Drive Me Wild: A Biker Romance Serial (The Devil's Host Motorcycle Club Book 3)

by Shari Slade

  Ella, one of the newer servers, leans against the coffee bar marrying the ketchup bottles. “Star! Where the hell have you been?”

  Relief washes over me—that someone noticed I’d been gone, that someone cared. I don’t know Ella very well at all but I want to wrap my arms around her, squeeze her, and tell her everything. I open my mouth to do just that but headlights flash in the window reminding me this is not a social call.

  “Long story.” I scan for Dale, unsure if it would be better to see him or not. I shake my head. Knowing is better. Knowing is always better. “Did you talk to a dirty old biker who came in here just a few minutes ago?”

  “Yeah. Weird as shit. He asked where the bathrooms were, then he dodged through the kitchen instead and went right out the back door. Didn’t make any sense.”

  Fuck. Everything about this smells rotten. I race through the front doors, needing to warn Stone so he can get back to Noah as much as I need to breathe.

  As I round the corner outside, I hear sirens approaching the side of the restaurant I’d just come from. Shit. I press myself flat against the side of the building and peek around the corner.

  Maybe they’re just hungry. Or they’re cutting through the parking lot to get somewhere else. Both scenarios seem ridiculous, but they’re all I’ve got to hold on to for several long minutes until the cruiser stops.

  I peek again. Officer Wade is pulling Stone out of the truck. I can’t hear what they’re saying. Not over the loud radio and the sirens. But I can guess.

  “I’m sorry, Stone,” I whisper to myself and barrel back into the restaurant.

  I dive straight for the cabinet beside the register where we sometimes keep our purses. “You got a car here, Ella? I’m going to need your keys.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Your keys. It’s an emergency.” I find a purple leather satchel that has to belong to Ella, and start digging. I don’t care what she says, I’m taking her car. I need to find Noah. I need to warn him.

  Ella’s keys rattle at the bottom of the bag and I fish them out. I’m afraid to run through the kitchen in case any of the cooks or busboys are connected to Dale. I can’t go around the outside of the building without making myself a target for Wade.

  Wade is the greater of the evils, I decide. And push through the double swinging doors. Ella screams after me, “Don’t you dare hurt my baby! I saved for two years to buy that piece of shit.”

  “I’ll be careful,” I assure her. But I won’t be. My right foot is already itching for the gas pedal.

  Noah is going to be furious with me if I find him. Dale is a traitor. Wade has Stone. I repeat it over and over in my head so I can say it in one breath. Ella’s little Civic is a dull grey and the lining on the roof droops low in spots. There are tacks in some places holding it up. I don’t expect much, but the engine purrs to life.

  I slam it into reverse and peel out of the parking lot in a cloud of dust and gravel.

  Dale is a traitor. Wade has Stone.

  I know where Noah was headed with the rest of the club, to the abandoned trailer I pointed out on the map. God, it could be a trap. Dale is a traitor. Wade has Stone.

  They’re probably already there. I shake my head against the unwelcome thought and squeeze the steering wheel even more tightly. I have to assume they’re moving slow or got sidetracked. I have to assume there’s still hope.

  I press down on the accelerator until it touches the floorboard. I’ve never driven this fast, but I don’t have a choice. Dale is a traitor. Wade has Stone.

  Noah needs me.

  TO BE CONTINUED

  I hope you enjoyed Drive Me Wild. Please consider leaving a review. Reviews don’t just help authors; they help readers find the books they’ll love.

  Star and Noah’s journey will continue in August with Hold Me Down (Part 4 of The Devil’s Host MC Serial) and conclude in September with the final installment, Take Me Home.

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  Want More Alpha Hero Hotness Right Now?

  Grab Three Nights with a Rock Star

  by Shari Slade and Amber Lin

  When Hailey crashes a Half-Life after party, she expects to find the bastard who knocked up her little sister. Instead she meets the sexy front-man who agrees to give her access to his crew if she gives him access to her body.

  All Lock demands in return is three days of complete control over the Sunday school teacher. With a contract, because he’s been burned before. One misstep could send the band—and his tenuous sobriety—up in flames.

  Hailey and Lock push each other’s limits… Against the penthouse window. Backstage. In the limo and on the elevator. But as the contract counts down, neither are ready for the party to end.

  WARNING: This book contains a steamy sex contract, spanking, a smoking hot threesome, a dirty talking rock star and the sexy Sunday school teacher who brings him to his knees.

  A Sexy Excerpt from Three Nights with a Rock Star

  Do you like to hurt, Hailey? He’d asked her, and she could only nod.

  He’d hurt her so good she’d give voice to that desire before he was through. She knew it. He knew it. The subtext breathed in the air around them, a living thing, that damned contract come to life. She wants this. She wants the lurid celeb fantasy. The shock, the pulse-pounding vibrancy that only exists on the edge of a bad decision.

  He’d take her there.

  “Take off your clothes,” he said, a little too harshly, his urgency coming out as hard-edged gruffness.

  It didn’t scare her away. She wants that too. She fingered the button of her cardigan, uncertain, and then popped them all in a rush, exposing a silver tank that dipped low over her cleavage. Fuck. Surprisingly lush curves on her willowy frame, and smooth, pale skin.

  He shifted in his seat, imagining his cock between her breasts. Making them slick, squeezing them together, and thrusting, thrusting, thrusting until he came all over her neck. Jesus, he hadn’t even seen them yet. She put a hand to her throat as if she could read his mind. As if every dirty thought he’d ever had was flashing on his face. And she knew. Why was she taking so fucking long to undress?

  Lust propelled him across the room. He grabbed her by the hip and spun her around, pressing his chest to her back. She was warm, soft, every sweet powder-scented inch he could touch. She didn’t resist his rough hands skimming under her shirt. She just raised her arms and let him lift it over her head. The silver tank lay discarded at their feet. Next, the bra. Her favorite part of the day. He stifled a laugh as he unhooked it, guided the straps down, the blue satin cups slipping free. She sighed into him, letting her head fall back against his chest.

  He hooked his thumbs into the waistband of her skirt and her tights and yanked them down to mid-thigh, taking her panties with them. She rewarded him with a sharp inhale, with shock. He stepped back so he could see the top of her ass. A peach, there for the biting. Two years ago he’d have bumped lines off that ass. No. He’d never have gotten near it back then. She’d have run screaming from him in the thick of his addiction. Sobriety had its rewards.

  He spun her around again. “All of it off, now.”

  She pushed everything down to her knees and shimmied it the rest of the way, kicking free of the tangle of denim and netting. The air conditioner purred to life, blasting them both with a burst of cool air. Her nipples tightened to lickable points. When she wrapped her arms around herself, he shook his head, and she dropped them to her sides.

  She met his eyes, uncertainty and desire at war on her face.

  He gathered her hair in his hand and pushed her against the window wall in his suite, forcing her legs apart with his knee. No
one could see in, but the illusion was fucking hot. Her tits smashed, palms flat, breath fogging the glass. His little church mouse on display. The city, all lights and pulsing energy, spread out before them. He never got to see the cities he toured, not up close, just the vistas from his rooms and the blur from a window seat on the jet. He didn’t mind so much when he had a hot body between him and the view.

  “Do you want me to fuck you like this, from behind, while the whole world watches?” He wanted to bury himself in all her softness. And he wanted it to hurt. Her or himself, he wasn’t sure.

  Her only answer was the expanding cloud of condensation as she panted. And then she rocked back. The slightest shift, but just enough friction, in just the right place. He ground against her naked ass, his cock throbbing in his jeans.

  She turned her head, pressing her flushed cheek to the window, and he couldn’t resist running his open mouth up the column of her neck, chasing that frantic pulse, biting the lobe of her ear until she cried out, “Nobody can see.”

  “Shhhh. Everybody is watching. Let’s give them a show.” He skimmed over her rib cage, her belly, and lower, until he could feel damp heat. She wasn’t wet enough for what he had in mind. Not yet. He wanted to fuck her so hard she’d be bruised. Marked. Damaged. He circled her clit with his thumb, savoring every buck and twitch, and plunged one finger deep. The slick walls of her cunt clenched tight as he drew back. Almost ready.

  “Don’t stop,” she moaned.

  “I’m running things.” He bit the sweet spot where shoulder met neck in admonishment, and reached for his belt buckle. Impatient, he yanked off the belt, pulled the condom from his pocket and shucked his pants. All the while keeping one hand tangled in her hair. Holding her in place.

  He considered having her put it on him with her mouth, but she probably didn’t have that skill set. Though it might be fun to watch her try, to teach her, to corrupt her.

  Later.

  Sheathed, he positioned himself at her opening, rubbed the head of his cock over her slick folds, and then he thrust. One fluid movement and he was balls-deep in hot, honeyed heaven. Every drop of blood in his body raged toward his hard-on. Fuck. He drew back and thrust again. And again.

  God, she felt good, arching to meet him. He gripped her hip so tight his knuckles went white, pulling her back against him as hard as he thrust. He released her hair so he could grab her other hip, get more leverage, and she gasped. How tight had he pulled it?

  He wanted to break her, but all she did was bend and bend.

  Want to read more? Three Nights with a Rock Star is available now.

  More Books by Shari Slade

  Devil’s Host MC Serial

  Ride Me Hard #1

  Break Me In #2

  Drive Me Wild #3

  Hold Me Down #4

  Take Me Home #5

  The Half-Life Series

  Three Nights with a Rock Star

  One Kiss with a Rock Star

  Second Chance with a Rock Star

  Devil’s Host MC Serial Playlist

  1. Everybody Knows by Concrete Blonde

  2. Slowly Freaking Out by Skylar Grey

  3. Bones by MS MR

  4. Send the Pain Below by Chevelle

  5. Girls Like You by The Naked And Famous

  6. Dead Inside by Muse

  7. Not Your Fault by AWOLNATION

  8. By The Throat by CHVRCHES

  9. Take Me to Church by Hozier

  10. Trust Fall by Incubus

  About the Author

  Shari Slade is the USA Today Bestselling and award winning author of sexy new adult, contemporary, and erotic romance. Rock stars and bikers and bad boys. Oh my! She’s a snarky optimist. A would-be academic with big dreams and very little means. When she isn’t toiling away in the non-profit sector, she’s writing gritty stories about identity and people who make terrible choices in the name of love (or lust). Somehow, it all works out in the end. If she had a patronus it would be a platypus.

  Sign up for her newsletter to stay up-to-date on all the latest releases, happenings, and events.

  Acknowledgements

  A huge thank you to my awesome editors, betas, eagle-eyed proofreaders, and cheerleaders: Del Dryden, Maria Rose, Michele Harvey, Skye Warren, IndieSage PR, and all the Backstage VIPs. Y’all rock. Also a big thank you to all the bloggers who’ve helped spread the word about The Devil’s Host MC. Christina, Tori, Sahara, Rosarita, Alexandra, and…I’d need another book to list everyone. I couldn’t do this without your help. XOXO

  Copyright

  This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental. All rights reserved. Except for use in a review, the reproduction or use of this work in any part is forbidden without the express written permission of the author.

  Drive Me Wild © 2015 by Shari Slade

  Cover design by Book Beautiful

  Kindle Edition