Strip You Bare

by Maisey Yates

  He wasn’t certain of very many things, but the fact that she was innocent was one of them. The fact that she was at the center of something she should never have been involved in was another.

  “That’s nice of you.”

  “Nice of me? I just pledged to protect you from harm.”

  “And it was very nice,” she said, her cultured accent only making the exchange more ridiculous.

  He reached out, gripping her chin between his thumb and forefinger, relishing the silky feel of her skin beneath his. “Now, don’t get confused and start thinking I’m nice, baby.”

  Her tongue darted out, touching the tip of his thumb. He shifted, pushing it into her mouth. She sucked him before swirling her tongue over it, her eyes never leaving his. He pulled back, suddenly so hard he could barely breathe through it. “Don’t worry. I know you aren’t nice.”

  “Good. I’m going to protect you, that doesn’t mean I won’t hurt you. In the end, I almost guarantee you I will.”

  “You almost make it sound sexy.” Again that voice, sweet like honey, poured over him. Too sweet for him. Too good for him.

  He slipped his hand behind her head, held her tight as he bent and pressed his lips to hers. He’d thought she might resist. Nothing was a given between them, after all. But the moment their lips touched, she was all in. He wasn’t sure why she wanted to kiss him. Wasn’t sure why she wanted to be with him at all.

  She was soft. Everywhere she was soft. So beautiful, so refined. She was everything he’d never been able to touch when he lived here, offered to him now with no reservations at all. Yeah, he knew what he got out of this. A pretty, rich girl, who’d never had another guy. That wasn’t tough to figure out. But what did he offer her? Rebellion?

  He was probably her idea of roughing it. Her idea of what it meant to get it on with the bad boy.

  For some reason, the thought enraged him. He had no right. Not when he was standing there thinking of what soft luxury she represented to him. But his body wasn’t interested in fair right now. It never was.

  He reached back, working his fingers through her hair, gripping her hard, and tugging her head backward. She liked that. He knew she did. Could tell by the sharp glitter in her eyes, by the way her lips parted, the way her breathing increased. “Be careful with me,” he said. “Don’t tease about pain unless you want some. I’m not your pet, Sarah.” He leaned in, pressing a slow kiss to the side of her neck, feeling her shiver beneath him. “You aren’t in control here.” He tightened his hold on her, satisfied when he heard her gasp. He lifted his head, his eyes meeting hers. “I’m in charge.”

  “I didn’t agree to that,” she said, her expression nothing less than mutinous.

  He wrapped his arm around her waist, drawing her hard against his body. “You think I need you to agree? Oh no, baby. That’s not the game.”

  She rolled her hips against him, her eyes never leaving his. “You think you have all the control?”

  “As much as I want.” She leaned in, kissing him, slow and deep. Then she bit his bottom lip, the sensual impact hitting him low and hard. “I’m not the only one who likes it rough.”

  “You think you’ve had it rough?” His throat was tight, arousal making it difficult for him to breathe. “That shows just how inexperienced you are. You want rough? Is that what you’re after? If you think you do, you better be very careful, very sure.”

  He didn’t treat women like this. This wasn’t who he was. This wasn’t what he did. But the need that was roaring through him was stronger than any sense of who he’d been versus what he’d become. There was nothing beyond this need. Nothing beyond his instinct to claim her, to banish the tightening in his chest. To make her understand just who he was.

  He released his hold on her, and she stumbled back, her hair disheveled, her eyes wide.

  “If you want it, go into the bedroom. But once we’re in there? You are mine. And I’m going to show you just what that means.”

  She swallowed hard, her pale throat working with the motion, and then, eyes on him, she swept past him, removing her dress as she headed toward her bedroom. He watched her as the fabric fell away, pooling at her feet. She stepped gracefully out of it, still wearing her high heels from earlier, the shoes accentuating the sway of her hips.

  Her panties revealed more than they concealed, the pale curve of her ass so enticing he couldn’t take his eyes off of it. But it wasn’t just that, it was everything. Her slender waist, the elegant line of her spine, the way she held her shoulders. Like a haughty queen walking through court rather than a woman who’d just been ordered to go to her room.

  He followed her slowly, his hands going to his belt buckle, working it through the loop slowly, undoing the front of his jeans. He felt like a predator stalking his prey. But that’s what he was. Still, his prey had a hold of him and was happily leading him back to her den. It made him wonder who was hunting whom.

  She paused at the doorway, stopping, gripping the doorframe, and pausing, looking over her shoulder at him. If he could choose one image to save forever, one that would flash before his eyes when he died, it would be Sarah, standing there naked except for a lacy bra, barely there panties, and high heels, looking at him with an invitation to devour her evident in her eyes.

  His stomach tightened, along with his throat, and he found he couldn’t breathe. “You too scared?” The overwhelming sensation inside him made him angry, made his words clipped.

  She didn’t say anything, instead, she released her hold on the doorframe and walked deeper into her bedroom.

  Micah followed her inside. It was a feminine room, in keeping with the rest of the house. Pristine, almost untouched in appearance. He was going to wreck this place. Wreck her. Wreck them both.

  “Stand there,” he said, his voice strained as he gestured toward the foot of the bed. “Don’t move until I tell you to.” He closed the door behind him, then slowly turned the lock, the sound loud in the silence of the room. He turned back to Sarah. “You’re not leaving until I’m finished with you.”

  Liquid dark eyes met his and she took a step backward, her legs butting up against the end of the bed. The retreat sparked something inside of him, igniting the urge to hunt, the urge to pursue his prey.

  She stepped to the side, backing farther away, toward a white, pristine vanity with a large mirror that allowed him to look at her tits and her ass at the same time. She gripped the edge of the vanity, leaning backward as though trying to put greater distance between them. He could see desire written on her face, could see it evidenced in her pale skin, flushed rose.

  She was more than happy to play the part of prey for him. She got something out of it, that much was clear. Had from the beginning. Fine by him since it touched dark places inside of him he’d ignored for the past decade. Dark, erotic places he’d made an attempt to starve to death while he played the part of civilized man working his way up the corporate ladder. He played the part of rough guy from the wrong side of the tracks for the pleasure of his lovers, always had. But it was controlled. He gave them what they thought they wanted, gave them the kind of thing their limited imagination expected from a man with a motorcycle club patch inked onto his back.

  But he didn’t go deep enough, dark enough, to satisfy himself.

  That act was all about their pleasure, not about his.

  This was something else altogether. A darkness deep inside of her, reaching out to touch his. Begging it to come out and play. And he wouldn’t disappoint her. He couldn’t. Because he was beyond control.

  He was done resisting. It was time to play.

  He advanced on her, closing the distance between them, gripping her hips and turning her around so that she was facing the mirror. She gasped as he placed his hand between her shoulder blades and pressed down hard, forcing her to bend over for him. She was watching his face in the mirror, studying his reflection.

  “You’re mine now, you understand?” He could feel something rising up inside of hi
m, an intensity he could neither understand nor deny. He slid his palm up, sweeping her hair to the side, gripping the back of her neck, holding her hip tight with his other hand, pressing his denim-covered cock into the curve of her ass.

  Reluctantly, he released his hold on her. He took his shirt off, impatient to be skin to skin with her, to have nothing between them. He kicked off his boots, his jeans, his underwear, then grabbed hold of the waistband of her panties, drawing them down her long, slender legs, his palm slowly following the same path, relishing her softness, her perfection. He stopped when they were at her ankles, leaving them there.

  “Spread your legs,” he said, the command rough, betraying just how close to the edge he was.

  She obeyed, and he stood back for a moment just looking at the enticing sight before him. Her pale, rounded ass in the air, those impractical shoes she preferred, accentuating the pose, those red panties of hers stretched tight, adding to the illusion that she was in bondage, a captive. He wrapped his hand firmly around his dick, squeezing himself tight, gritting his teeth against the hot rush of pleasure that threatened to undo him before he could even touch her the way he wanted to.

  He let go of his cock and moved back to her, placing his hand on the back of her neck again, reaching between her spread thighs with his other hand, pushing a finger deep inside her. She was so hot, so wet. He tightened his hold on her neck, adding a second finger to the first, stroking her slowly, watching her in the mirror, watching her eyes darken, watching her lips fall slack.

  “Look at me,” he said, his tone demanding.

  She looked up, their eyes clashing in the mirror as he continued to pleasure her.

  “Take your bra off.” She released her hold on the edge of the vanity just long enough to unhook the lacy undergarment and cast it onto the floor. “Straighten up a bit,” he said. “Let me see your tits.” Holding tight to the vanity, she straightened slightly, battling against his hold, fighting to obey. And he didn’t make it easy, pressing his fingers deeper inside her, gratified when she arched her back, pressing her hips back toward him.

  He withdrew from her, pressing the head of his cock to her pussy, testing her readiness before thrusting inside her, hard. She gasped, and he held her hip tight, pulling her ass harder against him, forcing himself deeper as he strengthened the pressure on her back, pressing her breasts against the smooth surface of the vanity. She was still trying to keep her eyes on his, her head raised, her expression one of shocked pleasure.

  He bit back a curse as he withdrew slowly before plunging back in, the tight, hot clasp of her body pushing him to the brink. There was nothing between them, no latex, just bare skin. He should fix that, he knew it. But he didn’t want to. Instead he rolled his hips forward, gratified when she let out a long, low sound in response. After that he didn’t have any more thoughts about what he should do, or what he shouldn’t do. There was only what he wanted.

  The sultry swamp air had finally reached inside of him, possessed him. Reminded him of who he was. What he was. He might be able to put a suit on, cover up the tattoo on his back, but it was still there. He’d never gotten it removed. Had never even thought about it. All the ink on his skin remained, to serve as a reminder, to attract women, whatever excuse he’d given in the past. It was all bullshit. He left it on because he’d never really changed. He’d just put a suit over it.

  But he’d stripped it off now. That civility, that veneer.

  All that remained was the biker. The drug runner. The boy who had been a criminal before he’d even known what crime was. Who’d been more acquainted with his mother’s fist than with her loving embrace. He’d known then he was never going to get any softness in that dirty little hovel they call the home. Sweltering in suffocating heat without air conditioning in the New Orleans summer. Who had craved all the soft beautiful things he’d been denied, things he’d created in his mind before he’d even known for certain they’d existed.

  Sarah was every soft and luxurious thing. Everything beautiful. Everything he’d ever longed for.

  And he was buried in her. Balls deep in the best fucking thing he’d ever had.

  She was looking down now, and he didn’t want her to. He craved that connection, that contact they’d had before. He slid his hand upward, curling his fingers around her hair, tugging hard, forcing her to raise her gaze as he kept on fucking her. Hard. But not hard enough. Not hard enough to get as deep as he needed to go, not hard enough to wipe everything else away. But when she looked at him, her face flushed, her lips swollen, her eyes clouded with desire, it was almost enough.

  He slid his hand around between her thighs, stroking her clit. He was about to lose it, and he needed her to lose it first.

  She tightened her hold on the vanity, arching into him, grinding her hips in time with his.

  “Come on, Sarah. Come on, baby,” he said, and he was the one begging now.

  He felt her body tense beneath his, ripple moving through her petite frame as her climax swept through her. She lowered her head, releasing her hold on the vanity, her hands curling into fists. “Oh, Micah. Fuck,” she moaned, trembling now, her internal muscles gripping him tight as she came, hard.

  He didn’t want to pull out, didn’t want to rob himself of one extra moment inside of her. But that was the sacrifice he made for skin to skin. He withdrew, stroking his cock twice, the slickness from her body easing the motion. Heat ripped through him, and he closed his eyes as he lost himself completely, spilling himself all over the curve of her back, her ass. Marking her. Claiming her.

  He wrapped his arm around her waist, pulling her to him, taking a couple of steps backward, sitting on the edge of the bed, Sarah held tightly in his arms. She was breathing hard, shaking. And he realized he was too.

  Finally, she broke the silence. “I’m never going to be able to look in that mirror again without seeing you standing behind me.”

  A surge of perverse pride shot through him. He shouldn’t be proud of it. Because soon, he wouldn’t be here. And all she would have was that image of him standing behind her. And he didn’t particularly want to leave any of himself behind with her. He wasn’t worthy of having fantasies built around him in that way. But then, he’d been her first, and he was under no illusion about whether or not he would be her last. He wouldn’t be. Some other bastard would want to fuck her over this vanity, and hell yeah, he wanted her to think of him then.

  And when she was putting her hair into a pretty little bun, he wanted her to think of him then too. Of what it had been like when her hair was down, when he held it in his fist and pumped into her from behind. Always. He wanted her to remember him always.

  He couldn’t keep her, so he supposed that was the next best thing. To own a piece of her, if he couldn’t own her outright.

  If he were still in the club, that’s what he would do. She would be his property. Wear that with pride on her back. Property of Prince.

  But, no matter how he’d felt during the past few minutes, he wasn’t Prince. And even if he were, a Delacroix was hardly going to leave her pristine townhouse to come live with him.

  You own the Delacroix mansion.

  He didn’t. The Deacons did. And he wasn’t really a Deacon. Not now.

  He tried to ignore the energy that was still crackling through his blood. To forget the thought he’d had while he was deep inside Sarah and everything had made sense for one blinding moment. That the ink on his skin was a closer representation to who he was than the clothes he put over it.

  That things fit better here.

  That he fit better here.

  One thing he couldn’t deny was that the sex was hotter. Though, whether that was Sarah or the city, he wasn’t sure.

  It’s Sarah. You know it.

  Yeah, a virgin had him by the cock. He couldn’t deny it. He couldn’t even hate it.

  “Stay with me?” she asked.

  It was a simple question. A sweet question. And if anything was going to highlight just what a to
ol he was, that was it. She was the kind of girl who had relationships. She’d been engaged recently to a man she hadn’t even slept with.

  “Sure, baby.” He kept hold of her, laying them both down on the soft bed. Because he was an ass, but not even he was going to leave after that.

  “Micah . . . Is there something else you are protecting me from?”

  He tightened his hold on her, thinking of her grandfather. Of the fact that he would have to talk to the old man. That he would have to bring all this to the feet of the one person Sarah had wanted most to protect. That the confession from those Ministry assholes might very well bring the wrath of two MCs down on the Delacroix family.

  Ajax wanted blood, indiscriminately. Sarah wanted to protect her family. And Micah had his own agenda altogether. He would do what he could for Ajax, as long as it didn’t endanger Sarah. Because if shots were fired, his allegiance would be with her.

  “The world is a scary place. That’s enough reason to offer you protection.”

  “I suppose so. But I don’t think you’re a very random man, and that was kind of a random sentiment.”

  “The less you know, the better I can keep you safe.” He wasn’t sure that was strictly true, but if she knew more, she would throw him straight out of her bed.

  She angled her head back, kissing him on the lips, soft and sweet. “If you say so.”

  “You agree too easily.”

  She shifted, turning to face him. “That’s because I haven’t decided how I’m going to deal with you yet. But in the meantime, I’ll be docile.”

  “I don’t believe that.”

  She kissed him again. “It’s almost like we aren’t strangers anymore.”

  “I own hotels,” he said.