by Jolie Day
When she returned to the table, she found Marc shaking his head at her. “What?” she asked, handing him his water and utensils.
“Nothing,” he replied, though there was clearly something on his mind. “It’s just…you’re interesting.”
Lauren frowned. “Interesting how?” she asked.
“Don’t worry,” Marc shrugged. “It’s a compliment. I just meant that you’re not like many other women I’ve met.”
“You mean outlaws and children?”
“Okay,” Marc snorted. “First of all, Veronica wasn’t an outlaw, nor was she a child. She was, like, able to legally drink when we first…you know.” He raised his eyebrows. “Secondly, none of my old friends were outlaws. I mean, don’t get me wrong, they weren’t model citizens or anything, but they rarely broke the law in order to get what they wanted. Usually, they just made friends with people pretty high up on the food chain.”
“And that somehow makes it okay?”
“They’re immoral, okay? The guys in Hell’s Seven aren’t like some of the other bikers you might hear of. They’re not evil.” He shrugged. “Besides, Veronica threw herself at me, knowing that it would piss off her old man. But she didn’t care, ya know? Liked pretending that we were Romeo and Juliet, carrying on some grand romance in the alleys of New York City.”
“I take it she wasn’t much of a reader, huh?” Lauren retorted.
Marc laughed sarcastically. “Oh, she read,” he said. “But her comprehension was a little bit off. She was hot, though, so…” he shrugged, taking a bite of his chicken and pasta, moaning slightly. “Not New York-quality, but still the best thing I’ve eaten in weeks.”
“Thanks,” Lauren said, taking her own bite. The chicken was a bit rubbery and the pasta was too soft, but it was an okay meal for eight o’clock in the evening. “So…New York, huh?”
“Yeah,” Marc confirmed. “Born and raised.”
“Manhattan?”
“How can you tell?”
“Your accent,” Lauren pointed out. “No bridge and tunnel; you’re definitely not from Brooklyn or Queens. No way you’re from Staten Island and you don’t look like a Bronx guy either. Except maybe Riverdale…”
“No,” Marc laughed. “Not from Riverdale. God no.”
“Still, you came from privilege, didn’t you?” Silence. “Yeah, that’s what I thought. I’m guessing…Upper East Side?”
“Good guess,” Marc said, “but, actually, I grew up on the West side.”
“Close enough,” Lauren laughed, spearing another piece of chicken and penne. “What led you to associate with the kind of people who’d hunt you down for sleeping with a girl.”
“Veronica ain’t just any girl,” Marc retorted. “She’s practically a princess.”
Lauren laughed at that, but when she saw the dead serious expression on Marc’s face, she stopped. “Wait, seriously? How do you figure?”
“Her father is the leader of this bike gang. The man has Manhattan under his thumb, better than any politician in any of the five boroughs. And he’s got more connections all over the country. He’s the reason I stay away from cities.”
“All this because you slept with his daughter?” Lauren scoffed. “There’s gotta be more to the story than that.”
“There may have been an…engagement,” he admitted.
“You two were engaged?” Lauren’s eyes widened at that revelation and she could feel something deep in her stomach; it felt like disappointment.
“No,” Marc sighed. “Not Veronica and me. Veronica and this tool, named…uh, Byron, I think? I dunno. He was a dick to her, so it’s no wonder she came to me for her pleasure.” He paused, taking another forkful into his mouth. “I thought she was just looking for a little fun before she got chained to the ass for the rest of her life, but then she up and cancels the wedding, announces that she’s in love with me and how there’s no way she’ll marry Brian when she could have me.”
“I thought his name was Byron.”
“Doesn’t matter,” Marc brushed off. “Point is, her father lost the deposit for the wedding hall and caterers and florists and all that wedding stuff, then blamed me for corrupting his precious baby girl. And then he gave me an ultimatum; either marry his daughter or pay for the cost of the wedding he lost out on.”
“So you chose Option C,” Lauren said. “Run away.”
“Not running away,” Marc argued. “Just taking a short trip for a while, letting things settle down. He’ll come to his senses sooner or later and realize that none of this was so much my fault as his own.”
“How is it his fault?” Lauren asked. “You’re the one that slept with his engaged daughter.”
“I’m not made of stone, okay?” Marc huffed. “And if he hadn’t been the one to arrange the marriage in the first place, she never would have thrown herself at me and none of this ever would have been an issue.”
“Or you could have just tried a little harder to keep it in your pants.”
“That’s kind of calling the kettle black, don’t you think?”
“How so?” Lauren scoffed.
“Oh, come on,” Marc laughed. “You didn’t exactly turn me down in the kitchen—”
“You started that.”
“But you didn’t push me away,” Marc pointed out. He put down his fork and leaned over the table, hitting her with that icy blue gaze that was almost hypnotizing. Lauren’s mouth gaped slightly and her eyes flickered down to his lips, his rugged jaw and high cheekbones. He was so handsome…
But then she closed her eyes and turned her head down, toward her plate. “I can’t,” she said. “I mean…we shouldn’t.”
“Why not?” Marc stood and inched his way around the table. Studying his chest, Lauren could see the outline of his bruised ribs, the black lines of his tattoos and the spattering of hair that drew an arrow from his belly button to the waistband of his jeans. She shivered when she thought about trailing kisses down that line, her fingers undoing the button and zipper of his jeans, tugging them down over his hips, along with his underwear, watching him spring free before her very own eyes.
She shook the thoughts away. “I haven’t…” she started, her cheeks turning pink. “Not in years, I mean. I’m not a…I’m just very out of practice.”
“Well, that’s okay,” Marc huffed. “You know, they say it’s like riding a bike.” He placed his hand on her shoulder and Lauren flinched away. He removed his hand, startled. “Whoa, relax,” he said. “I’m not gonna hurt you, alright? Just the opposite, in fact.” Lauren was silent, her arms folded across her chest. “Lauren,” he said, softly, and she finally looked up. “If you don’t want this, then all you gotta do is say so, alright? Tell me you don’t want it and I’ll back off. I’ll finish eating and go straight to bed and I won’t bother you for the rest of my stay.” There was a raw honesty in his eyes and, for the first time in she didn’t know how long, Lauren found herself believing in the words of a man, wholly. “But,” he went on, “if you do want it—this—then I promise it won’t be anything more than sex. No feelings involved except those of absolute pleasure.” He raised his eyebrows. “And that, believe me, is my specialty.” Lauren rolled her eyes, but couldn’t help but bite her lip as she gazed back up into his eyes, which were alight with a passionate fire. The kind of fire that could light you up from the inside and consume your entire being within seconds. Lauren felt a sense of relief at his words. There was no denying that she wasn’t ready for anything more than sex right now.
When her eyes flickered down to his lips, it was as if she’d made up her mind. Marc reached out, tugging her up from the hips and pressing his mouth against her, much in the way he’d done just moments earlier, in the kitchen. Lauren moaned against him, not holding anything back as she ran her hands through his hair and stroked the line of his jaw. Marc’s hands teased at the hem of her scrub top, tugging it up, inch by inch, revealing the faded lines on her belly. He didn’t pay any attention to them, however, as his han
ds had a mind of their own, stroking up to cup her heavy breasts in his hands, his thumbs brushing her nipples through the lace fabric and making Lauren cry out into his mouth.
In the next second, he was lifting the top completely off of her, separating their lips for a brief moment, before reattaching them, as his hands reached for the clasp of her bra in the back. She felt the material slacken as his mouth left hers, nipping and sucking and licking down her neck and chest until he could wrap his lips around one nipple, then the other, through the fabric. Lauren shuddered, her nails scrabbling at his shoulders, leaving behind raised pink lines in their wake. When he reached the line of her bra again, he used his teeth to pull the material away from her chest and Lauren lowered her arms to help him remove the bra.
“Do you want this?” he husked in her ear as he began to lead her in the direction of the hallway, which led straight down to her bedroom. “Do you want me?” He took her hand, placing it on the bulge between his legs. “Do you?” he demanded.
For a split second, Lauren felt a strong hesitancy and almost rejected him. But it had been so long since she had let herself go, since she had experienced the pleasure of being with a man. Her mind warned her that she didn’t know this man, but taking a chance, she decided to let her body take over and enjoy. Enjoy letting go in the heat of the moment. Enjoy this sexy man and disregard the rest of the world. “Yes,” Lauren moaned. “Oh god, yes…” She reached for the button on his jeans and fumbled for a moment before she got it unclasped, then tugged down the zipper so fast and hard that she was certain she was closed to ripping it open. She moaned again when she reached into his underwear and found him, hot and hard, waiting for her.
“Shit,” he hissed when she wrapped her fingers around him and tugged a couple of times, stroking him and adding pressure. He shoved her against her bedroom door and attacked her mouth again, using the wood as leverage to hoist her up, as if the pain from his injuries was miraculously healed. But Lauren knew better than that; she knew that he’d feel everything in a couple of hours, when the adrenaline had worn off.
She allowed him to lift her as she reached back, turning her door knob with her free hand as the other continued to stroke his shaft, making him breath raggedly against her neck. When the wood finally gave way, they both staggered inside, Marc dropping her to her feet and shoving her toward the bed. Lauren felt her knees press against the edge before she was pushed down to lay on the sheets, sinking into the soft mattress, which felt like a cloud against her bare back.
Marc wasted no time in tugging down her scrub pants and lace panties, tossing them over his shoulder as he trailed his mouth down her body for the second time. This time, he skipped her breasts altogether and she mewled, pushing herself against him, straining for him to touch her where she needed him most.
It didn’t take long for her to get exactly what she wanted and then her mind went blissfully blank.
Chapter Three
It had been years since the last time she had her legs hooked around the shoulders of a man. Years since she felt his mouth on her center. Years since his tongue did things to her that should have been illegal. Years since she gripped the sheets below her in ecstasy, moaning and groaning and whimpering his name. Lauren’s heart pounded harder than it had in the last couple of years since she moved; since before…it.
Her mind was blissfully blank. The only discernible thought was about the man currently ravaging her with his mouth, his hands clutching at her thighs, probably leaving finger-shaped bruises in their wake. He made shapes and spelled words with the tip of his tongue, skillful and energetic.
On second thought, she wasn’t sure any man had ever made her feel like this before. Sure, she’d had wonderful lovers. Men that paid attention to her needs, and to whom she returned the favor. Men that whispered her name against her skin, sending tingles up her body. Men that made love to her like she was the only woman in existence; like she was precious.
But this was different.
Lauren could come up with a thousand ways to describe the way he was making her feel right at that very moment, but the best she could think of was just a single word: alive.
She hadn’t realized how elusive that feeling had become over the last two years. She hadn’t realized how numb her body had gotten; how monotonous her life was now. Or had been. Until now.
Because now there’s a man in her bed. A man between her legs. A man who knows how to use every appendage on his body with a skill that she’s never experienced before, with any past lover. A man who didn’t look at her with pity in his eyes as he gazed up her body, clearly able to see the scars that line her body. A man whose eyes were filled with pure, unadulterated lust and fire that made her feel as if she were awash in hot lava.
Her hips shook as he changed direction with his tongue against her clit, causing her to emit a noise that was halfway between a laugh and a sob.
“Yes!” she moaned, as she reached fort he metal bars of her headboard. “Right there! Don’t stop!”
When he felt her clench around him, Marc slowed for a second or two, allowing her come down a bit from the height of her ecstasy. Then he slipped one of his hands down her body, leaving trails of goosebumps with the calloused tips of his fingers.
Lauren imagined the faded lines of her scars turning pink with her full-body flush. She wondered if Marc could see them; if he would comment later, ask her about what he saw. She hoped not.
Her worries were erased with the stretch of his middle finger inside of her, replacing the rough texture of his tongue. He wasted no time in working her up again, reaching that same spot that he was hitting before. Lauren found herself wondering how he’d located it so easily in less than ten minutes, when she’d known men to spend hours ravishing her body without ever so much as glancing it.
Miracle worker, a husky voice in the back of her mind whispered. Because that’s exactly what he was.
Marc strummed her like an instrument, playing all the right notes to drag her higher and higher and higher…then removing his hand completely before she could fall over the edge. Lauren let out a long, pitiful mewl, her hands clenching around the metal bars of her headboard. She twisted her body in the hopes of feeling him re-enter her—or perhaps to somehow create her own friction with the bed that would miraculously send her back over that edge.
Marc’s hands gripping her wide hips is what stopped her. She glanced down, watching the slow, satisfied smile appear on his lips as he gazed back up at her, over the curves of her body. His stubble scratched her as he rested his chin against her lower belly and shook his head.
“No, no, no,” he said, in that deep, dreamy voice of his. “You are not in charge here. I am in charge here. And you come when I say you do. Understand?”
“Yes,” Lauren sobbed, despite herself. She wanted to beg for him to touch in her that place again. To make her come so hard that she couldn’t see or remember her own name. She wanted ecstasy and fire and electricity. She wanted everything. But she stayed silent, as there was a glint in his eyes that told her she wouldn’t get what she wanted by asking for it.
Because Marc already knew what she wanted. And it was up to him to decide when she got it. Lauren bit her lip, trying desperately to keep quiet, to wait him out, to not rush him. But her hips continued to gyrate, looking for some kind of friction. She couldn’t control them.
Marc pressed his arm down over her waist, keeping her anchored to the bed. Lauren’s hips continued to wriggle against him, but his grip was firm, keeping her down and obedient. “Wait for it,” he husked, his lips pressed to the inside of her thigh as he began to press kisses down, toward her knee.
Marc trailed his mouth down her legs until he reached her ankle, kissing the joint softly, before switching sides and trailing back up to the apex of her legs. There, he finally opened his mouth against her mound. Lauren was thankful that, despite not having been with a man in ages, she kept up her grooming routine. The soft patch of hair under his nose was a slightly
darker shade than the honey-blonde of her hair, but he either didn’t notice or didn’t care, because he seemed to take no notice of it, either way.
Lauren let out something that sounded like a mix between a moan and a long purr, her hands still gripping the metal bars and pulling on them so hard that she was certain they would bend between her fingers.
“You’re being awfully silent,” Marc teased, nuzzling his nose against her mound. “Maybe you’ve had enough?”
“No.” Lauren gasped, unable to stop herself. “Please don’t stop. Please.” She was ready to beg and plead and cry and do anything he asked of her. He had such complete control over her body.
And it had only been thirty minutes. Lauren shuddered to think about what spending hours underneath him might mean for her sanity. It was a risk she was willing to take, though.
“You want more?” Marc growled, his stormy blue eyes staring up at her, filling her entire body with almost unbearable heat. Unable to speak, Lauren nodded in desperation, allowing it to be reflected in her eyes. She mouthed the word ‘please’ like a prayer, her hands uncomfortably tight around the bars of her headboard. “Speak!” Marc demanded. Lauren opened her mouth and closed it again, shaking her head as tears leaked from the corners of her eyes. “Speak,” he said again, “or you don’t get anything.”
“Please.” Lauren blurted, her chest heaving with sighs and deep breaths. “Please!”
“Please what?”
“Please,” she murmured again, taking a deep breath as she tried to find the words. “Put your mouth on me. Please, make love to me with your tongue.”
His grip tightened on her waist. “What did I tell you?” he growled. “This hasn’t got anything to do with love. This is about passion; heat. This is about me fucking you into oblivion,” he husked. “And you returning the favor. Now beg.” He nips at her clit and Lauren’s entire body jumps.