Oliver (Inked Menace Motorcycle Club #2): Shapeshifting Bikers

by Hawk, Ryanne

  Amara’s hands clenched into fists. “Don’t start.”

  “Dammit, Amaraynth. Don’t twist that boy into knots. You bloody know you’re going to shag him rotten, just trust your instincts.”

  “Careful, Maureen,” Amara said to needle her older sister. “You’re heritage is showing.”

  “I’ve been in the states damn near twenty years, and still, whenever I’m around you, I revert right back into youth.”

  “I’m hungry.”

  “You’re always hungry. Like a damn hibernating bear, you are.”

  A huge rumble ripped from her stomach just as the door to her bedroom was kicked open and Oliver walked in carrying a steaming bowl of something that smelled delicious.

  Maura raised her brow at her and made head bobbing motions toward her savior. Amara rolled her eyes. “We’ll talk later, sister.”

  “Yes, we will. Hello, Oliver, you’re taking such good care of my sister. I appreciate it so much, even if she hasn’t the manners to say so.”

  Oliver stopped and glanced between the two women. “Am I missing something?”

  Too many things, sexy man. She sighed. “Sisterly love and affection. She thinks I was raised in a barn. But truthfully,” Amara swung her legs out from under the covers and stood slowly, glancing down at her tattered clothing. “Fuck me.”

  “I’d love to, love,” Oliver said at once, making her blush and laugh at the same time. She sat back down and pressed a hand against her abdomen, a wave of nausea rolling in her stomach from the vertigo.

  A whine spewed out of her mouth, one that reminded her of her younger years. “Since I’ve gotten here, I’ve ruined all my favorite clothes.” The aroma from the stew wafted up her nose and she moaned. “That smells divine, did you cook?”

  “Hell no, we’re in New York, where every place delivers. I asked Siri what the best place for venison stew was, and this is it.” He waved the bowl around, causing steam to rise up and invade her brain. As if she needed another reason to like him.

  He glanced at Maura as she walked to the door, and she stopped in the doorway with a hand on the wall. He said, “There’s enough for everyone out in the living room,” and handed the bowl to Amara, his gaze never wavering from hers. Their fingers met around the bowl, and little electric pulses ran from his flesh to hers.

  Out of the corner of her eye, she watched Maura high-tail it out of there and shut the door

  “So, we’re alone,” Amara said as she lifted the spoon to her lips, testing the hot broth filled with spices and flavors. Her animal appreciated this gesture very much. It proved he could take care of a mate.

  Mate.

  The object of her delusional fantasies stepped to the other side of the bed and huffed as he removed his shoes, then eased next to her, settling close, not quite touching skin to skin.

  The word stopped her cold for a moment as she nearly choked on a piece of meat. The pounding in her chest unnerved her for a long second and it took a few more breaths to get herself under control.

  “We need to talk,” he said, deadpan.

  Amara didn’t dare lift her face to meet his eyes. Instead, she shoveled the rest of the food into her mouth and chewed quickly, then swallowed and repeated, pretending she hadn’t heard him.

  “This is insane. You know it, I know it, why not just lay everything out there?”

  The broth was delicious and Amara brought the bowl up and drank the rest of her dinner down. With no other reason not speak, she cleared her throat and tried.

  Honestly she did. The amusement on Oliver’s face at her fish impression almost made her punch him. As it was, she wanted to scratch her nails down his chest.

  “I’m not good at talking. I’m good at fighting, fucking, and sleeping.”

  “You sound like a man.”

  Even though Amara’s inner woman balked, she acknowledged the truth. “Pretty much. I’ve always been more leather and fists than dresses and kisses.”

  Oliver leaned in, his face inches from hers, and invaded her personal space. “What if I told you I didn’t want a girly girl who was high-maintenance? That I appreciate you for who and what you are. What you’ve gone through. All I’m asking for is a chance. A chance to see where this leads, and you’re being so bloody obstinate!”

  A laugh floated through the thin walls separating the bedroom from the living room -- or kitchen. Amara had yet to explore their humble abode. She planned to remedy that soon. Anything to keep from having this conversation with the man who fired her blood so hot that she almost wanted to beg him to claim her because she was too much of a chicken to tell him how much she really needed him in her life.

  “You’re right,” she said on a whisper, not trusting herself to speak too loudly for fear she’d spook herself into running full tilt from the room. “I’m being a prat.” She licked her lips and inched closer to Oliver, the heat and scent of him too intoxicating to resist. “The intensity scares me and I don’t know how to deal with the feelings other than bolting. There’s no enemy to fight other than myself. I don’t know how to remedy that.”

  Oliver’s eyes changed from sultry to soft in the span of one blink to the next. “One step at a time, doll.”

  Amara’s lip quirked.

  “What?” he said moving his face slowly until his cheek rubbed against hers, the stubble making her thoughts go to more dark desires, like the way he’d look between her thighs. “Too soon for pet names?”

  “They have to form naturally or they won’t stick.”

  He shrugged and shifted on the bed, moving to all fours above her. She froze, then forced herself to relax as he stared into her eyes and mesmerized her with the blue beams sparked with gold flecks.

  “Aren’t you the tiniest bit curious about what’s going on between us?”

  She hesitated. “Yes.” She licked her lips. “But it complicates everything.”

  He pulled back a fraction and said, “What sorts of things, queen of cryptic?”

  In for a penny, she thought. “Luther sent me here with a second mission, other than finding the assholes who hurt me.” She looked away then glanced down at her lap, staring at a small black fleck on an otherwise pristine white comforter. In her periphery she watched as Oliver moved away, kneeled, and sat on his heels.

  His thighs were right in her line of sight. She continued to stare, only this time her gaze refocused on the bulge inside his jeans resting against his leg.

  “Oh?”

  Amara exhaled and said rapidly, “He told me to gather information on Cecelia and report back to him.”

  “And just how were you supposed to gather this information?”

  This time she raised her face and met his narrowed eyes, his nostrils flaring out. He breathed in and out in slow, steady measures.

  “I’m a woman.” She shrugged, as if what she was about to say didn’t hurt. “I’d planned to seduce one of you into telling me what I needed to know.”

  Oliver’s hands clenched at his sides, curling into tight fists, as a wave of red blushed across his chest and up his neck, popping the veins in his neck out. “Is that what you’re doing?”

  The words seemed torn from his throat against his will and he glanced away, breaking the connection between them as he gathered his self-control lest he shift and dismantle her. At least that’s what she imagined his reaction meant.

  Her hands started to tremble. “You bloody well know it isn’t.”

  “I can’t think straight,” Oliver admitted and removed the hair elastic binding his hair to run his hands through the massive locks, massaging his scalp with his eyes closed and his brows drawn together.

  Amara’s teeth chattered. She clenched her jaw together to prevent the noise. Embarrassment flooded her heart and shame rocked through her. Shame that Luther had asked her to spy on her fellow mates, shame she hadn’t been honest with Oliver from the start, and fear. Fear of the unknown, and being taken again. “I’m sorry, Oliver. I didn’t mean to lie.”

  O
liver exhaled and slowly turned his face toward her. Tears burned her eye sockets, but she refused to give in to them. She swallowed hard and took a few shallow inhales to steady her wildly pumping heart.

  His tone was softer than she expected. “What do you need to know?”

  Amara shook her head, winced at the pain, yet forged on. “Nothing. I’ve decided Luther can go fuck himself with a broken bat. I’m done being used.”

  The bed squeaked when Oliver moved to sit beside her again with his back resting against the headboard. “My parents had me later in life, and when I was fifteen, they each went their separate ways. I carved out my own territory in the jungle and built a small cabin with my own two hands. I have two sisters that I never see except for rare instances, but we do exchange cards every year at Christmas, and we Skype twice a year.”

  When he paused, Amara rested her hand on top of his, tentatively at first. He turned his palm up and laced their fingers together, and instantly, Amara’s heart slowed its rapid pace, settling into a more even rhythm. She wanted to ask why he was telling her this. Why he was choosing to open up to her about his personal life.

  Yet she was afraid if she did, he’d stop talking and that would be the end of them. End before they even began. Amara wanted more than that. She turned her face to get a good look at the man fate deemed her soul-mate and a wistful longing stuck in her chest. It wound around her heart and lifted the barricade protecting her from connecting with another.

  “I still talk with my parents. They’ve moved on to other partners, and roam free wherever their desires take them. Sometimes they get back together for a time, and other times they separate for years. Mating is strange. I don’t know if they’re true mates, or were in love. We don’t talk about it much. I know they love me, and that’s enough. They love my sisters. We’re a different type of dysfunctional.”

  Curious, Amara cleared her throat and asked, “How did you get here? On the Ruling Council of Shifters?”

  Oliver’s lips parted and a sexy chuckle escaped his mouth. He licked his lips and his arm jerked. “I lost a bet.”

  “You… You lost a bet?”

  “You really want to hear this?”

  Some of the tension melted into a heaping pile of inquisitiveness. “Yes, mate, I think I really do need to hear this.”

  His fingers tightened around hers for a moment, then he continued. “I’d been in Russia with a few others of my species.” He tripped over the words. He seemed to think for a second, then said, “I’m a Siberian. There aren’t too many of us around, and we banded together a few times over the years to help protect the lands.” He reached for a glass on the nightstand and took a sip. Amara watched his Adam’s apple bob up and down as he swallowed.

  “Anyway, one night we were out, and there were five of us playing cards in a shit-hole bar. A large group of human men walked in spouting off how they’d just come from a hunt, and would any of the locals like to see their prize.”

  A wildness zoomed through Amara. Something akin to the flight or fight reflex because she knew what was coming. Sweat danced along her scalp and her grip on Oliver tightened.

  “We followed the men outside, feigning interest even though we all wanted to rip their throats out with our teeth, and we spotted a huge lion in the back of one of their trucks, bound and gagged.”

  “How awful,” Amara said, needing to say something, needing to hear her own voice to ground her to this moment and not one at another time when she’d been bound and gagged and at the mercy of cruelty.

  He whispered, “The story ends well.”

  “Thanks,” she whispered back, latching onto his words and shifting her legs on the bed. They’d started to tingle with the urge to flee.

  “So anyway, me and my buddies pretended enthusiasm and once we’d gotten a chance, we took the group out and examined the lion closer. Turned out he wasn’t dead, so we loaded him in the back of Jimmy’s truck and drove to his cabin.”

  Waiting was not one of Amara’s finer traits. She made hurry up motions with her free hand and bit the inside of her cheek to keep herself from yapping at him to move his sexy ass.

  “Fine, fine. We get there, unload the huge freaking beast, bring him into the house and lay him down in front of the fireplace. It was cold that night.” His eyes took on a far-away look, then he shook his head and licked his lips. “We were setting up a perimeter and had just gotten back into view of the cabin when a roar shook the wood off the side of Jimmy’s place. Kid nearly pissed himself. So he bet me five hundred dollars to go in and calm the lion down.”

  “You crazy bastard.”

  “I was barely out of my teens, of course I was insane. Trumped up on surging hormones and friendly goading. I wasn’t about to puss out. I told Jimmy and the guys, ‘No problem, I got this.’ As I walked up to the house, my palms started to sweat but I couldn’t let them know that. So I did the only thing I could do. I opened the door, waved my hand at the huge scary lion, and said, ‘Hey dude, we saved your life, could you not eat us?’”

  Amara burst out laughing. “You tosser!”

  He gave her a shit-eating grin and said, “Needless to say, he roared in my face and then I did piss myself, which of course made me angry, so I stripped out of my wet clothes, shifted into my tiger form, and roared back at him. That seemed to calm him down enough that he was able to work the drugs out of his system and shift into his human form. We weren’t sure if he was a shifter or a natural lion, though I suspected the latter.”

  It took a second, but Amara put two and two together. “It was Hammer, wasn’t it?”

  “Yep. He took me under his wing, brought me to the states, and showed me the ropes. He gave me a family, even though sometimes I really want to be alone and bathe in a nice warm pool of water, then suck on boar bones.”

  “Don’t we all.”

  His eyes glittered. “Oh, you like boar bones too?”

  “I’m partial to goats. A yak perhaps. Sometimes,” she leaned in close to his ear, fanning her breath across his skin, “I even like to eat…”

  She bit her lip to keep from laughing as he hung on her words, his breath stalled in his chest.

  “…grass,” she finished and his hand flew to his heart.

  “Say it isn’t so, my lady! How can you stand the wretched green stuff? Are you sure you’re a predator and not some kind of bunny rabbit?”

  Amara reared back as if slapped, her mouth open wide in outrage, and she sputtered.

  Oliver took advantage of her position and seemed to inhale her lips with his own, forcing her irritation down and turning it into something else. An energy with more power. Lust. Primal need. Animal aggression.

  His hands gripped her shirt and tore the front down the center, exposing her naked breasts. He palmed one, then the other, and squeezed her nipples as his tongue darted in and out of her mouth, sliding against hers, then retreating. They danced and dueled, heat building between them until the hunger surged to a height that if not quenched, would detonate them both.

  Zippers opened, clothes got tossed to the ground, and then finally, Oliver and Amara met skin to skin, face to face, and heart to heart.

  “I feel like I’ve been waiting for this moment my whole life,” she said, reaching between their naked bodies and grabbing hold of his cock, guiding him toward her warm, wet entrance and circling her clit with the mushroom tip.

  His soft chuckle fanned over her face and he moved a stray strand of hair to behind her ear. “It does feel epic.” He nudged his hips forward, teasing them both as his cock pried her lips open and he slid a few inches inside.

  She clutched his back, digging her nails into his skin, her body taking over the carnal onslaught as her neck arched and she shifted to force him in deeper, where she needed him most.

  “I swear if my sister or Hammer opens the door to interrupt us this time, I’ll scream and beat them within an inch of their life.”

  They both paused, anticipating the momentary disruption. A few s
econds ticked by on the wall clock, filling the silence with pent up lust, and when the door remained closed, Oliver reared back, slid his hands under her ass to lift her hips in the air, and slammed home with the force of mate caught in primitive need.

  A low, throaty moan escaped Amara’s mouth and she reached her hands behind her head to push against the headboard to steady herself.

  “Fuck yes,” Oliver hissed.

  Amara opened her eyes and watched Oliver thrust hard and fast into her greedy body. His face was tilted back, eyes closed, sweat dripping down his forehead as he gripped her hips and punished her pussy with merciless desire.

  And she loved every second of it. Her former lovers had cradled her with kid gloves, especially after her ordeal, afraid to do something to upset and bring her legendary wrath down, but Oliver intuitively knew she needed hard and fast. At least right then.

  She was so lost in sensation she didn’t notice his hand move until he pinched her clit between his fingers and made her body jerk from the small dose of pain.

  “You like that, kitty?”

  Amara nodded, afraid if she used her voice he’d stop playing her like a symphony.

  “You need to talk to me, or I’m going to stop.”

  “Okay,” she whispered and opened her eyes, forging a tight connection with Oliver when their gazes collided. Neither of them looked away. Sensations ripped and tore over her with every caress.

  Oliver’s brow rose. “You like a little pain?” His muscles flexed, showing his strength as he held her with one hand and continued moving at a much slower pace. “You into bondage, submission, shit like that?”

  “Not really. No. I do enjoy my ass and pussy being slapped though, not too hard, but enough to focus my attention.” She licked her lips and cleared her throat. “It helps keep me grounded and present.”

  “Understood.”

  Amara blossomed as Oliver circled her clit with the pad of his finger. It was hard to form a coherent sentence with him touching her so intimately, and with the skill of an accomplished lover. “What about you? What do you like?”