by Ada Stone
We pulled up outside of a roadhouse called Off Limits. The place was as close to seedy as Mount Rose could get and it was only a very obvious set of loophole laws that let the bar get away with operating in the first place. My father had been campaigning to get the place shut down for years, ever since his first election, but people weren’t having it. Everyone liked to pretend like they were the upper class, high end, didn’t do anything trashy bunch, but in the end everyone liked to let loose once in a while.
Which was why we had to be a little careful, but not very.
Rihanna drove around the little place before finding a parking lot off to the side. The place was packed, with half a dozen motorcycles at least. It made me tremble with anticipation.
Bikers were my favorite. Dirty, brawling, muscular bikers. The kind that liked black leather and tattoos and doing dirty things in bed. I was sure to find someone to piss my father off with tonight. Not that he ever had to find out, of course, but if he did, I wanted him to know that I’d picked an especially uncouth ruffian. He’d hate that.
We walked up to the bar and flashed nothing but smiles at the huge, burly man sitting at the side. A bouncer, but he didn’t care about ages. So long as no one caused trouble, we could stay. The moment we picked a fight—or the cops got called—we were out of there like a bat out of hell. There were laws and then there were rules. If you wanted to break the law, you had to follow the rules.
As soon as I stepped into the dingy little place, I felt the intensity of it. The energy wrapped itself around me like smoke. There were people all over the place, laughing and drinking, looking like they were constantly on the verge of starting a fight with one another.
I loved it.
And what I loved even more than that was the sense that someone was watching me. I felt the intensity of the gaze before I spotted who it belonged to. It was the kind of look that slipped over your body like a pair of hands—measured and curious, tugging at clothing and hair, squeezing at supple flesh. It was almost as good as an actual man standing in front of me, dragging his calloused hands over my body.
Almost.
I searched out the heated gaze, glancing around the bar until I spotted a man sitting at a table on the other side of the room. The first thing I noticed about the man was that he was absolutely gorgeous. His hair was dark and thick, just barely tickling the back of his neck and hanging ruefully down into his eyes which were equally dark and framed by thick lashes that should have made him look feminine but didn’t. His muscles rippled beneath his tight t-shirt and I felt a little thrill run through me at the sight of his tight leather pants. Maybe it was my imagination or my own desire, but I imagined that they were extra tight in the crotch.
The second thing I noticed was the curling tattoo on his bicep. A rose. Anyone who didn’t know anything about this town might think it was an odd choice for a badass biker to get. A rose? What sort of tough guy got a rose? But this wasn’t just any rose. It was a fully bloomed red rose with blood dripping off its petals and a skull woven into the silky folds. The curling stem was like a dagger, poised to strike, to kill at the first available moment. And beneath the rose read Road Roses.
A shudder of anticipation raced through me and I thought, Perfect.
There was only one thing that made a sexy, wrong side of the tracks bad boy even more appealing to me: being a member of the Road Roses. Why? Because they were my father’s nemesis. He’d been trying to get rid of them since before even this shitty little roadhouse. They were the bane of his existence, the thing that brought in the crime and drugs and whatever else he deemed bad. Like our sleepy little town was incapable of doing any of that stuff on its own.
Dumb, considering that you couldn’t have much of a drug business if no one wanted to buy any of it. But I didn’t bother arguing that. Instead, I just deliberately sought out the dangerous and sexy men of the Road Roses.
I hadn’t let any of them into my panties before, but I had been spending a lot of pointless time at school and we hadn’t had a Devil’s Night since our senior year.
Never too late to start, I thought with glee.
I let my eyes roam over him, admiring his flat stomach and his bulging biceps. He was lounging back in his chair, facing me, his dark eyes smoldering with a heat that told me he wanted to do bad, bad things to me. Dirty things. I shivered at that heat and felt myself leaning towards it at the exact same time. I wanted him to do the things he was thinking of. All of them.
“I’m going to go get us some drinks!” Rihanna yelled eagerly in my ear before peeling off to head to the bar.
Stephanie let out a whoop of victory and was about to turn to head to the bar with Rihanna, but I grabbed her before she got the chance, quickly making up my mind for a pick of the night.
I pulled Stephanie close to me so that I could whisper in her ear. She leaned towards my lips to hear me better. “You see that guy in the back? The one who’s staring?”
It took her a minute to look around and try to figure out who I was talking about. But as soon as she figured it out, I could practically hear her grin as she said, “The one with the bulge in his leather pants?”
I laughed softly, pleased that she’d noticed, too. It told me that I wasn’t just imagining it because I wanted it to be there. “That’s the one.”
“Is he your pick for the night?” she asked me curiously, dragging her eyes over him, assessing him.
I nodded. Technically, you didn’t have to call your pick for the night. You could have whoever you wanted in the bar and it didn’t matter if he’d been with one of your friends before or he was just a stranger passing through. But at the end of junior year during a Devil’s Night, Rihanna and Stephanie had ended up hitting on the same guy throughout the night. It was a friendly rivalry, but not one we liked to repeat. Neither of them said it outright, but little hints dropped here and there had suggested that maybe they’d shared the man—I didn’t know if that meant at the same time and was never brave enough to ask.
Either way, I’d decided that calling my pick was the smartest move and the girls had agreed. Now, we did it most times.
“He’s sexy,” she commented, then laughed. “You think you can get him?”
“You doubt me?” I asked, mock affronted.
She laughed. “I’m just saying that he’s quite a catch. And I’m maybe betting you can’t bag him.”
Spurred on by her bet and by my memory of my father’s stern and unfair control of every aspect of my life, I decided immediately to up my game.
I’m going to win that bet tonight.
I turned my head slightly to make sure he was still watching me. He was. Letting a sultry smile slide across my plump lips, I leaned closer to Stephanie. I put a delicate hand on her hip, hooking it into the waistband of her mini skirt. She rose a single eyebrow in surprise, but didn’t shove me off or tell me to knock it off. Instead, her smile matched mine.
“Oh, you’re going to play hardball tonight, are you?” she commented as I got closer to her until I was all but pressed up against her body.
I put my lips right beside her ear, licked along her lobe, and said, “Yep.”
She laughed riotously at this. “Jeez, your dad really pissed you off tonight. Oh well. Fine by me. Let me know if you want a hot make out session to get your boy warmed up—or if you’re interested in something more fun. Otherwise, I’m going to go get a drink. Don’t forget our little bet.”
Looking over at him again, I saw that he looked strained and that one of his large hands was reaching down to adjust himself. It made my smile widen. My little moment with Stephanie had worked him up a bit I could tell.
I wasn’t really into girls like that, though Stephanie could go either way depending on the night and her mood. And if it meant I could reel him in for certain, I would make out with Stephanie for a bit. A bet was a bet and I was all about winning. And tonight, it was about a little more than that, too. It was about showing my father that he couldn’t control me. An
d I didn’t think there was any man in this room better equipped to help than that sultry man across the way. I just needed a plan.
My plan consisted of a mixture of playing hard to get and acting like I was a bitch in heat. I skirted around the edges of the group, stopping to flirt with someone here and there or to grab a drink with Stephanie and Rihanna. But the entire time, I kept my eyes on my dangerous Road Rose. I let my eyes slide over his body and linger on his crotch whenever I knew he was looking—which seemed to be always. I’d lick my lips and arch my back, causing my butt to stick out and my breasts to push forward.
But I didn’t approach him. No, the key to snagging a guy wasn’t in approaching him. It was in letting him come to you.
And finally, he did.
Chapter Three
Luke
When she licked her friend’s ear, I nearly lost it. This woman was a she-devil and I knew it, tempting me with everything she had. And I was pretty okay with that. She laughed and drank and flirted with just about everyone in the room it seemed, but kept a healthy distance from me. I might have thought she wasn’t interested at all, that I’d misread the heated lust in her gaze when she first walked in, except that despite her prowling through the club, her eyes hadn’t left me. I’d watched as she slid them over my body, lingering on the package between my legs which was straining against the leather material of my pants. And when that goddamned tongue popped out from between her ruby red lips, I thought I might lose myself right then and there.
Oh, yes, definitely a she-devil, I thought.
Desire coursed through my veins like a drug, pumping me up, making me consider all the ways I could have her. I wondered how experienced she was. I doubted she was a virgin, but I was willing to bet she was at least a little choosy most of the time. I knew her type, had her pegged almost right away.
She looked like one of those rich kids in the mansions of Mount Rose. The kind that got bored and tried their hand at the wrong side of the tracks. But the way she was looking at me, the way she was moving those luscious curves around like she knew what she was doing…well, I thought she could handle what I wanted to give her.
And I wanted to give her a lot. Most of it to be buried as deep in her pussy as I could get. I’ll bet she’s tight, I thought idly, watching as she leaned towards the bartender as he handed her another drink. She laughed like he was funny and tossed her long blonde hair, making me want to wrap my hand in it and yank back on it while I took her from behind.
I had to adjust myself as my erection grew to be almost painful with arousal. She was doing wicked things to my body and I hadn’t even gotten her clothes off yet.
Promising, if you asked me.
She sipped at her drink, shaking her full hips in time with the music that you could just barely hear over the general sounds of the bar.
Those hips, those curves called to me, begging me to cling to them until there were hand-shaped bruises over them. Her eyes dared me to come to her, to touch her in ways that weren’t appropriate in public and weren’t discussed in private conversation. Her whole body seemed to buzz with need and anticipation.
And I would know.
I’d spent a long time in the Road Roses, riding in and out of people’s lives. Stopping at seedy little places like this. You wouldn’t think it, but being on the road like that teaches you about people. It teaches you to read body language. And I was fluent in that language at least.
I learned that when a woman arched her back like that, it was because she wanted you. I learned that when she bit her lower lip like that, it was because she needed you. I learned that when she held your gaze for as long as this young woman had held mine, it was because she needed a good, hard fuck. And I was damn good at that at least.
I watched her a while longer, letting my eyes devour her perky, young body. She had curves like a woman, but was taut like the teenager she must have been. I reminded myself to check her ID before I did something stupid like dive into her pussy, but I told myself that no one who walked around with that much confidence wasn’t legal.
I hoped.
Finally, when she’d stopped flitting around from place to place to stand at the opposite side of the room, sipping at something pink and fruity probably, I made my move. Her eyes were still on me and I made no bones about where I was headed, who I was coming for. I made a straight shot for her, shoving people to the side and out of my way whenever someone tried to unwittingly block my path. Several people shouted “Hey!” at me, but never anything more because by the time they turned to look at me, they’d likely realized who I was.
Luke Canter, leader of the Road Roses.
With a sly smile, I wondered if this perky little vixen had any idea who I was. Maybe I’ll tell her, I thought as I grew closer, stalking her like a panther. Maybe it’ll get her hot and bothered—not that it looks like she needs the encouragement.
I reached her quickly, though the straining bulge in my pants told me that it had been a goddamn eternity. She was leaning against the wall now, her drink finished and set aside somewhere out of the way. Her eyes were locked on me and her bright cherry lips were parted slightly as she stared me down.
Fluidly, I lifted up my arms and placed them on either side of her, pushing my palms flat against the wall. I leaned forward so that my body was close to hers, her form radiating heat and desire in equal waves. There was no doubt that she wanted me.
“How’d a pretty young thing like you get in here?” I asked, pushing myself closer to her until we were almost touching, but not quite. She radiated heat like a sun goddess and her body confirmed her status at least in my mind.
She let out a soft breath that might have been a sigh or a shiver, either way it was laced with need. It was pretty clear that she wanted me and I almost growled with pride at the thought. I let my gaze drag over her again, checking her body, trying to figure out why she seemed familiar—and how I hadn’t tried to get into her pants before if I did know her like I thought.
She’s probably too young. You saw her when she was still in high school—which she isn’t now, I thought to myself, the last part a hope more than anything else.
She pushed herself towards me slightly, her breasts only just scraping against my chest, sending a quick shiver of desire through me. It was with effort that I focused on what she was saying. “What? Don’t you think I belong?” She batted her long lashes at me.
I barked out a laugh. “With these assholes? Not a chance, baby.”
She bit her lower lip. It had the effect of making me want to pull that lip free and bite it myself, though I resisted the temptation. In time, I reminded myself. All in time.
“Are you even old enough to be in here?” I asked her.
It was her turn to laugh. She pushed out her breasts farther until they were actually pressing into me, emphasizing the size of her lovely round tits and the fact that her torn shirt was straining to cover them. “Don’t I look old enough?” she asked, her voice teasing, daring.
I swallowed hard, my eyes raking over her. She certainly had the body of a woman. But that face—so young still. Young and familiar. Like maybe I’d seen her in passing down the street. Or hanging out with Sorenson, I thought, suddenly feeling a little uneasy. He didn’t usually date sixteen- and seventeen-year-olds, but he was still close enough to their age that it wasn’t weird if he did. Trying to come up with alternative theories, I wondered if I’d simply seen her in here before. I didn’t spend a lot of time at Off Limits, but I dropped by some. She didn’t look like the kind of thing to go to the tattoo parlor, but you never knew. People did crazy, rebellious things sometimes.
Like try to pick up a biker at a seedy bar, I thought mildly.
“Well, if I was just judging by your tits, I’d put you in your very early twenties, but we both know that’s not true.”
She made a pouting face and almost looked offended as she said, “Almost! I’ll be twenty in, like, seven months.”
A slow smile spread across my l
ips. Nineteen was young. Really young. But it was legal, and if the way she was throwing her goddess-like body around, she had already lost her flower to some asshole earlier on. Still, I leaned forward so that I could whisper in her ear, “Almost twenty? And has this almost twenty-year-old had her cherry popped yet?”
She shuddered beneath me. “Oh. Um, yeah, actually. Don’t worry about that.”