Wanting It All: A Hellfire Riders MC Romance (The Motorcycle Clubs Book 3)

by Wilde, Kati

  This isn’t the same. It could never be the same. But to even ask me whether it was, Saxon must have seen my pain. He must have worried.

  I shake my head and my response almost slips out. I’m sorry.

  But I’m not going to be sorry. Not ever again.

  And never sorry for this. No matter how much it ends up hurting. If I shatter, I can pick up the pieces later. But for now, I’ll take the pain in my heart, and love the sharp edges that make my whole body shake with ecstasy, with need as hard and as brilliant as a diamond.

  I’ll take it all and make it sharper. I look up at him, my chest rising on ragged breaths, my nipples reddened by the rough ministrations of his mouth. Boldly my hands cup my breasts, thumbs flicking over the taut peaks, and each little tease seems to tug on every nerve between the hardened tips and my drenched core.

  Saxon’s concern fades. Stark hunger replaces it.

  Another blunt finger slides in to join the first, thrusting deep. Helplessly I moan his name, assaulted by excruciating pleasure and the stinging burn of his invasion. I’m too full now. None of my toys stretch me like this—and none make me lift my hips, seeking more.

  “Like that, Jenny. Fuck.” With one hand pumping into me, Saxon roughly grips my thigh and shoves my knee back toward my shoulder, spreading me wide. I’m still wearing my panties and the lace running between my legs is stretched tight alongside his penetrating fingers and soaked in my arousal. He watches his fingers sink into my clenching heat, his teeth gritted, his face a mask of tension. “Look at you. Not skittish. Just so fucking sexy—and so fucking tight. It’s going to take forever to work my cock all the way into you.”

  Denim is straining over the thick ridge of his erection. I need that hard length inside me. “Please, Saxon. Now.”

  My breathless plea is answered by a possessive growl and he leans in. He’s still holding my legs open, my booted ankle is over his shoulder, and as he bends over to claim my mouth the pressure of his weight between my thighs shoves his hand hard against me, into me. Hot and deep, he kisses me, and I’m trembling and on the edge when he lifts his head.

  “You’ll take all of me?” His fingers press deeper as he asks, and I cry out, pushing back against him. “Tell me, Jenny. You want my mouth, my hands, my cock?”

  I can only gasp “yes” and my fingers slide between us, because he’s stopped working my clit and I’m so close. So close. But he catches me, snagging my wrist and dragging my hand away, my fingertips slick with my arousal.

  “That’s mine, princess,” he warns and his heated mouth closes around my fingers, sucking away my juices. “My cock is all yours. This pussy is mine.”

  Sharp frustration bites at me. “Then I want your cock now.”

  He grins. “It’s yours, but I didn’t say you get to decide what to do with it.”

  “You sure as hell decided what to do with my pussy.”

  “That I did.” As if to emphasize his reply, he sinks his fingers into me again, his thumb rubbing over my clit. “Because I’m bigger, stronger, and the first time I fuck you it’s not going to be on this counter. So I’m just going to eat you up and watch you come.”

  Oh, God. “Then I guess I’ll let you keep your cock in your pants.”

  He laughs, a low rumble that dissolves into a groan when he licks my fingers again. Abruptly he lets go of my wrist and palms the underside of my left thigh, holding me open with my knee against my shoulder.

  A whimper escapes me as his fingers slide out of my pussy and grip the waist of my panties, dragging the lace down over my hips. But they can’t go far, not with my legs spread, until he pushes my right knee up to my shoulder and I feel folded in half, exposed and suddenly uncertain.

  Then he bends his head, his mouth takes possession of my needy flesh and I can’t feel anything but Saxon tasting me, his tongue sweeping up between the lips of my cunt in long, broad strokes, as if my pussy is melting ice cream and he refuses to waste a single creamy drop.

  He slowly licks a path from my entrance to my clit, ignoring my pleas for him to go faster, harder. The grip of his big hands on my legs is immovable, but I can’t stop myself from struggling against it—not trying to get away but I can barely breathe, barely think. My knees are raised and spread, I’m completely open to him and he’s thrusting his tongue into me now, then sliding up to tease my clit before doing it all over again. The sensations are so intense, whips of pleasure flaying my nerves, and I’m desperate to relieve the building pressure. I squirm and cry out but his hands tighten, pushing my legs wider until my left knee hits the register. The position stretches the muscles of my inner thighs, and when I look down past the skirt bunched at my waist I see Saxon looking back at me, blue eyes fixed on my face.

  He holds my gaze as his mouth latches onto my throbbing clit. He sucks hard on the slick bundle of nerves, and that’s all it takes. Orgasm hits me like a speeding truck and I scream, back bowing and pussy clenching. Dimly I’m aware of glass shattering when the convulsive sweep of my hand knocks a display of shot glasses to the floor, but the sound is nothing to Saxon’s groan of satisfaction. He continues licking but I can’t bear it, I’m too sensitive now. Each stroke of his tongue is heaven and hell and pain and pleasure.

  “I can’t.” My breath coming in ragged sobs from the sheer intensity of it, I push at his head, my fingers threading through his thick hair. “I can’t. No more.”

  He eases away from my clit but doesn’t lift his head yet, gently licking the length of my slit as if he isn’t willing to relinquish his claim on the moisture he’s drawn from me. His tongue dips inside my core and another tremor shakes through my body.

  “Fucking amazing,” he says gruffly, his voice deep with arousal and his mouth hot against my inner thigh. He presses a kiss against its trembling length before rising over me.

  I’m still shaking when he tugs me up to sitting and pulls me to the edge of the counter again, wrapping my legs around his hips, my heated flesh pressed tight against the erection straining behind his fly. His mouth finds mine and the kiss is a slow, sweet burn, his beard a soft brush against my chin. My lips cling to his when he finally lifts his head, his blue gaze searching my face. I must look half-drunk. I feel as if I am, my body liquid and warm, intoxicated by erotic bliss and his proximity.

  He’s hard as a rock against me, but it’s not desire sharpening the lines of his face now. Intense purpose fills his gaze. “I told you it’d be like this between us. So damn hot.”

  “Yes.” My response emerges on a shuddering breath.

  His strong fingers catch my chin. “Now maybe you’ll tell me why you think I’m asking you to whore yourself in exchange for protection.”

  My heart clenches. So he’s done it again. Last night he promised to make me scream the answer he wanted, and I’d been forced to tell him about the Eighty-Eight. Now he has made me scream. He can probably still taste my pussy on his tongue and he’s already demanding more answers that I don’t want to give.

  “Fuck.” He snarls the word and is suddenly in my face, forcing me to lean back until I’m gripping his biceps for support. “And now you’ve got something else in your head. So you tell me what the hell you’re thinking that makes you look like I just kicked your dog.”

  My throat aches. “I don’t know what you want, Saxon. I just know that in all these years, you’ve never touched me. Now the clubhouse and the property are on the table and you do. And I think that whatever it is that you want, you’ll use sex to persuade me to fall in line.”

  “Damn fucking right I’ll use sex. I’ll use anything I have to get what I want.” His fingers tighten on my chin as I try to avert my face, my lips trembling, but he forces me to meet his solemn gaze. His voice roughens. “What I want, Jenny, is you. I want the clubhouse, too, but it’s for the Riders—and if I need to I’ll go about getting it in the usual way. Rent, lease, whatever. We can keep it separate. But I want you for myself.”

  Those words are so close to what I’ve dreamed of
that I can’t trust they’re real. “Want me for what? For how long?”

  He tilts his head, studying me. “What did Red say to you?”

  “That you want the package deal. The clubhouse and me.”

  “Then he understood what I want just fine. I want to call you mine, Jenny. You need me to clarify that?”

  No. I’ve been around clubs long enough to know what it means. My breath hitches. “You want me to be your old lady?”

  I don’t want to be. Some women like being a biker’s property—and it means their men have absolute trust in them. But loyalty to the club comes before everything, and I won’t put any club before someone I love.

  “I don’t give a fuck if you are.” Saxon doesn’t look away from me. “I’m not saying I wouldn’t love to see you wearing a patch telling everyone you belong to me, or that I wouldn’t feel like a king every time someone saw it. But I told you this isn’t about the Riders. It’s you and me. And I want you in my bed every night, or I want to be in yours. You got troubles, I want to be the first one you call. I want to be the only man you look at, because you’re the only woman I’ll see. And I want it for a hell of a long time.”

  Oh, God. Everything I want. I just have to trust it.

  But it’s so hard to believe. “You didn’t want it before.”

  “You think so?” The reply is sharp, and there’s suddenly new tension steeling his body and a dangerous glint in his eyes. But though I’ve pissed him off, he’s holding it back. “Princess, you weren’t knocking down my door, either.”

  God. My throat is rough as I say, “You know I couldn’t.”

  “Yeah. I know.” His voice softens. “And I knew exactly what would have happened if I’d come to you when I’d wanted to—and I wanted to from the day I was sitting in my cell and opened your letter, Jenny. But all the reasons why I couldn’t were in every apology you’d written. If I’d come to you, you’d have worried, because of the shit that started when you stepped out of your territory before. You’d have been afraid of what might shake out of it between the clubs, and we both know that Tommy Burns would have gotten onto Red about you.”

  I hadn’t known that. I wasn’t that familiar with the Hellfire Riders’ previous president. But considering what my dad had said about him last night, Saxon is probably right. Burns wouldn’t have passed up the opportunity to crow to my dad that one of the Riders was deep-dicking his daughter. The bad blood hadn’t died down between the clubs until Saxon had taken over. But even now there is still tension—mostly because of resentment over Lily and her wearing the Riders’ colors.

  His thumb sweeps across my bottom lip as he continues, “I knew you’d have two choices: sneaking around with me or putting it out in the open and risk stirring up trouble. And you’re not Juliet, dicking around with Romeo like she’s got piss for brains and no respect for her house. You’re loyal. To your dad, if not to the Titans.”

  So he has me pegged. “You’re no Romeo, either.”

  “Because I’m not a boy. I didn’t want to put that shit on you and force you to make a choice between me and Red. I knew that even if I’d come to you, you’d have told me you couldn’t be with me.”

  And that would have torn me apart. To be offered everything I wanted, and not to take it.

  Not taking it now will tear me apart, too.

  His fingers catch my chin again, as if he thinks I’ll try to escape from his next words. “But I’ll tell you this: Lately I’ve been thinking that I would ask. I’ve been thinking of seeing whether we could do this without spilling any of my brothers’ blood for it. So I was already planning on talking to Red—because if it came from him, you would know it wouldn’t cause trouble. It just turns out that he came to me first, and I saw an opportunity that I never had before. You think I’m not going to take it? What, on fucking principle? I’m not that honorable, princess.”

  He is. In his own way. If he wasn’t I wouldn’t be here now. But his honor has never been in question, and hearing that he’s wanted me just as long as I’ve wanted him should have eased all my fears, but instead they’re only stronger. Because now I have something I never did before: hope. For the first time, I think Saxon could be mine. But I’m afraid that I might want more than he’s offering, and I can’t hide my uncertainty from his unwavering gaze.

  “You’re not sure,” he observes flatly.

  “How can I be? We’ve never even…” Dated, I was going to say. But that’s so stupid.

  Saxon must have guessed where I was headed. His eyes narrow. “You really think there’s anything important that we don’t know about each other already? Or do you think this wanting you is sudden? That I’m just sweet-talking you now?”

  “No.” If he promises to be in my bed every night, to be there when I call, I know that he’ll keep those promises. “What if it doesn’t work out? If might get ugly, especially since you’re trying to bring the clubs together.”

  “It’s going to be ugly anyway.” His brief smile doesn’t soften the iron determination in his eyes. “But you and me? That’ll work. Because you let me in this far. Now I’ll do anything to keep you here.”

  Where I would have everything I want. I just need to take it.

  I just need to risk my heart. Not so easy to do.

  This man could destroy me—and I don’t think he knows it. I’m afraid to let him know it. So I simply stare up at him, hope and fear waging a painful battle within me.

  Hope begins to win when he suddenly grins.

  “I see I’ll have to convince you.” Swiftly he kisses my mouth and links his fingers through mine, tugging me off the counter. “So let’s ride.”

  Chapter Five

  I balk a little when I see Saxon’s motorcycle. I’m looking forward to riding with him, but my panties are soaked and this little skirt isn’t going to protect me from the grit of the road or the heat of his engine. Saxon doesn’t blink when I say that I need to drive up to the house and change my clothes. He just nods and starts up his bike while I climb into my truck. There’s no counting how many times I’ve heard guys—bikers or not—argue against a woman taking a few extra minutes to get ready, dismissing it as trivial or time-wasting. But Saxon doesn’t even ask me to explain why or try to convince me that the clothes I’m wearing are fine, and I appreciate that when I tell him there’s something I need to do, he just waits for me to do it.

  Such a simple thing, but it matters. Because if Saxon and I give this a shot, there will be many times when I’ll have things I need to do: taking care of my dad and working at the brewery, just to start. And we know a lot about each other, but we don’t know the little things like this—and as far as I can tell, it’s often those little things that make or break a couple.

  My dad’s bike is gone from its usual spot in front of the house. Since nothing is settled with Saxon, my dad’s absence is a relief. I’m not really sure what I would tell him.

  I invite Saxon in, but he waits outside with his engine idling. From anyone else, that might have been a subtle hint to hurry me along; from Saxon, it’s simply respect. This isn’t just my place, but also belongs to the Steel Titans’ president. Whatever agreement they’re working out between the clubs, this is still Titan territory. Even though Saxon is here by invitation, parking his bike and coming into the house is too close to declaring that he’s pushing my father out, so I know he’ll hold off until the invitation comes from my dad, instead.

  He’s frowning down at his phone when I come out wearing jeans, my riding jacket, and gloves. His dark gaze skims down my length, stopping at my feet. The cuffs of my straight-cut jeans cover the top of my red cowboy boots. With a round toe and wooden heel, they were designed with another type of riding in mind, but they’re great on a motorcycle, too.

  He meets my eyes. “Nice boots.”

  “They’re good for kicking ass,” I say, but despite the bold words, I’m suddenly nervous. My anxiety doesn’t escape his notice.

  “You’re not used to the idea of me
being at your place.”

  “I’m not used to the idea of any guy being at my place,” I retort.

  His smile is wide and slow. “I shouldn’t like that answer as much as I do,” he tells me, then gestures to the short stretch of seat behind him, inviting me to sit. “Your cell reception out here is shit.”

  Worse than shit, usually. I pull on my helmet. “And it’s even shittier at the clubhouse’s end of the property. Is that a deal breaker?”

  I’m teasing him, but his response is swift and serious. He snags my belt and pulls me close. Even though he’s seated on his bike, our eyes are almost even.

  “Nothing’s going to break this deal, princess. Nothing.” He waits a second to let that sink in, then lets go of my belt and smacks my ass. “Now get on. And scoot up real close, because your legs in those jeans are the sexiest I’ve ever seen, and I want them holding me tight.”

  I grin and swing my leg over the back. My nervousness melts away. I’m suddenly glad I’m behind him and that he can’t see my face, because the emotion that replaces the anxiety is warm and full, and would reveal far too much.

  It is strange to have him here. But it also feels so right.

  God, and his abs are like steel when I slide my hands beneath his kutte to grip his sides. I’ve never seen him without a shirt but my fingers tell me that when I do, I’ll be looking at slabs of muscle and a six-pack that could make angels weep.

  “You know,” I call to him as he slowly opens the throttle, “we could just head upstairs to my bedroom!”

  I can’t hear his laugh but I feel the rumble of it join the vibration of the engine. His big hand comes down to squeeze my thigh before returning to the handlebar. Thanks to my helmet I can’t get as close as I want, can’t lay my cheek against his strong back and close my eyes. Oh, but I want to. I could easily ride like that for so long.

  As it is, the road flies by and I’m barely aware of it. Today was a hot one. Even though it’s heading into evening the air is still heavy with the smell of baked dirt and pine, yet it’s Saxon’s scent that seems to fill my every breath. The leather of his kutte, the fragrance of freshly laundered cotton—as if he pulled a clean shirt straight out of the dryer before coming to see me. And he’s so big. So solid. My heart feels tight just being this close. My body feels even tighter, my breasts pushed up against his back and my inner thighs gripping his hips.