No one said anything back, but every single pair of eyes in the house narrowed. Every mouth hardened into an angry line. Cherise could hear the men begin to whisper to each other, their ugly voices harsh and hushed.
Men. The entire bar was filled with nothing but men, she suddenly realized. There wasn’t a woman in the place. She looked around, peered into the dimly lit booths in the back behind the pool table, but couldn’t spot anyone of the female persuasion.
Shit, she thought, but pushed her panic down. She could do this—just grab a quick beer to show that she wasn’t scared—and get the hell out of this frightening dump.
But as Cherise headed over to the old, linoleum-covered bar to place her order, the grizzled old bartender just crossed his arms and shook his head in an unspoken no.
Nevertheless, she persisted. “I’d like a Miller High Life, please,” she asked politely, hoping her sunny smile could penetrate the bartender’s surly attitude.
It didn’t.
“Nope,” he told her, glaring down meanly at her. Cherise wasn’t a large woman—she was petite and curvy—and he towered over her with his thick, ropy frame and stringy grey hair.
“Can’t you just—” Cherise began, but the bartender firmly cut her off.
“No. What I “can do” is let you walk outta here on your own two legs, girl, but that offer is about to expire,” he growled. “Your ass is gonna be out that door in about ten seconds, and I don’t much care if you walk out or you’re thrown out. Your choice.”
A thick hand gripped Cherise’s right bicep, hard. The hand tightened, viselike, until she was positive that it was going to leave bruises.
“You heard Zeke, bitch,” a voice growled, deep, ugly, and full of menace. Cherise looked over at the giant man holding onto her. He was large, bigger than the bartender even, and looked like he was roughly hewn out of solid granite. His features were harsh and deeply lined, and his long black hair was tied back in a greasy ponytail. A series of tattoos were visible on his bare chest and arms, some disappearing below the grimy black leather vest that covered his thick, barrel-shaped torso.
“You tell her, J.P.!” a thin voice shouted out of nowhere, hollering encouragement at Cherise’s mountainous assailant
“How dare you touch me—” Cherise fumed, but the man, J.P., grabbed her by the other arm and lifted her roughly off the ground as if she was a rag doll.
“You’re a little pain-in-the-ass, aren’t you,” he said, roughly dragging Cherise to the establishment’s only door. “Maybe you need to be taught a lesson. What do you think about that idea, girlie?”
Cherise was about to snap back again at the horrible man, but she was beaten to the punch by a new voice coming from behind J.P.
“Put the lady down, asshole.”
Surprisingly enough, J.P. did just that, unceremoniously dropping Cherise onto her own two feet and turning to face the interloper.
Cherise, who knew that she should get the hell out of there, let her curiosity get the better of her and peered around J.P.’s thick bulk to get a slight glimpse of her savior.
There, standing in the center of grimy biker bar, surrounded by a group of dangerous, leather-clad thugs, was the most beautiful man Cherise had ever seen in her entire life.
***
It took Cherise a while to understand what J.P. and the newcomer were saying, she could barely pay any attention to anything apart from the fact that she’d just been saved by a supermodel.
Well, he wasn’t exactly a supermodel. Cherise doubted that his unconventional looks—tattoo sleeves covering both arms, chin-length, sandy blond hair, rough stubble covering his chiseled jaw-line—were much in demand in the high-fashion industry. Perhaps he was more akin to a Viking warrior than a supermodel.
The new man was tall, matching J.P.’s enormous height, and his broad shoulders and wide chest were muscled and strong. The sandy blond stranger was dressed much more simply than most of the weathered old bikers in the bar. While they were all clad almost completely in leather, this man simply wore a white tank top over his rippling pectorals. The rest of his ensemble consisted of jeans and a thick pair of black motorcycle boots.
That can’t offer much protection on the road, Cherise thought for a moment, before her attention was pulled back to J.P. and her savior, who were starting to inch closer together, standing toe-to-toe and nose-to-nose.
J.P. was screaming something into the stranger’s face, but the stranger remained cool and collected, arms crossed over his broad chest and wearing a slightly bemused expression on his handsome face.
“You can’t just stroll in here after a couple of years and act like you own the place, Lynx,” J.P. shouted, finally snapping and planting a rough shove against the man’s, Lynx’s, wide, strong chest. “So go fuck right off.”
Lynx did not shove the man back or raise his voice in anger. He simply cocked one light blond eyebrow in J.P.’s general direction and smirked. “You want to show me who’s the boss, J.P.?” he drawled. “Then come at me, dick.”
With a sudden roar of rage, J.P. lunged at Lynx, who ducked the punch with ease and sent J.P. crashing in to the nearby pool table. The big, ugly man skidded down the green felt and crashed against the bumper, swearing wildly.
A strong hand wrapped around Cherise’s thin arm and pulled her toward the door. “Time to go, lady,” Lynx whispered, his voice a cigarette roughened rasp in her ear.
The other patrons of the bar were beginning to rise to their feet, their various weathered faces wearing ugly scowls of rage and violence. Cherise didn’t pause to argue, she simply let herself be tugged out of the tiny bar without a moment of hesitation.
Once they were outside, she started to head to her little SUV, the lone automobile in the parking lot full of motorcycles, but Lynx stopped her.
“That’s not gonna work, lady,” he shouted, and pulled her toward his own bike, lifting her up easily and depositing her on the back of the seat. “Come on, we need to get the hell out of here and we need to get out of here fast.”
There was a single helmet for the motorcycle and Lynx handed it to Cherise without even a moment’s hesitation. She pulled it down tightly—it was a snug fit over her twisted hair—and then secured the chin strap with a firm tug.
“Where are we going?” she shouted over the roar as Lynx revved the engine.
He glanced across the parking lot toward the bar, where piles of angry bikers were pouring out of the small entrance. “Anywhere but here, I guess. Hold on!”
The motorcycle lurched beneath them and leapt down the road, forcing Cherise to involuntarily tighten her arms around Lynx’s waist and bury her head against his strong shoulder blades. Cherise wasn’t scared of many things but motorcycles, especially ones roaring at top speed down a narrow, dimly lit country road, made her a teeny-tiny bit nervous.
She hazarded a quick glance backward, and shuddered when she saw a pack of headlights right on their tail.
“They’re still behind us!” she screamed up at Lynx, hoping that she could be heard over the roaring wind. “They’re still behind us, Lynx!”
His sandy blond hair whipped around his face and Cherise could glimpse the slightest bit of his handsome, chiseled profile as he turned his head ever so slightly to check his rearview mirror.
“Shit,” Lynx muttered. Then, just as they came around a sharp bend and the gang was out of sight for the briefest of moments, he yelled a quick bit of instruction back to Cherise. “Hang on back there, lady! Hang on tight!”
With only that small bit of warning, Lynx suddenly whipped the bike right, zooming down a small access road that was almost covered by trees and shadow. He sped down the dark, narrow road and Cherise peeked back. The gang’s headlights whipped down the main road, zooming past the entrance to the dark access road.
The plan had actually worked.
“You lost them!” she shouted to Lynx once again, and she could feel his shoulders relax as he verified the absence of the biker gang in his
rearview mirror, but he didn’t stop driving. Finally, after what seemed like miles, Lynx pulled the bike over to the side of the road and turned off the growling engine.
The silence of the night was terribly overwhelming.
Lynx stepped off the bike and gently lifted Cherise to her feet before turning to face her, his green eyes bright with anger.
“What in the hell were you thinking, lady?” he snapped. “Going into a bar like that? And all by yourself, no less? Are you trying to get yourself killed?”
Cherise pulled herself to her full height and squared her narrow shoulders. The fear of the barroom fight and high speed chase had instantly faded away and been replaced by anger and indignation at Lynx’s rude, condescending tone.
“How is this my fault?” she yelled up at him, getting as close to being “in his face” as a little, tiny woman could when faced with a giant of a man. “Last time I checked, this is America in the 21st century and women—even black women, asshole—have the right to go get a drink wherever they damn well please.”
Lynx shook his head, sandy blond locks shaking around his handsome face. “That’s not what I’m saying, and you know it.”
“Then what are you saying?” Cherise snapped back, eyes burning into him.
“I’m…sorry, I guess I’m not very good with words,” Lynx replied. His voice was low and regretful.
Cherise took a step back and smoothed her blouse, taking the briefest of moments to collect her thoughts. After she’d calmed down a bit, she finally trusted herself enough to speak. “Then what exactly were you trying to say, Lynx?”
His green eyes narrowed suspiciously. “How do you know my name?”
“That guy back in the bar, J.P., said it,” she finally admitted.
Lynx sighed. “Yet another thing I need to pay J.P. back for, huh? I’m getting really tired of that name. I was going to introduce myself as Alexander, but I guess that ship has sailed, huh?”
“Alexander?”
“That’s my real name,” Lynx said. “Alexander Andrews. Lynx is just an annoying nickname that I was hoping to get rid of when I got out—I mean, got back. Anyway, I’m sorry if I sounded like a dick a second ago but, seriously, what the hell were you thinking?”
Cherise felt the hot anger bubble up in her again, but she took a deep, calming breath before she allowed herself to speak. “The girl at the motel told me that was the only bar in town and I wanted to, I don’t know, get out and meet some locals, I guess. That’s what people do when they visit new towns. They explore.”
Lynx snorted. “So you decided to go to the Olde Glory Inn? You’re crazy, lady—”
“Please stop calling me that,” Cherise frowned. “My name is Cherise.”
“Okay,” Lynx agreed, but didn’t stop his line of criticism in the least. “You’re crazy, Cherise. That place isn’t a bar, it’s a den of vipers.”
“Then why were you there?” Cherise asked, perhaps a little too quickly.
Lynx paused. “Maybe I’m a viper, too, Cherise.”
She looked up at him then—really, truly looked at him—and saw incredible sadness in his bright green eyes. His handsome face looked worn and tired.
“No,” she said at last, after giving his statement some serious thought. “I don’t think you are.”
Lynx sighed and roughly scrubbed one large hand over his stubbly cheek. “Let’s get you home, huh?” he asked suddenly, preferring to explore this new idea rather than responding to Cherise’s comment. “Where you staying?”
“The Camelot Inn, it’s just off of—”
“I know where it is,” Lynx said. “As you may have noticed, North Fork isn’t a big town. Everyone knows pretty much everything, including other people’s business.”
They climbed back on the large motorcycle, Lynx once again insisting that Cherise take his helmet, and sped back towards the town of North Fork. As they navigated the dark country roads, Cherise told Lynx her story. They didn’t have a radio or anything, and the silence was deafening.
So, she filled him in on her life: that she was a blogger, stopping in town on a cross-country drive to go conduct an interview with an app developer. Cherise left off the part where she was recently dumped and hopelessly, perennially single.
“An app developer, huh?” he yelled over the rushing wind, bright laughter evident in his rough voice. “Man, no wonder you wandered in to the Olde Glory Inn. You were desperate for some fun and excitement—even the terrifying, unsafe, biker gang kind of fun—with a boring ass job like that.”
“My job isn’t boring!” Cherise argued, having to raise her voice into a shout in order to be heard over the rushing wind.
“Sure, it isn’t,” Lynx laughed.
The lights of town came into view and, in very little time, they pulled up in front of Cherise’s motel, the Camelot Inn. The buzzing neon sign still read “Vacancy!” Cherise wondered if they were ever full-up in a small, out of the way town like this one.
Lynx dismounted the bike and held out a hand to help Cherise step off. She slid her slim, brown hand into his rough, tanned one. It felt solid, it felt safe. Cherise felt her heart racing, but she didn’t know if it was entirely due to the motorcycle ride alone. It might have much more to do with her motorcycle ride companion.
“Good night, Cherise,” Lynx said, his green eyes boring into her brown ones. “I hope you have an exciting time with your app developer in Omaha tomorrow.”
Lynx slung one leg over the bike, beginning to remount his steel horse, but Cherise reached out one hand and rested it softly on his firm bicep.
“I was thinking I might try and have an exciting time tonight,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “Would you like to come in?”
***
A litany of What are you doing? What are you doing? What are you doing? looped through Cherise’s brain as she led Lynx up the narrow stairs and into her shabby motel room. She always made smart choices, dated safe men, never, ever put herself willingly in the path of danger. But here, now, she was inviting a stranger—a complete stranger that she’d met during a fight in a biker bar, for God’s sake—into her motel room and into her bed.
Am I absolutely insane? Cherise wondered as she fit her key into the motel door, jiggling it harshly before she felt the old lock give way and click open, removing the last obstacle between herself and a potentially disastrous mistake.
“Nice place,” Lynx said, stepping through the door into the dimly lit, badly furnished motel room. Cherise couldn’t tell if he was being truly sincere or rudely sarcastic. She knew the motel room was shitty, but she had no idea where Lynx actually lived. His own home could actually be so much worse than this dump.
“Thanks,” she answered, trying to sound calm and neutral, as if the most beautiful man she’d ever seen in real life wasn’t casually standing in the middle of her seedy motel room in the middle of freaking Nebraska. “So, uh…”
Cherise had been trying to figure out how to gracefully segue from small talk into pulling Lynx into bed and having her wild way with him, but hadn’t quite figured out how to make that work. Luckily, Lynx had an easy solution.
The moment the motel door clicked shut, he was on her, against her, pressing her back against the old, warped wood as his hungry mouth ravaged hers. Cherise had kissed quite a lot of men in her three or so decades on the planet, but she’d never been kissed like this before. Claimed by a large, violent man, who also held her so tenderly, so reverently, with his strong arms and body.
“Tell me if I need to stop, okay?” Lynx said, breathing heavily as he pulled back from his kiss to check in with Cherise.
“I will,” she promised him, then wrapped one small, brown hand in his sandy blond waves and pulled him back to her, pressing her mouth to him, eager to regain what they’d missed in those brief, eternal seconds apart.
Cherise felt Lynx’s hands stroke over her, exploring, ghosting over the thick black twists that covered her head, then caressing her delicate ne
ck before moving down to cup her thick, firm breasts.
As he fit one full breast into each of his strong hands, Cherise felt her body involuntarily quiver. She sighed shakily.
“Is that okay?” Lynx checked. “I’m going too fast?”
It was most definitely okay and he was definitely not going too fast. If anything, Cherise wanted him to go faster, harder, rougher. But she didn’t have the willpower to pull her mouth away from his and verbalize her request. Instead, she wrapped her arms around his waist and yanked him to her.
She pressed her hips against him, exploring, and her efforts were rewarded with a firm press back against her. Lynx’s arousal was evident; his cock was a firm, thick bulge in the crotch of his worn denim jeans. Cherise wriggled her hips against him yet again, eliciting a groan from her new lover.
“Oh, god,” Lynx moaned, the desire in his voice painful to hear. “Careful. It’s been a long time for me. If you do that again, I might…”
“Then I won’t do it again,” Cherise promised. “For now, I mean. I can’t say anything about later.”
Lynx couldn’t find his words, he simply cried out as Cherise neatly nipped his lower lip with her strong, white teeth and pulled him toward the bed.
They fumbled across the room, shedding a mixture of biker gear and business casual workwear. Finally, they reached the edge of the bed, both clad only in their underwear, and Cherise gave him a good, solid shove.
The big biker crashed down on the bed, spread out beneath Cherise like a Christmas gift she never asked for.
Lynx reached up for her and Cherise lowered herself on top of him, every inch of her body pressing down on his firmly muscled physique. He was lovely, all firm muscle rippling under tattooed skin. She traced one finger down the swirl of the tattoo sleeve on his left arm and made a mental note to ask him about his tattoos next time. If there was a next time.
Cherise moved her focus from Lynx’s arms, now reaching a finger down along the solid wall of his abdomen and slid it under the elastic of his waistband, teasingly pulling it away from his stomach, then letting it snap back into place. Lynx was moaning beneath her, a small sigh of protest releasing each time Cherise teased him, playfully letting go of his underwear. Finally, with one firm tug, she pulled down his simple black boxer briefs, revealing his long, engorged cock.
Princess For Them Page 30