by Cherise West
“Y-you want another?” the old bastard queried Braden hesitantly. He shook his head, unamused; he felt the sting beginning to burn red on his cheek, and he didn't like it. Another night with Gracie, another steamy memory and another calamitous end; but it wouldn't be Braden McCahill's life if every day didn't end this way. While the wolf's prey had tempted and sated his feral need for a few brief moments again tonight; he still felt that gnawing need in his stomach; every time she left, carrying that bouncing rear and those flowing curls and that crass, crude swagger of hers with her, he felt the claws begin to grasp at his guts. His palm, still warm and damp, fell into that familiar pocket; searching through his hand finally found the belt; her binding, still secure. He had new memories to add to the strap. His fingers, still wet and gleaming from her quaking climax, painted her nectar thick across the length of the belt, staining it with her scent. The treasured belt; her binding, her chain; their dark connection together.
The belt to his leather jacket. The leather jacket she'd just stormed out wearing. God damn it, he hadn't gotten his jacket back. What had he done to deserve this witch, this goddess, this fucking natural disaster, in his life again?
“Hannigan,” Braden croaked, husky and tired, “Changed my mind. Give me another one.”
A Good Girl's BIKER Baby
Sample
“Fare’s 28.17— hey!” The cabbie shouts back to us. I can’t keep my hands off of him, and he’s the same; I pull on the lapel of his jacket, and he meets me with a fury, devouring my lips, pressing all of his rippling muscles down onto me. He fumbles with the door handle, kicking the cab door open and slipping out, pulling me up and out behind him with vigorous force.
“Hey! You gotta pay the damn fare!” the cabbie grumbles.
“Here, take it, and get the hell out of here,” Tony murmurs, enraptured in our shared desire, plucking a fifty from his pocket and throwing it into the passenger’s seat of the cab.
“Wh— a fifty, I don’t have change for this,” he protests.
“Just fucking keep it and go,” Tony rumbles, wrapping his arm around my waist. The liquor and the passion daze me and I focus in enough to see my house. Discretion makes a sudden unannounced appearance in my mind and I think about what a complete disaster my house looks like right now, my bedroom full of flung-off dirty clothes and my living room a mess of paperwork scattered on every single surface that could possibly hold it.
“Thanks man!” the cabbie shouts, tires squealing as he takes off fast enough to prevent Tony from changing his mind about the change. I think money is the last thing on his mind; he tugs at my waist, pulling me towards the front door, our lips exploring one another’s neck and cheeks and skin every single step of the way, up the little cobblestone walkway, to the door. I fumble hastily for my keys, whining when they slip between my fingers and fall onto the porch; Tony dips down, plucking them up quickly, his hand shaking.
“The silver key,” I murmur hotly into his ear, kissing at his earlobe. With a jingle and jangle he plunges the key into the handle and the door swings open; he pulls me along with him, wasting no time in pressing my body hard against the kitchen wall, just inside the house. Every time he kisses me and I feel those rippling muscles handle me rough and hard I shudder from my head to my toes; I’m both terrified of Tony, of this dangerous connection between the two of us, and absolutely enthralled by him. His lips labor gregariously from my chin up to my earlobe, his teeth nibbling on the skin; I gasp, hands slipping beneath his jacket, pressing tight to his strong pectorals.
“I didn’t want to tell you before,” he breathes steam into my ear, throwing his shoulders back and letting his leather jacket, patched proudly with the insignia of the Wardogs, fall down his arms and onto the floor. “I am the biting type,” he hisses, leaving a trail of hot, reddened nibbles from my ear all the way down my neck, his mouth warm and wet, leading him all the way back to mine. I struggle at his chest, trying to claw my way through the white tank clung to his strong flesh, his tattooed arms swaddling around me and tugging me back towards the couch. I chase after him with kiss after hungry kiss; he bites at my bottom lip, squeezing it gently between my teeth to drag me in lusty passion all the way back to the overstuffed couch, covered in flung pillows and scattered court papers.
We fall together, captivated in desire, landing together on our sides, the soft crunch of papers beneath us doing little to deter our kisses. His hands roll down my sides to my skirt; he squeezes at the clasps, trying to pull them free; I slip my fingers into my beltline and loosen the garment for him, doing the same with the belt clasping his pants to his waist. Our hands move as if mesmerized, frantic in their search to squeeze and grope and feel every last inch of the other’s body. I trace my fingers down the tattoos on his bristling, strong biceps, up to his shoulders.
“What was that you said about cuffing?…” he teases into my ear with dark hunger, slipping my skirt down my legs, leaving long limbs exposed to cool air. I feel the squeeze of the bulge in his pants pressing tight to my black panties, eliciting a cooing cry from my aching body. God, I didn’t know I wanted this, how could I? Wanting to feel a forbidden lust with a criminal like this, a man I swore to punish for his deeds. And now I’m breathily whispering his name as he peels my soaked jacket off of my limbs, kissing from my chin down the front of my throat, leaving little red bite marks across my rosy blushing skin, my back arching as I quietly cry out for more, more.
I reach out to grasp at him, before I realize he’s folded my hands together to the small of my back, his grasp tight on my wrists. My fingers wriggle, but I don’t resist as I feel the leather of his belt tighten around my hands, keeping them cuffed, just like he’d promised. I should fight, but I don’t; I like the feeling of the filthy, hard-bodied criminal being in control, holding me down while he slowly parts the buttons of my blouse, leaving my lacy black bra exposed. His kisses rain across my chest, and for some reason, I trust him. In this intense moment of desire I know he wants what I wants; he promises me with every kiss across every inch of my skin, until I feel his hand slip beneath my bra, unbuckling the clasp, my breasts spilling free, nipples stiffened by the sensations he gives me, plucking at every sensitive, tingling nerve like strings on a harp.
“Tony, I shouldn’t,” I mouth breathlessly, “but I w… I want to feel you inside of me so badly,” I admit, tossing back my mess of damp auburn hair with a tilt of my neck so I can see him better, worshiping every inch of me, his tongue swirling along the pink skin of my nipples.
“Good,” he growls, his kisses passing my chest, down onto my stomach. A map of his desire lays bitten, reddened and hot on my skin, each cool brush of wind against those bite marks sending a sensual shiver along my arching spine. His fingers slip into my panties and he drags them slowly along my thighs, kissing down the whole way. With my quaking body exposed, I moan to him, watching with rapt attention while his lips clasp and suckle at my full feminine thighs, laboring intensely, making my body shake, my folds soaked. His tongue darts along my skin, laboring in slow and teasing circles across my thighs; my hands tremble in their bonds, and I want so badly to reach out and grab his midnight-black hair. Instead, all I can do is watch, breath held, breasts heaving in want, as his hazel eyes glinted up at me and his tongue swirled up and down along the sides of my sensitive petals, the tip twirling tantalizing around my clit. Breath rattles rough through my chest; I bury my head against the couch, trying to hold it in.
“Tonnnnyyyy,” it finally comes free from my throat, the name I had longed to moan out, to scream for him, from the minute I saw that confident swagger, that sexy body; that stunning face. Sampling my flavor with his tongue plunging shallow between my feminine lips he laps hungrily along my dampness, and I can’t stop the symphony of sounds raining from my parted lips. My mind reels still from the sensation of his tongue skillfully tasting me when I feel him crawling back across my body, kisses roughly marking another path back up across my stomach, his tongue swirling along my naval.
He pulls his shirt over his head, revealing to me all the sweet, gorgeous muscles he has to offer, his abs flexed in erotic need, ink emblazoned on every exposed, olive-toned stretch of his rough skin. I feel the stubble along his chin brushing against my stomach, along my breasts; he clasps my sensitive nipple between his lips, suckling on it before I feel his teeth. I quake hard beneath him, hips flexing out against the stiff bulge under his pants pushing tightly against the inside of my leg.
“I want it,” I groan, “but I can’t…” my fingers squirm, trying in vain to reach out and pull down his pants.
“I know you can’t,” he groans, self-assured. A wicked smile on his lips he rolls off the couch; a mild, lewd panic washes through my mind, thinking he’s going to torment me; leave me here to suffer. Standing in the faint glow of the moon through the windows, he unzips his pants, letting them fall to the floor, his thick leather boots following, leaving Tony St. James, leader of the Wardogs, proudly and lustily naked in my living room. He watches me from afar, doubtlessly enjoying every heated shift of my body; watching my shoulders struggle, my heels dig in and my back arch, trying so hard to get at him; to touch him. His stiff shaft twitches as he watches my naked body shudder, and listens to me groan, and he grips the base of his length, squeezing and stroking it in my sight, letting the light of the night gleam in every chiseled crevice of his cut, powerful, gorgeous body.
“I warned you,” he exhales hard, his leg trembling as he watches my naked body and pleasures himself. “I warned you, I’d be doing the cuffing,” he reminds me. The denial makes the heat in my chest build even more, and I begin to call for him, shriek for him, anything.
“I need you inside of me,” I scream, “god, PLEASE Tony,” I can’t believe what I’m saying; that I want my worst enemy here, on top of me, kissing and moaning as he pushes into my body and fills me hot and hard. He works himself into a frenzy, taking dirty pleasure in seeing me ache and beg like this, and I drink in the sight of him, basking in the glow of night, his body wet with rain and sweat.
He finally obliges me, moving like an animal starved for its prey. My body trembling I spread my legs and he presses his chest against mine, our lips close, our eyelids heavy with lust as he pushes his stiff, erect length between my doting, soaked petals, pumping inside of me with a feeling no one has ever given me, something so intense my eyes flutter shut as stars fill my eyelids. I push my hips out against his and he moans with me, kissing my cheek as I gasp for air. My wrists chafe and my voice soars as he begins to push deeper, over and over again, a steady rhythm causing my couch to creak and the papers beneath my body to cling to my sweat-sheened, shaking skin. He holds my hips and forces them hard against his pounding shaft, my heart throbbing through my chest. I finally open my eyes wide, feeling the sensations crashing into my all at once like an avalanche, my breaths halting and my nerves erupting in stunning pleasure.
“Tony!” I cry his name, feeling my body tensing all at once, the tingling sensation surging through my stomach and along every nerve like lightning as I reach my climax. He groans into my throat, and with a bite on my skin and my name passionately hissed through his hungry lips I feel him thrust deep, deep as he can, riding every wave of gripping, clenching sensation that fills my body while I come. He, too, can’t stop himself from exploding in heat, waves and waves and thick, heavy waves of his climax filling me, messy and hard and so perfect. Our voices stretched to their limits, my throat hoarse from a chorus of screams of his name, I arch out against him, enjoying those last crashing waves of my peak while his rhythm slows, filling me with his come before he collapses at my side, breathing hard.
“Tony…” my voice cries, raspy; I feel him sling his hand dotingly across my chest, pulling me closer to him. He unbinds my arms, and my shoulders creak free; I feel a dull pain shoot through them, but Tony chases them away immediately with strong, sensitive hands kneading out the knots in my muscles with attentive rolls of his palms. Glowing cool in the light of the moon, a chilly New Jersey evening wafting in through the windows, my eyes flutter shut. My body spent, my emotions a constant tumult, I start to think about just what I’d done. I’d slept with my worst enemy, a rival I’d dedicated my life to throwing in prison. He holds me close, kissing my cheek as exhaustion begins to claim both of us.
Before I drift to sleep, I remember why I’d been drinking tonight. To spite everyone. To tell the rules, to screw off.
Good. I wanted him. Rules be damned.
Want to turn the heat up again between the sexy prosecutor and the gang leader she shouldn't be sleeping with? Click here to get "A Good Girl's BIKER Baby," FREE with Kindle Unlimited!
His PERFECT Medicine
Sample
"He's coming in riiight now," she nods towards the ER double-doors behind me; I spin in a flurry and see him strolling through, black coat pulled tight across his clothes, dotted with glistening raindrops. It rains an awful lot here in Florida, I've noticed.
"I didn't know he-- is he just here for s-something, like to check up on something, or--"
"Dr. Steward went home early to take care of his wife, poor thing," Lynne frowns. "She's got a brain tumor. She's a sweetheart. Dr. Ryan agreed to come in and cover graveyard for the night."
"You didn't-- you didn't tell me!" I whisper anxiously.
"Well up until a minute ago I didn't know you had reason to worry about seeing him!" Lynne exasperatedly exclaims.
"I don't-- don't really know what to say to him, I've never really had to apologize for something like this before," I stammer. "I'm not the... I'm the responsible one, Mel's supposed to be the drunken fool, I'm..."
"Just tell him it was the alcohol talking, sweetie, I'm sure he understands," Lynne speaks with a comforting warmth to her countenance.
"You think-- think that'll work?" I try to steel myself for the slow, awkward walk over to the empty nurse station; his coat thrown over the desk, a stack of papers in front of him, he scribbles away while I take my first hesitant step his way.
"You'll be fine, Katie," Lynne murmurs, going back to her own paperwork. "Just apologize. No big deal."
"No big deal," I repeat quietly, turning the sound into a mantra as I take stilted, nervous steps across the hall. The words a whisper I keep them to myself as I get closer; he shuffles a handful of paperwork, groaning, a sound that stops me dead in my tracks. Was he groaning at me? Maybe at something in the mess of papers? Maybe...
"Can I help you, Dr. Blankenship?" comes an annoyed question from over Dr. Ryan's shoulder.
"Oh, I'm s-sorry! I didn't... I didn't mean to interrupt you at all," I squeak, surprised.
"You're not," he responds curtly. "Not this evening, anyway." I deflate quickly.
"Ye.. yes, about last evening, Dr. Ryan, I'm--"
"Do you know who I was on a date with last night, Dr. Blankenship?" he asks, his eyes never glancing back at me.
"Y-yes, I do," I whimper.
"You do?" Dr. Ryan retorts. "Interesting. I don't. She was a bore. Not the first, far from the last," he adds. Stunned, I remain silent. "I don't know much about her, or about you. I don't rightly care. And I don't want your apology," he bristles.
"Dr. Ryan, I didn't mean--"
"--To drink too much, and embarrass yourself in front of your attending? I'm sure you didn't mean to, but you did, and it's past and done with," Dr. Ryan's words bite at me. "Refrain from making a habit of it, please."
"I'm sorr--"
"I told you I didn't want to hear sorry, or that you apologize," Dr. Ryan finally gives a halfhearted glare over one shoulder. His emerald eyes and his wild swathe of hair... he looks so great, but I just can't get over how much of a rude, condescending, patronizing, self-absorbed-
crackle CRACKLE!
"We've got one back here," comes the voice over the static-filled radio set at the nurse's station. "Nobody here to pickup - where's nursing staff?" My ears perk; only a few of us float around the ER tonight, and neither Lynne nor I had thought about the side entrance,
where only a few of the ambulances carry patients.
"Are you going to get that?" Dr. Ryan asks nonchalantly. Skittering along the floor, nearly tripping over my own feet, I grasp for the radio; searching franctically for a button to call back to the EMTs, I don't find one. "All the time you're spending there, you could be rolling the patient in yourself. Time is of the essence in the ER, Dr. Blankenship."
"Y-yes, right, can you please," I gulp, stumbling towards the hall leading to the side door. "Please, Dr. Ryan, prep--"
"Get the patient to room 4-R," he responds calmly. So calm, it's eerie. I trip my way through the corridor, breathing hard; the red-painted doors swing open in a blur and two EMTs push through, with a main strapped to a stretcher, its wheels squeaking harshly as it slides lopsidedly through the corridor. A man with a bulging gut, his t-shirt cut open, eyes wide and dillated; no rise of the chest, no breathing.
"What's the--" I start to speak, before a burly EMT with a crop-cut and navy-blue gear interrupts loudly.
"Where's nursing staff? We've got to get CPR, an intubation -- it's a cardiac event, and he's not breathing," he roars. My head feels heavy, and it starts to creep into my senses again - the fear, Lynne called it. I shake my head, trying to loosen the terror setting in.