Sweet Perdition

by Cynthia Rayne

  Clubs like theirs attracted a lot of hangers on. Women who liked bad boys. He never learned their names or gave them much thought after he fucked one of them.

  Meanwhile, she had polished off the rest of the striped balls and stood staring at him, cue in hand, with a gleaming white sharky smile. She twirled the stick through her fingers like a six shooter before she tucked it back in the wall holder.

  Then, she waltzed over to both of them. “That was bracing. I think I sobered up.” She nodded to Shepherd. “Who’s your friend?”

  “This is Shepherd. He’s my brother, and he’s just about to leave.”

  “Nice to meet you. I’m Elizabeth.” Her brow puckered as she held out her hand.

  Shepherd shook it and Ryker clenched his fists, forcing himself not to slap his brother’s hand away. Evidently, Shep had read the question on her face. “Not his real brother, sweetheart. I’m another member of the MC.”

  “What did I just say? Keep your god damn hands to yourself.” He growled, clapping the other man on the back hard enough to make him cough. “Go annoy someone else.”

  With a nod to the lady, Shepherd ambled off.

  “You’re some sort of ringer, huh?” he said.

  “Hey, I didn't goad you into the game.”

  “Call ‘em like I see ‘em.”

  She grinned. “Can’t help it. In college, I lived off the third floor lounge and we had this huge pool table. I used to scam frat boys for quarters all the time. I didn’t pay for laundry my entire senior year,” she said proudly.

  So, she had been a college girl. She gave off a smarty pants vibe. “I guess I owe you a ride, then. Fair and square. Are you going to collect your winnings tonight?”

  She nearly gave him his own words back. “Abso-freaking-lutely, sweet cheeks.”

  Be still my fuckin’ heart. She didn’t even drop the F bomb.

  “Get your gear, hustler.”

  Chapter Two

  What am I doing?

  Elizabeth wondered for the umpteenth time tonight as she followed Ryker to his bike in the parking lot. She was a librarian for pity’s sake. She should know better. Librarians and bikers really don’t mix. But she’d been out of her mind when she left the wedding, speeding down the road like a maniac, crying and swerving.

  She should have bypassed Perdition and found a nice, safe Applebee’s and ordered a margarita the size of her head, maybe a plate of spinach dip. She could have drowned her sorrows in tequila, carbs, and cheese and then gone home with a full belly and a buzz.

  That would have been the smart choice.

  Yet always doing the right thing didn’t seem to be working out either. Tonight, while watching Carl and Lisa on the dance floor together, she’d had an epiphany of sorts. Being a good girl all the time had gotten her exactly bupkiss. She led a boring life. She went to work at noon, came home around nine, and then made dinner. Rinse and repeat. She filled her time with mundane chores like laundry, taking out the trash, and dishes. A wild night would be going to the Bloody Hell Tea Room in town, maybe ordering a scone with some lemon curd.

  Not exactly exciting.

  She should live a little. Something had to change or she’d end up with a houseful of cats, sitting in a rocker on the front porch. Okay, so maybe she’d played one too many hands of Old Maid as a kid, but still? She could do with a bit of a shakeup in her life.

  On impulse, she’d decided to do something daring. So she’d stopped in for a beer with notorious bikers. And now she’d agreed to go on a midnight ride with one. Her hormones seemed to be in control tonight, which promised more excitement than she’d had in years.

  She hadn’t dated, or even slept with anyone but Carl and the last time they’d made love had been two long years ago.

  While she’d been very attracted to Carl, he didn’t exactly rock her world. The sex had been fine, pleasant even. Sometimes pleasurable. But something had always been missing. It wasn’t like anything she’d ever read in a romance novel. She’d expected fireworks, breathless, writhing need.

  But Ryker? He made her feel things she hadn’t ever felt before. Just watching the predatory way he stalked through the parking lot turned her on. He made her stomach flip over and twist itself into little bitty knots. And she’d convinced herself that sort of crazy longing could only be found in her beloved books.

  Ryker was hot on an epic scale.

  He had big blue eyes and coal black hair she wanted to run her fingers through. And his abs? Judging by the way his tight shirt clung to his muscled torso? She bet you could grate cheese on them.

  She had to admit the view from the back was just as good. He filled out a pair of tattered blue jeans better than any Calvin Klein model. Peeking beneath his shirt, she glimpsed the club’s logo on his bicep, mirroring the one on his back. On the other arm, he had tattoos of grim, hooded figures on horseback.

  While she followed him, she got a chance to examine his worn leather vest. An angry stallion in the center, with Four Horsemen along the top. On the bottom of the vest, a Texas patch. Right below it, another patch, which said Phoenix Chapter. Odd, since last time she checked, Phoenix was in Arizona, but whatever.

  Everyone in town knew the Four Horsemen. They blazed around on Harleys wearing leather and not taking crap from anyone, which didn’t exactly lend itself to blending in. The club was the subject of town gossip and rumors. She’d heard all sorts of wild stories! Like they cooked meth, or they owned brothels in Vegas, or they ran an illegal gambling operation. No one knew exactly how much truth lay in any of the rumors, but everyone in Hell loved to speculate. You might call it the town hobby.

  They stopped in front of a sleek bike with red and white accents, from what she could see in the meager light provided by the bar’s red neon sign. The club’s name was surrounded in flames. Hellfire, she supposed.

  “This is Lucy.” He caressed the black leather seat as though stroking a treasured pet.

  "Is that a kind of motorcycle?" She didn't know anything about bikes. Though she thought it was cute. All red, white, and chrome.

  "No, she's a Harley Davidson Softail Deuce. I call her Lucky Lucille, or Lucy for short. Won her in a game of Texas Hold ‘em.” He paused a moment. “And before we go, I have to give you the rules.”

  Hold up. “Rules? What is it with you and all these regulations? You don’t really strike me as a rule follower.”

  And frankly, his devil-may-care attitude made him an intoxicating mixture of dangerous and exciting. Ryker could be the poster boy for poor life decisions.

  “I’m not, in general, but these guidelines came straight from Axel, our road captain. He also happens to be my biological big brother so he’d kick my ass to Louisiana and back if I didn’t ride safe.”

  “Road captain?” she asked. They had their own lingo, and apparently officers. She’d never have guessed bikers could be so organized.

  Until meeting him, her knowledge about motorcycle clubs had been limited to books and movies. She had to admit she found the notion of a hot, bad boy with a big machine very appealing, but it had only been a fantasy. Tonight? It was reality.

  “Yeah, a road captain is in charge when we go out on a run. Suits Axel well. He’s bossy as hell. Anyway, I need to give you the 411. First rule of the road, you gotta wear a brain bucket.”

  A what? “You lost me.”

  “A helmet,” he explained. “Second rule, when girls ride on the bike, they forfeit their panties.”

  She must have blanked on the last one. “Excuse me?”

  “You heard me. Sort of like paying a toll.” He gave her a salacious grin. “You saw the long string of panties strung up around the bar?”

  “Yeah.” She scowled. “That’s where those came from?” She hadn’t missed the ladies underwear of every size and description, which had been tacked together, starting behind the bar and had extended down the length of the room like some sort of peeping Tom’s idea of a clothesline. “B-but I won this ride!”

  �
�Too bad.” He licked his lips. “No panties? No ride.” He crossed his arms over his wide chest. “Rules is rules.”

  She thought about protesting. Then, she remembered the epiphany from earlier in the evening.

  So why not? How many chances did you get to have a ride with a bonafide biker? This would make a great story one day. After the crappy night she’d had, she deserved a treat. “Fine. I’ll take them off. Where’s the restroom?”

  He shook his head. “No, you’re going to take the panties off right here, darlin’. I want to watch you wiggle out of them.”

  What?! For a moment she couldn’t say anything. She stood there and gaped at him.

  He stared back, his chin lifted in a silent dare.

  And the heat rippled between them.

  Oh, yeah, she wanted him and the jerk knew it. She’d felt the attraction since he first sat down and started to hassle her, but she’d resisted. Merely going to the bar had been a big risk for her, but he hadn’t given up. A wicked part of her had almost wanted to lose the bet so she ended up making out with him.

  The thought of slipping her underwear off while he watched gave her a sexual thrill. But could she actually do it? Taking her panties off in a parking lot in front of God and country? “I don’t think so.”

  “Come on, live a little. Let go, Pinky. Give me your panties and let’s catch some wind.” He raised a brow at her.

  She glanced at the motorcycle again and then at the sexy man waiting to take her for a ride. She really wanted to go with him, but loathed the idea of stripping in public.

  Ryker watched her.

  She surveyed the parking lot. Completely empty. Good girls finish last, right? “I told you, my name is not Pinky!” she snapped, just to be difficult, and he laughed. “But I’ll do it.”

  The sexy quirk of his lips melted into a hungry expression and she bit back a moan as he eyed her body. “Come on. Show me what you got.”

  With a flourish, she fluffed up her skirt, reached beneath the yards of satin, and hooked her thumbs in the waistband of her highlighter pink thong. She quickly forced them down. The ugly underwear had come courtesy of Lisa, complete with the wedding date on the seat spelled out in sparkly rhinestones. She’d planned to toss them in the trash anyway. Like she wanted a reminder of the wedding.

  She slapped the panties into his palm, none too gently.

  He stretched the neon lace over his fingers, whistling. Then, he stared at her hips and thighs. Hard. As though willing himself to see through the fabric of her gown.

  His intense expression made her think of an old movie.

  One late night, she’d flicked through the channels and stopped for a moment on Gone with the Wind. When Scarlet first met Rhett, she’d remarked he seemed to know exactly what she looked like beneath her shimmy. She had no idea what on earth a shimmy was, but if she happened to be wearing one? She’d bet Ryker could see beneath it.

  “Don’t get too excited. I’m only taking off the panties.” She crossed her arms over her chest, wishing she believed her own statement.

  He tucked her underwear in the back pocket of his jeans. “For starters.”

  Oh God.

  He got closer, invading her space, and forcing her backwards. She was a bundle of emotions: turned on, nervous, embarrassed. She didn’t know which of those got top billing. She gasped as he backed her fully against the bike, leaving her trapped between hot man and cold steel. She could literally feel the heat radiating from his body.

  “You won’t be sorry, Pinky. You’re gonna love having nothing between you and the raw power of my machine between your legs.”

  She sucked in an unsteady breath. He didn’t mean the motorcycle.

  He cocked his head to the side. “Ready for a ride?”

  She couldn’t even speak, merely nodded.

  “Consider it foreplay.”

  Then, he reached behind her and plucked a helmet from the back of the bike and then placed it on her head. He fastened it and then stroked her chin and she nearly melted into a little puddle at his feet.

  He jumped on the bike and started it up, then shoved the kickstand out of the way, before revving the engine a few times. He fastened his own helmet and then held out a hand to her. “Ready?”

  She hesitated for a moment, sensing somehow that if she climbed on the bike with him, her life would never be quite the same again.

  But it didn’t stop her.

  She took his hand and straddled the bike. It felt awkward at first. She could feel the engine reverberating beneath her, thrumming an intense beat. She wrapped her legs around Ryker, keeping her calves away from the rapidly warming piping on either side of the bike.

  He reached around and grabbed her arms and then wrapped them around his waist. “Hold on to me tight, Pinky.” Then, he gunned the engine and they took off at a breakneck pace.

  She’d never been a fainter, but she could feel a bit of a swoon coming on. The dress billowed around them in the wind and she rested her head against his back, clinging tighter as they rounded a curve in the road. The chilled night air raised goose pimples on her skin and she could feel her heart thundering in her chest.

  She had never felt so freaking alive! Every nerve ending tingled. No wonder people rode bikes. She’d certainly never felt so free in the battered old sedan she drove. She’d been saving for a new car since she’d graduated, but maybe she could buy a bike instead? Not exactly practical, but tempting as hell. Just like Ryker. She felt the stress and strain of the day wash away, caught up in the excitement of the experience.

  “You okay back there, Pinky?” he called as they vroomed around a corner.

  “I’m great!” she yelled back.

  She could feel his body move against hers, beneath the leather. He was nothing like any of the guys she’d dated. She tended to go for preppy types with a penchant for wearing suits and playing golf. He wore jeans and he smelled like tobacco, sweat, and man.

  She could feel herself getting wet, sliding against the hard leather seat between her legs. The intense vibration on her exposed flesh fueled a rush of sudden lust she couldn’t ignore. And wouldn’t deny. Despite her protests, she wouldn’t be able to say no to him.

  Sleeping with him wouldn’t be anything serious, only a light and fun sexual fling. She already knew it without being told. She’d never had a one night stand in her life, but maybe she needed to right now. It could shake her out of this funk.

  She buried her face in his shoulder and surreptitiously ground herself against the seat. She’d gotten wetter than she could have ever imagined and he hadn’t even touched her yet! If Ryker got his hands on her one time, she might pass out. She imagined opening her legs for him. Letting him slide between her inner thighs. She moaned into his shoulder, hoping he hadn’t heard her.

  Eventually, the bike slowed to a halt, pulling up to a white house with an attached garage. She suddenly realized, she hadn’t asked him where they were going. Or maybe deep down she’d known he’d been taking her to his place. He cut the engine and hit the kick stand.

  “Home sweet home, darlin’. Did you like the ride?” His tone was a bit smug.

  “Loved it, actually.” She bit her lower lip, nervously, as she slid off the motorcycle. Even though, the dress came down below her knees, she felt exposed with no panties, especially because she’d been left all wet and needy. “This is where you live?”

  He jumped off and stood staring down at her. His eyes penetrating. Was it her imagination, or did he seem bigger? Even more dominating? “Yes.”

  She couldn’t meet his eyes. She had no idea what to do, what to say. She undid the helmet and handed to him. Finally, she dropped her gaze, stared at the driveway. He unsnapped his and draped both of them over the handlebars, by their straps.

  Then, he cupped her face, forcing her to meet his hungry stare. “Don’t play coy with me. You know why we’re here, don’t you? And you’ve been aching for it since you slid on my Harley.” His voice got lower, rougher. “I cou
ld feel you moving behind me, rubbing your pussy against the seat of my bike.”

  She gulped. Dammit, he’d noticed. She could feel her face flaming red once more.

  “And I’m dying to give it to you.” Even in the dim moonlight, she could see the long column of his sex, pressing against his tight jeans. More than eager for her. She didn’t remember ever making Carl aroused without touching him first.

  “Maybe,” she murmured.

  “Just maybe?” he said hoarsely. He swiped his hand down the seat of his Harley, capturing the wetness which had seeped from her and brought it to his nose. “I can smell you.” He slipped a digit in his mouth and sucked it clean while she watched.

  She gasped, stuck somewhere between desire and mortification.

  His eyes fastened on hers and he pulled the finger from his full, sensual mouth. Licked his lips. “Taste you.”

  Her legs might buckle. “Oh God.”

  “But I want it straight from the source,” he muttered, eyes drinking her in. “I need those luscious thighs wide open for me. Then, I’m gonna lick you until you pass out and all you have to do Pinky is say one little word and you know exactly what it is, don’t you?”

  She nodded, but had to clear her throat before she could speak. “Yes,” she croaked.

  Chapter Three

  Ryker was in hell.

  He’d been a man in need all night, but somehow, he’d found his way home without crashing Lucy and killing them both, despite the haze of lust. He thought he might explode before he even got her on the bed. He’d been stiff as a fucking board since she’d slid off her teeny, tiny panties. Oh hell, before that. She’d made his dick stir the moment he clapped eyes on her.

  It had taken every ounce of will power he possessed to white-knuckle-it home, hands clamped firmly on the handlebars. He’d wanted to pull over on the side of the road and give her a good hard fucking over the seat of his bike. Flip up her skirt and plunge his cock into her hot, wet pussy. Especially, when she’d pressed her tits into his back, and rubbed herself against the seat.