Throttle MC: A Stepbrother Romance

by Loveling, Daphne

  THROTTLE MC

  A Stepbrother Romance

  by Daphne Loveling

  Copyright 2015 Daphne Loveling

  All rights reserved.

  This book is a work of fiction. Any similarity to persons living or dead is purely coincidental.

  Find the rest of Daphne’s catalog on Amazon.com!

  You can also find a complete list of her books at:

  http://daphneloveling.wordpress.com/where-to-buy-my-books/

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  Title page

  Copyright

  Chapter One: Hadley

  Chapter Two: Ryker

  Chapter Three: Hadley

  Chapter Four: Ryker

  Chapter Five: Hadley

  Chapter Six: Ryker

  Chapter Seven: Hadley

  Chapter Eight: Ryker

  Chapter Nine: Hadley

  Chapter Ten: Ryker

  Chapter Eleven: Hadley

  Chapter Twelve: Ryker

  Chapter Thirteen: Hadley

  Chapter Fourteen: Ryker

  Chapter Fifteen: Hadley

  Chapter Sixteen: Ryker

  Chapter Seventeen: Hadley

  Chapter Eighteen: Ryker

  Chapter Nineteen: Hadley

  Chapter Twenty: Ryker

  Chapter Twenty-One: Hadley

  Chapter Twenty-Two: Ryker

  Chapter Twenty-Three: Hadley

  Epilogue: Ryker

  A Note from Daphne

  Other Novels by Daphne Loveling

  Excerpt from Fugitives MC: The Novel

  Acknowledgements

  Chapter One

  Hadley

  Oh, how I hate that little red oil can.

  You know the one. That angry red light on your dashboard that always appears at the absolute worst times. The one that reminds you that your piece of crap car burns oil like an old drunk sucks cheap booze.

  Sighing, I pulled over to the side of the dusty highway. I threw the car in park, and shut off the engine with an angry turn of the key. For probably the millionth time, I wished I had enough money to afford more of a vehicle than this unreliable beater. But then, for the millionth time, I reminded myself that I was lucky to even have wheels that worked, even if sporadically. Opening the door, I flipped on the hazard lights, even though the likelihood of anyone passing me in this isolated patch of desert was pretty damn slim. I popped the hood and the trunk and hoisted myself out of the car.

  After lifting and securing the hood, I peered inside and grabbed hold of the dipstick to check the oil level, even though I already knew what I would see. Sure enough: dry as a bone, with only the tip slightly wet with the dark substance. I swore softly. Usually I didn’t let it get that low. I guessed that the long distance drive in this heat had upped my already gluttonous girl’s thirst for the stuff. Luckily, always I carried a case of 10w30 in my trunk for just such an occasion.

  I was rummaging around in the back, looking for a quart I hadn’t used yet, when my ear caught the low rumble of an engine approaching from a distance. From the sound of it, it was a late model Harley. Even though it had been a while since I’d been around Hogs much, the low lub-dub heartbeat sound was unmistakable. I stood up and looked behind me, watching as the bike approached, then slowed and stopped just behind my car. Mild irritation laced with a small spike of fear coursed through my veins. I was suddenly very aware that I was a woman alone in the middle of nowhere. I had pepper spray in my purse, but that wasn’t going to help me now unless I dove inside and locked the door.

  A large, dark figure in a leather vest and reflective aviator sunglasses cut the bike’s engine and stood. He flung a leg over the back, shrugged off the vest and placed it on the seat. He strode toward me on long legs that seemed to eat up the distance between us.

  “Need help?” He asked the question in a deep, rumbling baritone, his voice the echo of his bike.

  It was a little like standing next to a mountain, being this close to him. As I gazed up at him from my 5’4” height, I mused dazedly that he must be almost a foot taller than me. Broad, muscled shoulders rippled under a black T-shirt that stretched taut over his frame. Tattoos swirled up and down his arms, pulsing as his muscles shifted. Worn jeans hung low on his narrow hips, and though they were not tight, I could still detect a very healthy and... ahem, robust... package concealed there.

  I blushed as I realized that he had just probably noticed me staring at his crotch. Forcing my gaze back up, I looked him square in the sunglasses and tried to focus. “No thanks,” I said brusquely. “I can handle it. Just a quart low.”

  He raised one dark brow behind the shades. “Next town isn’t for at least twenty miles,” he said, one corner of his mouth lifting in a slight smirk. “You need a lift to a gas station?” he asked, nodding back at the bike.

  In spite of myself, I laughed. “Ha, no, this happens all the time.” I reached into the trunk and pulled out a quart. “See? Always prepared.”

  The smirk widened a bit. “Very industrious of you.” The mountain took off his sunglasses and hooked them into his shirt. A pair of ice-blue eyes seemed to bore into mine. “You want me to fill her up for you? Wouldn’t want you to get yourself all dirty, now.” Lazily, his eyes traced a path down over my body, slowly running over my curves. He drew out the word “dirty” until it felt pregnant with a meaning I could hardly mistake. The heat of his gaze was so scorching I was almost afraid it would burn my skin. Indignation mixed crazily with a wave of sexual heat inside me that left my core throbbing and me struggling for words.

  I cleared my throat and willed myself not to stammer. “I’m perfectly capable of putting a quart of oil in my own car,” I retorted hotly.

  “I’m sure you are,” he murmured, moving so close that I could practically feel the energy crackling from his skin. He smelled like warm leather, and in spite of myself I breathed in the scent and half-closed my eyes. “But why don’t you humor me and let me do it?”

  He took the container from my hand with surprising gentleness, then moved away from me and toward the front of the car as I watched him in a daze. Dumbly, I stood there for a moment, unable to move. Then, frowning in frustration, I gave my head a slight shake to clear it and followed him. I watched as he unscrewed the cap and poured the quart in. I was still irritated that he was treating me like a helpless girl, but that irritation was reduced some by the fact that he was not looking at me and I could steal glances at his rippling, tattooed biceps and his – oh, my – tight, gorgeous ass. Holy toledo.

  All too quickly, he finished the job and screwed the cap back on the now empty container. “All set,” he said, straightening and closing the hood. He walked to the back of my car and tossed the empty container in the trunk. “You should really get that looked at,” he continued, fixing me with a stern gaze. “Shouldn’t be guzzling oil like that.”

  I snorted and leaned against the side of the car. Duh. “Yeah, well, ‘getting that looked at’ costs money, which I don’t have. Besides, that’s what the case of oil is for,” I said, nodding at the trunk.

  He slammed the trunk lid shut and came closer until we were face to face -- well, face to chest. He was standing only inches away from me now. Jeez, this guy has a real problem with personal space, I thought dizzily. His brow furrowed. “I’m serious. It’s not safe to have to stop in the middle of nowhere like this.”

  In spite of myself, my irritation flashed again. “Yeah, not safe from arrogant jerks who think that a woman can’t top off her own oil,” I retorted.

  “Oh, I’m completely aware you can top off your own oil,” he murmured, taking a step toward me. “But with a hot little body like this, any man within visual
range would stop to help you out, whether you needed it or not. And some of ‘em might not be as gentlemanly as me.”

  Knowing he was right just pissed me off even more. “Gentlemanly?” I scoffed, knowing I was tempting fate. “Really, Mister ‘Doesn’t-know-how-to-take-no-for-an-answer’?”

  “Yeah?” he replied, his voice growing husky. “You know, I might add, you’re not acting very ladylike. I haven’t heard a ‘thank you’ for my kindness yet.” He cocked his head, the corners of his mouth lifting in a slightly mocking smile that drenched my panties in a heartbeat.

  Any smart response I could have thought of died away as his eyes locked on mine. Holy sweet Jesus. Something flashed between us, some sort of current of electricity that I knew he could feel, too, because I saw it on his face. His eyes grew dark as he slowly lowered his face to mine. A small sound emerged from my throat, almost a whimper, as his powerful arm slowly wrapped itself around my waist, drawing me to him. My body seemed to burst into flames as his lips came crushing down on mine.

  It was like drinking fire as his tongue found mine. The flames consumed me instantly; I wanted more, I wanted everything, right now. I heard myself moan loudly as he pressed me against the car and I felt the hard, steel length of him against my most sensitive parts. I moved against him, the delicious pressure almost more than I could bear. My breathing was already coming in ragged gasps. I wanted him. I wanted...

  I needed.

  I felt a hand come up and fist in my hair, pulling my head back to expose my neck. His burning hot mouth singed a trail down my skin as his other hand found my breast. As he continued to press his hard need against me, the hand on my breast began to tease my nipple, and I stifled a cry. I was going to come like this if he didn’t stop. But I was past the point of caring. This stranger, who not ten minutes ago had pulled up behind me on a deserted road, seemed to know everything about my body, things I hadn’t even known myself. I strained toward him, clutching at his shoulders and moaning as he pulled me dizzily toward an earth-shattering orgasm.

  And then he stopped.

  Bewildered, I opened my eyes to see him standing in front of me. He had stepped back a foot or so, and was no longer touching me at all. He slipped his folded sunglasses from the collar of his T-shirt and slipped them on, covering his eyes. “You’re welcome,” he smirked.

  In a heartbeat, I went from desire to shame, and then to outrage. As I stared at him, dumbfounded, I could see my reflection in his glasses. His stupid, fucking glasses. “How fucking dare you?” I gritted, my eyes filled with rage.

  His eyebrows lowered into a slight frown. “What? Seemed to me that you didn’t mind it while it was happening,” he said mildly. “In fact, seemed to me that you enjoyed it just as much as I did.”

  He turned away toward his bike, but not before I noticed that he was still just as hard as he had been when he was pressed up against me. He grabbed his leather cut and slung one leg over the bike, sitting down on it as he slipped on the vest. “Get it looked at. The next guy to come along might not be so nice.” He lifted his chin to indicate the road ahead. Next town up is Cheyenne. There’s a mechanic shop up there. Cooper’s. They’ll sort you out.”

  And with that, my unwanted knight in black leather started his bike. It was only then that I noticed his leather cut had patches on it. On the front, there was one that said “Vice-president”. And as he drove away, I saw the club colors on the back.

  Throttle MC.

  Oh, shit.

  Chapter Two

  Ryker

  That girl... Christ on a cracker, she was something else.

  When I first came up on that old rice-burner beater sitting by the side of the road with its flashers on, I did what any stand-up guy with mechanical know-how would do. It’s a long, dry stretch of road, and getting stranded out there without help was no joking matter. Most people have cell phones now, of course, but the service out in the desert is spotty at best. You’d be taking your life into your hands striking out on your own with no water and no idea how far the next town was. So, I slowed down and pulled over behind the car to see what was wrong.

  The very first thing I saw, though, was what was right. A tight, perky little ass barely contained by the worn daisy dukes that covered it, and a pair of shapely, toned legs that just wouldn’t quit. I couldn’t stop myself from imagining how fine those legs would look wrapped around my waist as I fucked their owner silly. My dick was clearly in agreement; I felt my jeans tighten just thinking about the possibilities.

  The owner of the legs was leaning into the trunk of the car, rummaging around for something, and as I pulled to a stop, she straightened and turned around to look at me. A pair of dark eyes stared out at me from a heart-shaped face. A tight, red tank top hugged her curves and accentuated the auburn highlights in her dark, wavy hair. And oh, yeah, did I mention her legs? Holy mother of God.

  I had expected her to look grateful that help had arrived – the damsel in distress saved by a knight in shining chrome, and all that – but she was having none of it. A flash of irritation danced across her face as she returned my gaze, turning her cupid’s bow mouth into a frown, but I ignored it. I wasn’t about to be responsible for someone dying of exposure out here.

  “Need some help?” I called to her as I got off the bike. I shrugged off my cut against the heat and left it on the seat as I started over to her.

  Her eyes slid over my body before coming to rest on mine. “No thanks, I can handle it. Just a quart low,” she said in a tone that conveyed this was not a new thing for this particular car.

  As I approached her, I realized she wasn’t as tall as she’d looked when I first saw her. She was doing her best to look tough and in control, though, despite her small frame. I realized that she might be a little freaked out by me, all alone and defenseless out here. I couldn’t say I blamed her. I had probably almost a foot on her, and although she looked strong for her size, she wouldn’t be much of a match for a man with ill intent. I gave her my most winning smile and nodded toward the road. “Next town isn’t for at least twenty miles. You need a lift to a gas station?” My mind briefly flashed on the image of her on the back of my bike, her arms and thighs wrapped around me as the engine thrummed underneath us. Once again, my dick was in total agreement with me on that scenario.

  She laughed then, and seemed to relax just a bit. “Ha, no, this happens all the time. See?” she said, reaching into the trunk and pulling out a quart container of oil. “Always prepared.”

  “Very industrious of you,” I smiled. Her chin jutted out a little bit in an implicit challenge, and I took off my shades to get a better look at her. I stepped closer until I was only about a foot away, and looked her in the eyes. “You want me to fill her up for you? Wouldn’t want you to get yourself all dirty, now.” I wouldn’t mind getting dirty with you, though. Wouldn’t mind taking you right here up against this car and leaving you a hot, sweaty mess.

  Something passed between us, and her breath hitched a little bit in her throat. “I’m... perfectly capable of putting a quart of oil in my own car,” she spat back feistily. She was doing everything she could to push me away with her words. And normally, I would have just shrugged my shoulders and left her to it. But her body was sending me a completely different message. As she looked up at me breathlessly, I could see her eyes dilate, her nostrils flare. I was getting to her as much as she was getting to me. Nonchalantly, I reached for the container of oil, murmuring as smoothly as I could, “I’m sure you are, but why don’t you humor me and let me do it?”

  I moved to the front of the car before she could respond and screwed off the cap to the oil reservoir. Pouring the quart in, I gave the dipstick a quick check and closed the hood. “All set.” I went back to where she stood staring at me and tossed the empty quart in the trunk. “You should really get that looked at. Shouldn’t be guzzling oil like that.”

  “Yeah, well, ‘getting that looked at’ costs money, which I don’t have. Besides, that’s what the
case of oil is for.” Her eyes flashed from annoyance, but something else was there as well. A challenge. I tried not to take the bait.

  “I’m serious,” I replied. “It’s not safe to have to stop in the middle of nowhere like this.”

  “Yeah,” she fired back, “not safe from arrogant jerks who think that a woman can’t top off her own oil.”

  Okay, now she was just pissing me off. “Oh, I’m perfectly aware you can top off your own oil.” I was fighting to keep control; she had me wound up, no doubt about it. I was somewhere between walking away in disgust, putting her over my knee, and taking her hard and fast bent over the trunk. I leaned closer, so close I could smell a faint hint of her shampoo and the sun-kissed aroma of her skin. Struggling not to get distracted by the intoxicating scent of her, I murmured, “But with a hot little body like this, any man within visual range would stop to help you out, whether you needed it or not. And some of ‘em might not be as gentlemanly as me.”

  I had to hand it to her, she gave as good as she got. “Gentlemanly?” she shot back breathlessly. “Really, Mister ‘Doesn’t-know-how-to-take-no-for-an-answer’?”

  Her bee-stung lips were just inches from mine now. It was all I could do to slow down, but I suddenly knew what was coming, and I wasn’t about to stop it. What’s more, I could see in her eyes that she knew it, too. “Yeah?” I whispered, my breath caressing her ear. “You know, I might add, you’re not acting very ladylike. “I haven’t heard a ‘thank you’ for my kindness yet.” Her lips parted involuntarily as she looked up at me. Then her eyes half-closed, waiting for me to kiss her, and I was a goner.

  As my mouth came down on hers, it was like something snapped in her. She moaned and pressed her hot little body against mine, writhing in the need I had instinctively known was there. Jesus fuck, she was so responsive, I almost took her right then and there, despite my best intentions. Still, even though it damn near killed me to do it, I stopped before things got too out of hand. As much as I had joked about being gentlemanly, I didn’t want to take advantage of a woman alone in a vulnerable situation. She wanted it, I knew – hell, she was practically begging for it – but even so. Ryker Stone did not take advantage of women. I didn’t need to.