tightened his hold on her hair and she gasped as pain pricked her scalp.

  “Suck it,” he said, his voice hard.

  She leaned in, flicking her tongue over him, a moan escaping her as she tasted him. Then she opened wider, drawing him in deep, taking it slow.

  She felt his body stiffen, his grip painful now. And she loved it. Craved it. He didn’t have to act like he was ashamed. Like he was sorry.

  Like she should be sorry.

  He liked this. And he liked her like this.

  She liked herself like this, and nothing else mattered.

  She put her hands on his thighs, still covered by denim. Hot. Hard. She could feel his muscles trembling beneath her touch.

  Oh yeah, he was a big, badass biker who had a lot more experience than she did, but he was into this. He wanted it.

  He needed it.

  She shifted, gripping the base of him and squeezing tight as she continued to explore him with her lips and tongue.

  She’d never, never in all her life imagined she would be here. Down on the floor with a chandelier and the horrified ghosts of her ancestors looking on, as she knelt in front of a man she didn’t even know.

  Damned if that didn’t turn her on even more.

  Because she was so sick of the expected. So sick of her damn self. Of being what everyone wanted her to be and ignoring what she wanted.

  She lifted her head, then licked him base to tip, relishing his flavor as she did, looking up and taking in the tortured expression on his handsome face.

  He was all feral now. Lost in this moment, his hand buried in her hair. No trace of the businessman he claimed to be.

  Good.

  They were both erasing parts of themselves. The neat parts. The civilized parts.

  She had a feeling they would both have more fun like this.

  “You like this, don’t you?” he asked, his voice raw, ragged. She nodded, feeling resistance where he still held her tight. “Don’t lie to me.”

  She bit her lip and said nothing. Agreed to nothing. Because if this was where lying got her . . . she might never tell the truth again.

  “Now, I think it’s time I took your pretty ass upstairs.” He tugged hard on her hair and she rose back to her feet. “But this isn’t Gone With the Wind here. I’m not going to carry you, and the door isn’t going to close when we get to the bedroom, understand?”

  She nodded slowly.

  “Good,” he said. “Take your dress off.”

  “But . . .”

  “Off. Now.” She bent at the waist, about to take her high heels off. “Leave those.”

  “But . . .” she started to protest again.

  “I didn’t ask, baby. Leave the shoes. Everything else goes.”

  With shaking hands Sarah reached behind her back and began to pull down the zipper. Disobedience had never even entered her mind. She was committed now, wasn’t she? His pants were still undone, his body still brazenly exposed. A reminder of what had just transpired.

  Turning back now would be a disappointment. Not to him. Her. To how far she had come in the past few minutes.

  How far she had come in just making the decision to stay here in the mansion, knowing he would be back, making these kinds of demands. Knowing that she would say yes.

  A shiver went down her spine as she pushed the dress off her shoulders and let it pool on the floor. She wondered then, as she reached back and unhooked her bra, if her acquiescence was even necessary. As she remove
d the silken garment, she looked up, meeting his gaze. Sharp. Cold. Hard. A predator.

  There was something thrilling about it. About knowing she was in too deep now. That if she tried to leave, he would probably stop her. She let her mind linger over that image. Encourage the spark that fantasy sent through her body.

  Firm hands on her body. Strong and rough.

  Without pausing, she wrapped her fingers around the flimsy fabric of her panties and pushed them down her legs, kicking them to the side, careful not to catch the heel of her pumps in the tangle of clothing on the floor.

  And now she was just as he had commanded. Naked, except for the deep-red-wine-colored shoes on her feet.

  “Turn around,” he said, his voice hard. “Walk up the stairs for me.”

  She did as he instructed.

  “Wait,” he said, gripping the back of her neck firmly, the warm weight of his touch sending a shiver through her. The harsh possession in the hold only amping up her arousal. He was so much stronger than she. His power over her, physically, was absolute. Why did that turn her on so damn much?

  Right now, she didn’t have to care. Right now, she just had to want it.

  “Take your hair down.”

  It was a command, as sure and certain as his hand on her neck.

  He removed his touch. He wasn’t going to do this for her.

  She reached up, shaking fingers searching for all the little pins in her hair, scattering them on the marble floor. Not caring about their ultimate fate. Her dark hair fell down to the middle of her back in a silken wave, and Micah growled. It was such a feral, uncivilized sound. Directed at her. Typically the picture of civility, a portrait of demure southern womanhood. But not right now.

  No, not right now.

  “Now, walk for me.”

  Without looking over her shoulder, she began to walk across the room. Conscious of the sway of her hips, the brush of her hair against her bare skin. But she didn’t stop. She fought to keep her shoulders straight, her posture perfect. So that she could carry a book on her head.

  Her mother would be so proud.

  The idea almost made her laugh. Almost.

  She put her fingers on the banister and began her ascent, trailing her palm along the polished wood as she walked up the curved staircase, utterly conscious of Micah’s gaze on her body. Just thinking about the way he was looking at her, the angles, what all he might be seeing, sent a jolt of heat through her, restlessness between her thighs that she knew well.