by Nicola Marsh
I wasn’t experienced with men, had no idea that perhaps flashing my tits would have worked better, but luckily at that moment a semifamiliar face had appeared. I’d met Crash only a couple of times, in conjunction with Tiger, and had no idea if he’d remember me or not. I threw myself at him anyway, begging him to let me inside and that I’d make it worth his while.
He grabbed me around the waist and grinned at the prospect, and before I knew it I’d been bundled down the corridor and into his bedroom.
Unfortunately, I was starting to think that not only had I been stupid to come here, I’d been naive into the bargain. There were stories about the Knights that I’d heard from various friends, about drunken parties and public sex and threesomes and all kinds of things.
And now I was in the thick of it.
Alone.
So much for my high IQ. Panic had made me stupid. Again.
More sounds came from outside the door. A man shouting and then the sounds of a scuffle followed by laughter. Something thumped hard against the wall and I jumped in shock.
God, I wasn’t cut out for this.
I was just starting to wonder if I could slip right back out again without anyone noticing when the door banged open and Crash came in. He was a good-looking guy, which made me nervous since good-looking guys always did. Actually, men in general made me nervous, good-looking or otherwise.
You sure picked the wrong place to hide then, didn’t you?
Given that the clubhouse was full of men, violent and loud, yeah, it really had been.
‘Still here?’ he asked, grinning and swaying on his feet.
I decided not to tell him that he was stating the obvious since men generally didn’t like it when I did that, settling for smoothing my miniskirt instead and trying to smile.
Okay, so I was naive. But I wasn’t that naive. I knew what girls in MC clubhouses were supposed to do and I knew that Crash hadn’t brought me into his bedroom because he wanted to chat about the finer points of game theory—my favourite subject. He’d brought me here because he thought I was ready for some hot sex.
As if on cue, he sauntered over from the door, two beers in his hand, then held one out to me. That grin was still on his face and there was a glazed look in his blue eyes. As he stood there swaying, I finally realised what I should have known the moment he’d grabbed me and hustled me into his bedroom: Crash was drunk. Very, very drunk.
Dammit.
Drunk guys were always super fun. Not.
I took the beer, the can cold against my damp palm, and tried to resist the urge to do something about my fear by downing the whole thing in one go.
‘So-o-o-o...’ Crash said slowly, lifting his own beer and taking a swig. ‘How long exactly are you planning on keeping your clothes on?’
My palms got even damper and I could feel myself begin to sweat.
Sex. I knew that was what he expected, but... Well, my great plan had kind of ended with me at the clubrooms. I hadn’t thought about what I might have to do to stay in the clubrooms.
So, is losing your virginity to some guy you barely know in a dirty biker clubhouse really worth avoiding your father for?
That was a very good question. And one I didn’t want to find out the answer to. Maybe if I told him I only wanted to hide out here for a while, he’d let me?
I cleared my throat, trying to get the words out. ‘I...um...well...there’s kind of a reason.’
‘Uh-huh.’ Crash sat down heavily next to me on the bed, making me aware of him in a way I didn’t like. He was in the usual biker uniform of jeans, a T-shirt and the leather vest they called a ‘cut’ worn over the top, and I could feel the heat of his body next to mine. He wore a lot of aftershave and that combined with the reek of alcohol coming off him made me want to cringe. ‘If that reason is to suck my cock, then, baby, I’m here for that.’
Fear fluttered in my gut.
Yeah, I didn’t want to do that. Even the thought of it made me feel ill. I’d never done it before and I certainly didn’t want to start with some drunken biker, just because I’d apparently lost my mind and made a decision that was, in retrospect, looking to be the stupidest decision in the history of creation.
‘W-what if it’s...not that?’ I asked hesitantly.
‘Oh, come on...’ He leaned in, nuzzling against my ear, his beer breath wafting over me, deepening my discomfort with the whole situation. ‘Uh...what did you say your name was again?’
I hadn’t told him, and what’s more, I couldn’t. Because although he might not have known who Summer Grant was, I was pretty sure he was familiar with Campbell Grant, the police chief and my dad. Not that he’d necessarily draw a link between the names, at least not in his current state, but I couldn’t risk it.
Desperately I tried to think of another name I could give him, but for once my dumb brain was empty. ‘Do you really need to know that?’
He left a wet kiss beneath my ear that made my skin crawl. ‘Nah. Couldn’t give a shit. Just gimme a taste of that pussy.’
I cringed again, both at the crass way he was talking and at how he was leaning over me. ‘Hey.’ I tried to pull away from him. ‘What would you say if I...uh...didn’t want to have sex with you?’
He gave a drunken laugh, reaching for my hand. ‘Are you kidding me? Then what the hell am I supposed to do with this?’ And he pressed my hand right down over his fly, where I could feel him already as hard as a rock.
Wonderful. This situation was getting better and better.
I swallowed, my mouth dry, trying to resist the urge to jerk my hand away since I was pretty sure that would offend him and I didn’t want to risk that, not when I wasn’t sure what he’d do.
Instead, I left my hand there for a second, then carefully drew it back. ‘That’s, um...very impressive.’ I took a quick sip of my beer, grabbing a bit of that liquid courage and trying not to pull a face at the taste. ‘But maybe you could get someone else to do something about it?’
He shook his head and put a hand on my knee, sliding it up to the hem of my skirt. ‘Oh, no, baby. It’s a party and you’re the one in my room. You know what that means.’
I shifted my leg away, attempting to put some distance between us. ‘No. I have no idea what that means.’ Because, although I knew what it was that he wanted, I didn’t know how it being a party made any difference.
Outside, the thumping of the music had increased in volume, and there was lots of loud shouting and laughter. More immediate were the rhythmic noises coming from the room next door and someone moaning, while someone else cursed.
I could feel my face flushing.
‘Well,’ Crash mumbled, trying to slide his fingers beneath my skirt yet again. ‘Girls only go into a brother’s room for one reason and here’s a hint. It’s not to chat.’
I knew that. Of course I knew that.
But you didn’t think it through first so now you have to deal.
My heart shuddered in my chest, the fear inside me getting wider, deeper. Would he even let me go if I didn’t want to have sex with him? And if I got out of Crash’s room, what would happen then? I’d have to run the gauntlet of those men outside all the way back to the entrance of the club.
Yeah, you’re a freaking genius. Mensa would love to have you. Not.
I shivered, feeling like the biggest fool to ever draw breath. What had I been thinking? I hadn’t; that was my problem. I’d let my anger at Dad and at my own weakness get the better of me, and now I was here, being pressured into having sex with a drunken biker.
Awesome.
I pushed Crash’s hand away yet again, trying frantically to think of a solution to this particular problem. But sadly this was real life and it wasn’t quite as simple as a math equation. There were no rules I could apply here and way too many variables, and when you were battling panic, logic didn’t always work
.
‘C-can’t we chat?’ I wriggled away from him. ‘Just while I finish my beer?’
But his hand was now sliding underneath my hoodie, over my bare stomach, and he was pulling me very close, his mouth at my neck. ‘Nah. I don’t wanna chat. C’mon, baby. Put those lips to work.’
I went rigid, my heart now climbing up into my throat. I could feel the strength in his arm going around me. I knew I couldn’t fight it.
Men, they were all the same. Even the ones who were supposed to be the good guys were assholes, and I knew that better than anyone.
In the corridor outside, a woman giggled, the deep voice of a man saying something in return.
‘Well, o-okay.’ I hated the way I couldn’t keep my voice from shaking. ‘But I’m a virgin, you know that, right?’ It had been my experience that once you said the ‘V’ word, men usually ran for the hills.
Sadly Crash didn’t run, though to be fair, there were no hills he could logically run to.
‘Mmm...’ he said. ‘Then maybe I can teach you.’ And he moved his hand up to cup my breast.
I don’t know what happened then. Something in me simply snapped, roaring in negation as his hand cupped me, and I found myself shoving him away hard before I could think better of it, yelling ‘No’ as loud as I could for good measure.
Then, as I was sitting there, trembling with anger and fear, the door to Crash’s room burst open with such force that it bounced back against the wall with a bang.
A man was standing in the doorway. A horribly familiar man.
‘What the fuck is going on?’ the man demanded, his voice deep and dark, rough and gritty. Then his strange amber eyes met mine and my heart clenched tight with a weird combination of absolute terror and utter relief.
Jake Clarke, aka Tiger.
I’d never forgotten the first day I’d met him. He’d been waiting for me outside my school one day, sitting astride his massive black Harley and smoking a cigarette. He’d worn battered blue jeans, a black T-shirt with a leather vest thrown over the top, and there were chains attached to his belt, huge motorcycle boots on his feet, brightly coloured tattoos wrapping around both his powerful arms.
He was as beautiful as the animal he was named for and twice as dangerous. Mean as hell and sexy as sin.
The sun had struck copper sparks from his dark hair, and when he’d seen that school was out, he’d thrown his cigarette down right there in the street and ground it under his heel. Then he’d looked straight at me.
And I’d forgotten where I was. I’d even forgotten who I was.
His eyes were amber, the colour of expensive whisky or newly minted gold coins, and they had pinned me to the spot. A golden arrow straight through my heart.
His face was all hard lines and arrogant angles, his brows slightly winged at the corners, and he had the hardest, sharpest jawline I’d ever seen. He didn’t smile. His mouth was wide and beautifully carved, and the rounded shape of his bottom lip was the softest part about him, but it didn’t curve.
All my friends had stared at him—hell, everyone had stared at him. No one in my exclusive girls’ school had ever seen a man like him.
‘There’ll be someone there to meet you after school today,’ Dad had told me that morning. ‘In fact, he’ll be taking you to and from school for a little while so be nice to him, okay?’
Tiger had been that someone. An enforcer for the Knights of Ruin MC, he’d been assigned to be my bodyguard to protect me from the death threats another MC had thrown at my father. And Dad, being canny, had decided that the best protection from one MC was a rival MC.
I’d been terrified of Tiger and excited by him in equal measure, and I’d fallen in love with him the moment I’d seen him. But back then I was only seventeen and a nerdy, tongue-tied little girl, while he was twenty-six and a full-grown man, and so far out of my league he might as well have been the sun to my Pluto.
He was a star while I...I was barely even a planet.
It had taken me years to get him out of my head and I’d thought I’d managed it while I’d been away at college. But one look at him was all it took for those feelings to come flooding back. The fear and the curiosity and the dry-mouthed excitement.
I’d thought my situation couldn’t get any worse.
I was wrong.
Copyright © 2018 by Jackie Ashenden
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IMPRINT: Dare
ISBN: 9781489266378
TITLE: WILD THING
First Australian Publication 2018
Copyright © 2018 Nicola Marsh
All rights reserved. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher, Harlequin Mills & Boon®, Level 13, 201 Elizabeth Street, Sydney, N.S.W., Australia 2000.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
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