Sin: A Dark & Dirty MC Romance (Satan's Sinners Book 3)

by Serena Akeroyd

  Because it was Tiffany?

  Because she was difficult?

  I thought I’d be difficult too and make her hunt me down.

  As she moved around the driveway, the sound of gravel crunching petered off, and then her footsteps were silent once she was on the lawn.

  “Well, isn’t this romantic?” she murmured as she approached me, and though her cockiness might have grated, I appreciated a woman who knew her worth.

  Maybe that was because of my past though.

  I didn’t want a virgin, but I liked the chase, and there was precious little of that around here. What with the clubwhores and the daughters of rich fucks in town who wanted a walk on the wild side, we were surrounded by pussy.

  Even the ugly fucks like Jenssen got laid on the regular.

  Sons of Anarchy might have given us all a bad rep with business, but where the cunts were concerned?

  We were drowning in their cream.

  “I aim to please,” I rumbled, letting my eyes drift shut.

  I’d had a swift glance at her from the corner of my eye, and my dick was already taking charge of my body.

  Fuck, she was hot. That chick from The Matrix hot. All cheekbones and sass-itude.

  Her hair was different than the first time I’d seen her two weeks ago. A little shorter, a lot bouncier. It had bright blue color at the ends now, and it made her eyes pop so they looked almost turquoise instead of blue or green.

  She wore a halter top that had her tits spilling out, but then the most conservative shorts—knee-length and tailored—and a pair of ballet flats that shouldn’t have been sexy, but somehow were.

  Those tits?

  Holy hell.

  I wanted to bury my face in them.

  Fucking suffocate as those tits sucked the air from my lungs like she sucked the cum from my balls.

  Heaven.

  When she maneuvered to my side without a word, settling beside me on the plaid blanket I’d set down, her perfume swept over me.

  Cool, crisp, and clean.

  Like apples in the fall, with just a faint hint of blossom to give it a feminine tang, then a rich warmth that made me think of musk.

  She was the most feminine woman I’d ever seen, so confident in herself, in her sensuality, that it made me want her more than any other bitch I’d wanted in a long time.

  When she was lying flat beside me, she asked, “This your idea of a date?”

  I hummed. “Not fucking you over the pool table at the clubhouse, am I?”

  A snort escaped her. “That’s what you do on a regular date?”

  Her lack of pique surprised me. All bitches were jealous, just look at Giulia. She’d come into Nyx’s life and was headbutting and nose shattering any clubwhore who dared to get in her way, and only fuck knew what would happen when he eventually claimed her.

  Cammie had been wrecked as well, not that she’d had the brains to stay away from a fucker like Nyx. Just because he was possessive and didn’t share his pussy didn’t mean he was staying with the bitches he claimed for a short while.

  Giulia was different though.

  I got the vibe that, once he pulled his head out of his ass, he was going to patch her in.

  Sweet fuck, that was going to be a blast to watch. Nyx wasn’t the kind of man to be led around by his dick, and Giulia was a stubborn piece of sass that wasn’t about to let him get away with shit.

  My lips curved at the thought of the showdowns we had coming our way.

  We hadn’t had a real party in too long. What Tiffany had come to was more of a Friday night thing. No visiting chapters had come to stay, and when that happened? Shit turned real, fast.

  The second a slut came onto Nyx after he’d made Giulia his, I just knew she was going to break bones, and it’d be better than ringside seats at a championship boxing match.

  “Why here?”

  I blinked, just remembering she was there. And I didn’t mean that in a bad way. It wasn’t that she was forgettable, it was that she was calming.

  She wasn’t an attention seeker.

  I liked that.

  It actually made me more aware of her, even if I could zone out some. It meant my body knew she wasn’t a danger to me, and in my world? That fucking mattered.

  I rubbed my chin. “I live here.”

  “You do? I thought you guys lived in the clubhouse.”

  “We do, but I have my own space too.”

  “Why?”

  “Some brothers like the community. Some don’t. I like a bit of both.”

  “When do you come here?”

  “When the noise gets to be too much for me.”

  “It is loud there, isn’t it?”

  I only nodded, but that was an understatement. “Most of the time, I can deal with it, but then, some days, I just can’t.” I wasn’t like Mav, dealing with PTSD and survivor’s guilt, but somedays? I just needed a fucking break from the noise.

  “How come?”

  Rolling my head to the side, I graced her with my attention. She surprised me because she wasn’t giving me googly eyes. Her head was turned to the dying rays of the sun, and she was basking like a house cat in its warmth.

  My lips bowed slightly, and I gave her an honest answer, because everything about her?

  Demanded it.

  She wasn’t like any other bitch I’d come across.

  I just fucking knew it.

  She wouldn’t take my bullshit. Wouldn’t accept it. Would make me be me.

  And maybe I should walk away from that, head in a completely different direction, because being honest wasn’t my forte…

  Seeing a chance to deflect, I muttered instead, “You don’t suit your name.”

  She snorted at that, unoffended. “You think I don’t know that? Mom had a fetish for dolls. She had this one she called Tiffany, and lucky me, I apparently had her eyes.”

  I laughed. “Had? Past tense? I hope Mom’s not as much of a nut job as she sounds.”

  A shrug had her wriggling her shoulder. “Depends who you talk to.”

  “Meaning?”

  “Meaning, she says she isn’t, but I disagree. We have a room with thousands of dolls in it.”

  I pulled a face. “Sounds creepy.”

  “Doesn’t just sound it. It is creepy. Creepy as fuck.”

  My lips twitched again. “You prefer, I dunno, Tiff?”

  She rolled her head like I had, turning it so we were looking at one another. When she stared at me, her blue-green eyes were lazy and relaxed. Just looking at her was like listening to a meditation tape for an hour.

  “You can call me Tiff,” she murmured softly. “Or you can call me by my middle name.”

  “Do your friends call you Tiff?” At her slow nod, I inquired, “Okay. I’ll bite. What’s your middle name?”

  “Lexie.”

  My lips curved. “Lex. I like it.”

  “I’m glad you do,” she teased, “but that isn’t what I said.”

  “You’re not a Lexie either. You’re a Lex.”

  “That’s a boy’s name.”

  My gaze drifted down to her tits. “Think I’ll have to settle with Tiff, seeing as you’re no boy, sugar.”

  “Figured that out a long time ago.” She reached down and placed her hand on my belly, and heat arced between us like someone had doused us with a flamethrower.

  She released a hissed breath, one I’d have matched, but my control was too strong, before I murmured, “You know where this is heading, don’t you?”

  “I know. But I want you to know that I’m not like any woman you’ve ever met.”

  I was aware of that already. It was why she was at my home.

  Why I hadn’t boned her yet, why I had brought her here—where incredibly few women had been before.

  She had class.

  It exuded from her pores.

  And that made me respect her.

  It made me want her more.

  “That isn’t news to me, Tiffany,” I rumbled
, even as I turned my gaze away from hers.

  I lay there, in the dying sun, and stared at nothing—a copse of trees with some birds that were making a goddamn racket—while she lay at my side.

  It wasn’t how I imagined this date going, but to be fair, dating wasn’t my scene, period. It hadn’t been since I’d been patched into the Sinners’ MC.

  Dating and cuts didn’t go together. And what we’d done this far, I wasn’t sure even constituted as dates.

  I mean, a couple who dated shared a table, didn’t they? Did more than yell at each other across a fucking bar?

  When she curled onto her side, her legs entangling with mine as she pressed her face to my arm and rested her hand farther down on my stomach? I’d have tossed off any other bitch, told her to get in her fucking car and get the fuck away from me.

  But Tiff?

  Yeah.

  That didn’t happen.

  If anything, my initial tension drained away when she hummed, “It’s pretty out here.”

  “Thanks.” It was. Not exactly my pride and joy, but I spent a lot to make it look this naturally unnatural.

  “You garden?” she teased.

  “No,” I said with a snort. “I pay someone to look after the place.”

  “Why?”

  “Because it’s mine.”

  If that sounded possessive, then so be it.

  My house and my bike were the two possessions I owned that I gave a fuck about. They were the only items that couldn’t be easily replaced.

  “Did you give the landscapers free rein?”

  My lips twitched at the idea of Garry Johnson calling himself a ‘landscaper.’ Garry was salt of the Earth. His company was called Green-Fingered Garry, for fuck’s sake. Not that I said any of that, even if it rammed home the difference between her and me in a big way. “Why?”

  “Because I can’t imagine you planting a patch of peonies,” she muttered with a laugh.

  “Peonies?”

  “Thought as much.” She snorted, then wafted a hand over in the direction of the house. “Those flowers are called peonies.”

  I shrugged, I hadn’t known that. “Thought they were wildflowers.”

  She giggled. “Sounds about right. I’m almost relieved. You’re breaking all my glass ceilings here, Sin. If I thought you were into flowers too? I’d start wondering what the hell you guys were doing at that clubhouse of yours.”

  I smirked. “Nothing that delicate little ears like yours should be hearing.”

  She shrugged. “Not so delicate. You grow up fast in this world.”

  “Which world?” I scoffed. “You’re rich, Tiff. Rich as fuck. What do you have to worry about?”

  “Staying rich,” she replied dryly. “Not me, per se. But Daddy? He has to worry about that kind of thing. It’s no easy life.”

  My brow puckered. “Then don’t spend as much. He wouldn’t have to work as hard—”

  “I actually don’t,” she said flatly. “Mom does though. Every item I’m wearing? She bought. My place? To Dad’s specs.”

  “Why?”

  “They want me to stay close to home.”

  “Why?”

  “We’re tight-knit. They hated when I left for college.” She shrugged. “I just wish Dad didn’t have to work so hard.”

  “So, you’re not a spoiled rich kid then?” I mocked.

  “Well, it depends on your definition of spoiled. I mean, I am, but I don’t even have an Insta account to show off all my shit. That means there are plenty of kids brattier than me.”

  I laughed. “No Insta? Shame, I’d probably get a kick out of watching you do duck faces.”

  “Why look on IG when you can see them in the flesh?” She leaned up onto her elbow and pulled a pout. Her lips curved at the same time, diminishing the ridiculousness of the exaggerated pose, but it didn’t take away from how fucking kissable her lips were.

  How pouty.

  Fuck.

  She had a mouth made for sucking dick.

  I bit the inside of my cheek at the thought, but I couldn’t stop myself from reaching over and tracing that delectable curve with the tip of my finger. Her lips parted ever so slightly, and when I outlined her Cupid’s bow, she swallowed. It was too dark out to see her eyes, but I could see her movements, could feel them. She pushed harder against me, pressing closer like she didn’t want any space between us, and I got that.

  I did.

  I didn’t want space between us either.

  “You come here to be fucked?” I rasped.

  She tensed, but I didn’t regret asking the question. “Excuse me?”

  “Trying to figure out what your purpose is,” I rumbled, and when she made to pull back, I half sat up, grabbed the back of her neck, and forced her to roll on top of me. The second she lay on me, I loosened my hold some and she instantly stopped struggling, but I stayed in her face.

  And she stayed in mine.

  “That was a dick move,” she snapped.

  But she didn’t roll off me.

  “First lesson. I’m a dick.”

  “No shit, Sherlock,” she snarled, yet she didn’t back away.

  “Second lesson, I’m not one of those pussies you’ve dated before.”

  “No, you’re just a dick,” she growled under her breath. “First lesson, I’m not a slut. Second lesson, I won’t let you get away with treating me like shit. Especially when I don’t deserve it.”

  “Meaning there are times you will deserve it?”

  “I’m no angel.”

  I snorted. “No, you’d be fucking boring if you were.”

  “I’m many things, but boring isn’t one of them.”

  Slowly, I rolled back down so I was lying on the ground with her blanketing me, and again, she didn’t fucking move.

  “Why are you here? You want a hard fuck? Is that it?”

  “Didn’t get it, did I?”

  “Not yet. The evening’s still young,” I replied with a laugh.

  She huffed, but shuffled on my body, pressing her hips into mine before she resettled. I got the feeling she wasn’t trying to turn me on, but get comfortable.

  I wasn’t averse to the idea, even if her hip bones dug into me like knives.

  I didn’t usually like skinny bitches, but there was something about this little heathen I appreciated.

  Like she’d said, she wasn’t boring, and fuck me, I was so fucking tired of boring snatch.

  “I’m here because I liked the look of you.”

  Her prim tone had me scoffing, “You’re here because you think I’m pretty?”

  “Oh, sugar, you know you’re more than pretty,” she purred. “Taming you would be impossible.”

  She didn’t say it like that was a bad thing.

  “Glad we got that out there,” I said dryly, but I moved my hands to her ass and squeezed her butt cheeks.

  She didn’t rear back and slap me, and I liked the fact that I wasn’t sure what she was going to do.

  Unpredictable? Yep. She was that in spades.

  I rubbed her ass a little, then murmured, “I don’t date.”

  “You’d have fooled me.”

  “This isn’t a date. This was me testing the waters.”

  “I can see that, even as I can see that you don’t consider our other meetings to be dates. Have you tested these waters? What now? You going to haul me into your house and fuck me on the kitchen counter?”

  Well, she didn’t sound averse to that idea.

  I laughed because she was funny, even if she didn’t really mean to be. “I won’t fuck you.”

  “No? Why?”

  Was that a pout in her voice?

  “Because you want more than a hard fuck. I ain’t the kinda guy you piss around with, Tiff. I think we both know that. I’m the kinda guy you country clubbers screw then giggle about once you’re safely back home as you wince every time you cross your legs for the next few days, because you can still feel my dick inside you—but you don’t want that.”


  She gulped audibly. “No,” she whispered, her voice smaller than I’d anticipated. “I don’t.”

  “You don’t know what you want, do you, sweetness?” I rasped, liking that. Liking that she wasn’t here to fuck, even if she did want sex.

  I didn’t play games. Ever. Even if my brothers thought I did.

  “I just know I want you.”

  “Whatever I’ll give you?”

  “No. Whatever I want to take,” she drawled.

  Her fire had me rolling up again, and as I speared my hands through her hair, holding her to me, I brought our mouths together. Nipping her bottom lip, I muttered, “Don’t think you can play me, Tiff.”

  “Same goes,” she murmured, nipping me back, giving as good as she got.

  In the blink of an eye, I switched positions, rolling us over so she was beneath me. Her legs parted, her hips rocked up, and all of a sudden, I was resentful of my fucking jeans, because her heat?

  Paradise.

  Talk about a molten hot pussy.

  I rested my arms on either side of her head and leaned over her. Dipping down, I pecked her lips, here and there, nipping and teasing, lashing my tongue along the curve of her Cupid’s bow, tasting her and enjoying her little pants and moans.

  When her hands came to my butt, digging into me, I grinned, even as I carried on, tempting us both.

  Then her tongue snapped out, catching mine, and I dove right in.

  Fuck, kissing was an underrated aspect of sex in my opinion. Most men went straight for the goods.

  Me?

  I loved kissing.

  Tongue fucking.

  All of it.

  It was hot, but no one let me play. Until her.

  She tried to tempt me into taking it deeper, but I remained on track, sliding my tongue against hers, eating her as she began to eat me, starting to understand what I was doing.

  When deep grunts escaped me, and her tiny mewls echoed around us, I pulled back, aware that both our mouths would be red in the morning.

  She groaned when my weight shifted, my dick pushing into her softness, and I reached for the hem of her halter top. Dragging it up, I revealed a pair of tits that were porn star worthy. That they were real was even more eye-popping.

  That they were covered with a little lacy bra thing told me she hadn’t been screwing with me.

  In the past, bitches had arrived at the door to my room at the clubhouse wearing coats and nothing else. Shirt dresses with no panties or bras on. Sending me the clear message they wanted to be used.