by Joanna Wylde
She wasn’t supposed to be here.
“Kit and Em are crazy, and that friend of yours—Jessica? She’s like a car crash. You don’t belong here, Mel.”
“And where do I belong?”
“With some nice kid who’ll treat you like a queen and work his ass off to give you everything perfect for the rest of your life.” The words were practically a growl.
Her eyes widened.
“What if I don’t want perfect?”
“Too fucking bad, because that’s what you’re getting.”
“Excuse me?” she said, her voice hardening. I saw a flash of anger in her eyes—good. Maybe it would clear her head enough to pull it out of her ass.
“I’m taking you home and you aren’t coming back out here again. And you can stay the fuck away from Em and Kit. Hell, you should stay away from Jessica, too. Why are you two sharing a place, anyway?”
“What do you want from me?” she asked softly, her lips moving against my thumb, which had somehow started sliding back and forth without my permission. I took a deep breath, looking into her face. Christ, but she was beautiful. Dusky skin, thick, dark brown eyelashes and all that hair I wanted to wrap around my hands while I skull-fucked her.
If she’d cut it off while I was in prison, not sure I could’ve handled it . . .
“I want you to leave and never come back,” I said. She flinched, and for an instant I thought she might turn and run. Then her tongue flicked out and licked my thumb. Hot. It was hot and wet, and when she caught it with her teeth and then sucked it into her mouth my head started throbbing. Okay, more than my head. I could actually feel my pulse in my cock, which was rock hard and pushing against the front of my jeans.
Mel’s eyes held mine as she sucked me deep, swirling her tongue as her fingers dug into my chest. Those lips of hers . . . they were soft and puffy and looked fucking fantastic wrapped around my thumb, but they’d look a whole hell of a lot better wrapped around something else. Then she caught at my wrist with her other hand, pulling me slowly out of her mouth, even as her tongue flicked out for one last playful taunt.
“Painter, I want you to listen to me very carefully,” she said, holding my gaze as her face hardened. Damned if I didn’t love the way my name sounded on her lips. “I thought you were my friend, but you ditched me. You treated me like I was an annoying pest when I tried to thank you for loaning me your car. You acted like all those letters between us meant nothing. That hurt me, Painter. Hurt me a lot. Maybe I’ll regret telling you this once I’m sober, but right now it feels good to say the words, so listen up.”
My eyes widened—who the hell was this girl? Mel didn’t have a backbone, not like this. But apparently she did, because she wasn’t done talking yet.
“So far as I’m concerned, you have no right to tell me what to do,” she said, the words careful and deliberate as she reached out to poke me in the chest. “Ever. I was having a great time until you interrupted me, and I’m going to leave you now and go back to having a great time without you. If you don’t like that, you can shove it right up your ass.”
MELANIE
I’d lost my mind.
Only possible explanation for what’d just come out of my mouth. Wait—there was another one. I’d been possessed by a demon. I blinked slowly, thankful for the wall behind me because I’m not sure I could’ve stayed upright without it.
This is what drunk feels like, I realized. I thought I’d been drunk before, but I’d only been tipsy or something, because tonight was totally different. Take this whole situation with Painter. I knew he was a big, scary guy. I knew telling him off—alone, in the dark—was a bad idea.
I just didn’t care.
Talk about liberating . . . Painter’s face darkened, and I giggled. Couldn’t help myself, it was just too funny. Mr. Big Bad Biker Man didn’t know what the hell to say because I was right and he was wrong and—
“You have no idea what you’re fucking with,” he growled. He reached out, burying a hand in my hair and twisting it tight, tilting my head up toward him. Leaning into me, his eyes searched my face as his jaw clenched. “You think this is a game, Mel? Not even Em and Kit would be stupid enough to take off into the night with some guy they don’t know.”
“You mean like Jessica took off with you?” I asked, feeling bold. “You’re such a hypocrite.”
“All the more reason to stay away from me. You need to go home and stay there.”
“Do you even hear the words coming out of your mouth?” I demanded, frustrated because he was full of shit and I’d just been sucking on his thumb and . . . Em had been right—Painter did have a complex. I had no interest in getting stuck on top of some stupid pedestal, though. I wanted to lick him all over, not sit on an inspirational platform of womanly virtue. “Now let me go and we’ll call it good. I’ll go back to the party and have fun. You can go fuck some whore if you’re horny or say a few prayers to the Virgin Mary if you’re feeling guilty about something. Just leave me alone.”
His fingers tightened in my hair, his other arm reaching out to jerk me forcefully into his body. Then I was plastered against him, our faces inches apart. Yikes. Somehow he was bigger up close . . .
“You should listen to me,” he said, the words low and more intense than I’d ever heard from him. “You realize Taz could do anything to you out here? He’s not part of this club and you’re nobody’s property. There’s no protection for you if you don’t use some fucking common sense.”
“Taz seemed really nice,” I whispered, surrounded by his heat and strength and the realization that there was absolutely nobody who knew where I was right now. Okay. Painter might’ve been onto something—going out into the dark with Taz had been stupid, because I knew Taz even less than I knew Painter, and I had a feeling that hanging in the dark with my prison pen pal wasn’t going to end well. Suddenly his hand caught my ass, lifting me up and slamming me back against the wall. My arms clutched his shoulders and my legs wrapped around his waist.
Holy. Shit.
Bad idea or not, I don’t think I’d ever been more turned on in my life. How many times had I dreamed about something like this? Painter’s mouth dropped down to my ear, catching it in his teeth just tight enough to hurt. I felt the hardness between his legs grinding into me as need exploded through my body. He smelled so good . . . My hips twisted, desperate for more. Painter groaned.
“Fuck me,” he muttered, almost to himself. “You realize what I could do to you out here? Christ, Mel. There’s nobody to hear if you scream. I can strip you down and fuck your brains out whether you want me to or not.”
I couldn’t breathe for a minute—he could strip me down and fuck my brains out. Something clenched, deep inside. (My vagina. It was my vagina doing the clenching.)
“What if I don’t want to scream?”
He groaned again, pulling his head back to look at me. Then he licked his lips and I wanted to kiss him so bad I thought it might kill me.
So fucking do it already.
I didn’t give myself a chance to think it through—I just grabbed his head and smashed my mouth into his. He froze for an instant and then I felt his hand twist tight in my hair, tilting my head to the side as he took control of the kiss.
Now’s the part where I tell you that a choir of angels descended from the heavens, while unicorns frolicked and I spontaneously orgasmed against the wall of the Armory courtyard. That’s how it always reads in books, but what can I say? There weren’t any unicorns. Pretty damned sure I heard the angels singing, though, and I was definitely working my way toward an orgasm. Painter’s hips were grinding into mine and my nipples were hard as rocks, his chest crushing me as his tongue took over my world.
Then he shifted, his dick finding exactly the right spot. I wanted him inside me so bad, but this was amazing, too, because I felt every muscle in my body twisting tight. My fingers spasmed in his hair and my hips bucked and then his hand squeezed my ass hard and I fell over the edge.
&nbs
p; Damn. DAMN.
Not sure, but I think I caught a glimpse of a unicorn. Could’ve just been the alcohol. Slowly I came back to myself. Painter was still kissing me, softer now although I knew he hadn’t come. Nope, that cock of his was still hard and ready for more. Then he pulled back and lowered me to the ground, breathing heavily. I swayed as I reached down between us, finding the denim-covered bulge between his legs and squeezing it.
“No,” he said, teeth gritted. “We need to get you home.”
His body didn’t agree, though, because his hips were pushing back against my hand, begging for more. I squeezed again, running my hand firmly up and down his considerable length, wondering what he’d taste like.
I decided to find out and dropped to my knees.
That seemed to set him off, because he grabbed my arms, jerking me up and shoving me away in one rough motion. I stumbled back and tripped over a tree root, weaving for an instant before falling on my ass into a clump of grass.
“You ever hear the phrase ‘No means no’?” he snarled, looking down at me with something as close to fear as I’d ever seen on his face. “Pretty sure I read that on a poster somewhere. I don’t want you like this, Mel.”
The fall hadn’t been enough to knock the wind out of me, but that one sentence sure as hell did. Shit. I’d attacked him and gotten off on it. He didn’t want me to do it and I’d done it anyway. There was a name for people who pull shit like that.
That wasn’t a protest you felt grinding against you, girl. That was a cock and it wanted inside in a bad way.
No. That didn’t matter, because whatever his body might say, his brain wasn’t on board. I’d been dropping down to give him a blow job and he didn’t even want it.
Fucking pathetic.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered, feeling like I might throw up. God, why did I drink so much? It turned me into an idiot. Painter reached down, offering me his hand.
“C’mon, let’s go,” he said, his voice still strained. “Didn’t mean to knock you down. Christ, what a cluster.”
“S’okay,” I mumbled, wondering if I could just slink off somewhere. Sit and wallow in my own pathetic juices for a while before calling London and begging for a ride home. “I’m really sorry I kissed you.”
“I gotta get you out of here. Jesus. You need to stay the fuck away from me, Mel. I can’t handle this shit. Next time just come at me with a gun—it’ll be fuckin’ easier for both of us.”
• • •
What followed was an exercise in humiliation, blended with ghastly, drunken spins and topped off with utter exhilaration. Why? Because he decided to give me a ride home on his motorcycle. I’d forgotten how big and intimidating his black and gold Harley was. I mean, I’d seen it parked on the street last weekend during the move and knew it wasn’t some little dirt bike . . . but it still seemed bigger up close—somehow more real. Scary.
Sexy.
Why did it have to be sexy?
Painter threw his leg over the bike and sat down, gesturing for me to join him. I climbed up, sliding down into his butt as I tried to tuck my skirt in somehow. He caught my hands, wrapping them tight around his waist. Holy hell.
I spread my hands out, feeling the hard flex of his stomach muscles under his shirt as I rested my head against his back. His Reapers colors were flush against my face, and I smelled the leather of his vest.
How was it possible to be so embarrassed and turned on at the same time?
Then Painter gunned the Harley to life between my legs, and let me just state this for the record—anyone who tries to tell you that a motorcycle isn’t a phallic machine has obviously never been on one. Before the kiss, I’d have given anything to ride with him on his bike. Unfortunately tonight had fallen to shit and back—all I wanted was to crawl into my bed and pull the covers over my head.
If I got very, very lucky, maybe this whole thing would turn out to be a crazy nightmare.
The ride passed in a blur. One second we were pulling out of the Armory and the next we’d stopped in front of my house. I was off the bike and headed up the walk in an instant, praying that Jessica had left a Fudgsicle for me because I needed one. Purely medicinal.
“Mel,” he called from behind me.
“Thanks for the ride,” I answered, refusing to look at him or slow down.
“Mel!” he said, raising his voice in command. Reluctantly I stopped and turned to look back at him, almost falling on my ass again. I didn’t like being drunk, I decided. Nothing was working right and it’d stopped being fun.
“What?”
“You need to text London and Kit,” he said, his voice almost kind. “Let them know you’re okay. Tell them I brought you home.”
“Oh,” I said, feeling sheepish because it hadn’t even occurred to me. (Definitely no more getting super drunk—I just wasn’t very good at it.) I pulled out my phone and saw several missed texts. Crap. The first was from London, about forty-five minutes ago.
LONDON: Have fun but be careful, Mel. Taz is cute . . . he’s also a player.
Then fifteen minutes later.
LONDON: I didn’t see where you went—you okay?
And finally . . .
LONDON: I’m worried about you, Mel. Please text and let me know you’re all right.
Ugh. I had to be the worst not-quite-daughter ever. Right after that was a message from Kit.
KIT: Londons freaking out and someone said you went off with Taz be careful xx
Crap crap crap . . .
ME: Sorry I got tired and decided to come home. Caught a ride with painter and its all good. See you later and thanks for the invite
I looked back toward the street, where Painter was still sitting on his bike, watching me. I gave him a perky little finger wave—why did you do that? You look like a total dork for doing that! Ugh—then walked up to the door, pulling out my key. I stood there, considering, then turned and walked back across the lawn to him before I could chicken out because we still had unfinished business.
Painter cocked his head, questioning.
“Thank you very much for letting me borrow your car while you were in prison,” I said carefully, holding his gaze. “It was really nice of you and it helped me a lot.”
“You’re welcome,” he replied, some strange emotion stealing across his face. Nodding, I turned and walked back up to the door, pulling out my key again. I heard the bike roar to life behind me as I stepped inside.
Jessica had been right about one thing. Going out to the Armory had been a big mistake.
CHAPTER FOUR
I found Jess on the couch, working on her laptop and eating a red licorice whip. Her hair was still in the disturbing amoeba-growth-shaped bun and she’d balanced a can of Red Bull on the faded couch arm next to her. Music played in the background, her usual mix of upbeat dance and boy bands. As much as I loved Jess, her playlists made me want to gouge my ears out of my head.
When she saw me, her eyes got wide and she pointed accusingly.
“You got laid, you little whore!”
“Excuse me?” I asked, totally confused. God, I must be even drunker than I thought.
“You. Got. Laid,” she repeated, stabbing her finger in my direction for emphasis. “All your lipstick’s worn off. You met some guy and sucked his dick, didn’t you? Did he go down on you, too? I’m assuming he got you off—there’s that sparkle in your eyes . . .”
“No, I didn’t suck anyone’s dick. I mean, we—”
Then I stopped, swallowing. Wait, what? Why were we having this conversation? More important, did I want to tell her what’d happened with Painter? I blinked slowly, trying to figure out what to say when Jess burst out laughing.
“Mellie, you’re too easy,” she said, rolling her eyes. “I know you didn’t get laid—but can you blame me for giving you shit? You always blush so hard. It’s really funny because you’d never hook up at a party. You’re always the good girl.”
I scowled, then dropped down next to her on the cou
ch. I couldn’t decide whether to be offended she thought I couldn’t get any action or thankful that she didn’t suspect anything. Reaching down, I tried to loosen my boots. This proved harder than it should be, because my fingers weren’t working quite right.
“Just because I’m good at school doesn’t mean I can’t hook up,” I reminded her. “It’s not like I’m a virgin.”
“You’ve slept with three guys, correct?” she asked, arching a brow. I nodded, wincing as I thought about that last one . . . none of them had been great, but John had actually hurt me. Terrible, terrible aim that boy had.
“And when was the last time you got laid?” she continued.
“It’s been a while,” I admitted.
“Since you met Painter.”
I shrugged, refusing to dignify her questions with a reply. That would only encourage the wench.
“That’s a dead end and you know it,” she said, flapping her hand in dismissal. “I need you to get off your ass and grab some action—since I swore off sex, I’m counting on you, Mel. You’re my everything.”
She stared at me with adoring, mocking puppy dog eyes.
Flipping her off, I flopped back into the couch cushions, propping my feet up on the coffee table we’d scrounged at the St. Vinnie’s thrift shop. It was battered and hideous, but it was solid enough to hold a pizza and a six-pack, which was all that mattered (at least according to Jess).
“You’re not as smart as you think,” I mumbled. “It’s not like that.”
“I’m surprised Loni didn’t come in to say hi when she dropped you off,” she said, flopping back next to me. “She usually does.”
“I didn’t ride home with Loni,” I hedged, still feeling raw and embarrassed about what’d happened. I didn’t like lying to Jessica, but I wasn’t ready to go there. Not yet. Especially since I knew she’d been to a party out at the Armory—not a family party—and she’d gotten further with Painter than I had.