Raw: A Motorcycle Club Romance (Minutemen MC)

by Evelyn Glass

  Camilla set up a rhythm that was completely new to him. Ever since Eleanor, Dirk had sex fast and hard, even with Camilla. He had forgotten about the sensual slowness of sex. Now Camilla was reminding him of it, taking him in with long, languid strokes of her hips that drove him wild. Dirk moaned in surprise and unexpected pleasure. It scared him, that slowness, but at the same time, he wasn’t sure he ever wanted it to stop. He tugged instinctively at the silky restraints. He wanted to touch her, to reach out for her.

  “Shhh,” Camilla said, and she leaned down and captured his mouth in yet one more kiss.

  This kiss was different, too. It was slow. It was sensual. It was intimate.

  Dirk’s eyes flew open underneath the blindfold. Intimacy was something he made a point to stay away from. He couldn’t afford it. He didn’t want it. He bucked his hips upwards in an impatient gesture that he hoped would set Camilla into a frenzy and bring her back to her passionate, frantic self.

  Thankfully, it worked. Camilla cried out in surprise, but she soon took the hint. A few moments later, the rhythm was back to the one they both had learned so well—erratic and fevered and eager. Dirk heaved a sigh of relief that went unnoticed, and then he relaxed and let himself enjoy that wild, unexpected blind ride.

  Not being able to see Camilla heightened every single sensation that her touch and movements gave him. His skin felt like it was on fire from sensory overload, and to his surprise, he found that he wouldn’t have it any other way. It was intense and all-consuming, and he simply couldn’t get enough.

  However, the fact that his senses and sensations were so heightened also meant that he found himself hovering on the edge much sooner than he usually would. Climax was approaching at breakneck speed, and Dirk wasn’t sure whether he really wanted to give in to it—because surrendering to his pleasure also meant that pleasure would end soon. He wasn’t sure he was ready to let that happen just yet.

  He clenched his jaw and gritted his teeth, and he tried to hold on. But Camilla’s sexuality was a tornado, a tsunami that Dirk Coleman was completely powerless against. For the first time in a very long time, he was truly and effectively at the mercy of somebody else, and there was nothing he could do about it.

  He came with a hoarse cry, arching up against the sweet restraints that kept him tied to the headboard of his bed. He felt Camilla clench down on him even tighter as she, too, succumbed to her own pleasure. They rode each other’s wave as their climaxes took over. Finally, they both lay still and spent, and immeasurably satisfied.

  Camilla moved first, easing Dirk’s now limp cock out of her and slipping off the condom she had applied at some point during their wild ride. A few moments later, she finally removed the blindfold. Dirk blinked owlishly, even in the dim light cast by the bed lamp. When his eyes finally adjusted, he focused on Camilla looking down at him, satisfied.

  “Well?” she said, as she undid the other ties again. “What’d you think?”

  Dirk grunted and sat up gingerly. “What do you think I thought?”

  Her grin got wider. “Seems to me like you rather enjoyed it.”

  Dirk couldn’t help but grin back. “I rather did.”

  In fact, it was the best sex he had ever had in his life, but he wasn’t about to tell her that. As it turned out, it was also the most exhausting sex. Ten minutes later, Dirk was falling asleep, lulled by the best afterglow he had ever experienced.

  ***

  Dirk dreamed that night. In fact, Dirk dreamed every night, and it usually wasn't about anything pleasant. That night, however, he dreamed about Camilla and the way her hips moved as she sat on top of him, straddling him with her thighs. He dreamed about her curves. He dreamed about her dazzling smile and impish grin. He dreamed about her flawless olive skin and long, wavy auburn hair. He dreamed about her green eyes.

  Dirk dreamed about Camilla, and for the first time in a long time, sleep and dreams were not his enemy. That is, until the dream changed and switched onto a nightmare. That was more familiar territory for Dirk, but still he woke up drenched in cold sweat and with his heart pounding like war drums in his ears.

  He looked around wildly and found that Camilla wasn’t there, and he had to take a deep, shuddering breath and remind himself that all was right, that it had only been a dream, and that she had probably gone to the bathroom or back to her own room. Still, try as he might, Dirk just couldn’t shake the images from the nightmare from his mind. They had been vivid and scary, scarier than the images that usually plagued him, because those were memories and they were done with, whereas this new, terrifying scenario might still happen.

  His nightmare had been about Camilla, just as his dreams had. But where the dreams had soothed him, the nightmare brought with it a sense of urgent fear that Dirk just couldn’t push away. He tossed the covers aside and got out of bed. He walked through the silent house and to the kitchen, where he promptly began to rummage in the cabinets to make himself some much-needed coffee. It might be a caffeinated drink, but black coffee brought him comfort. It was a habit he had picked up from Stephan and that he had been unable to break—not that he was looking to do that. After all, like Stephan used to say, what was life without a few vices?

  Dirk watched the coffee brew, his gaze getting lost in the transparent glass of the pot. He couldn’t shake it off, the nightmare. The lingering fear. But it also gave him a sense of purpose, a renewed determination to finally triumph over Herman Ruiz and his Tar Mongols once and for all. In his nightmare, Ruiz and a few of his thugs had found his house. They had broken in, blowing the front door off its hinges with their guns, never mind that it was a reinforced door; dreams and nightmares were no territory for the laws of physics. They had taken Camilla, just like they had taken Eleanor, and they had dragged her away kicking and screaming. They had thrown her on the back of one of their bikes, and they had ridden off with her. It was unclear where Dirk was in all of this, and he could only watch, powerless, as his subconscious showed him what he now knew had become one of his biggest fears.

  Dirk shook his head, trying to get himself back into the here and now. It was going to be okay. Camilla was sleeping in the guest bedroom, safe. He would not let Herman Ruiz get to her. He would not lose her the way he had lost Eleanor. Dirk did not delude himself with any notion of having Camilla, but he sure as hell was going to do everything in his power to make sure that no woman suffered what Eleanor had. As it always did whenever he thought of his long lost love, a lump squeezed his throat, threatening to choke him. Dirk swallowed it down with expert fierceness. Now was not the time. In fact, it was never the time.

  There was a rumbling in his ears. He looked over to the coffee pot, and he was surprised to find that the dark liquid had yet to brew. Where was the rumbling coming from then? Was it thunder, perhaps? Was a storm coming? He threw a look out the window and saw that the night sky was clear in the Mojave Desert.

  The rumbling grew stronger, and it took Dirk’s emotionally fatigued mind a few moments to catch up. Finally, he recognized it. He would have recognized it anywhere, and he would have recognized it a lot sooner if only it weren’t for the feelings and emotions swirling madly within him.

  A bike was roaring outside.

  Heart jumping to his throat, Dirk sprung into action. He rushed upstairs, cursing himself for not having brought his gun down to the kitchen with him. He retrieved it quickly and just as hastily pulled on his biker’s boots and his discarded T-shirt. As he ran back down, he made a quick stop by Camilla’s bedroom. It was empty. She wasn’t in her bed.

  Outside, the bike continued to roar.

  No, no, no, no.

  Dirk’s mind was racing as he rushed down the stairs and out of the house. His hand was ready to shoot, but he hesitated as his eyesight adjusted to the moonlit darkness outside. It wasn’t Herman Ruiz. It wasn’t the Tar Mongols. It was Dirk’s own Harley-Davidson that was galloping away in the distance.

  Dirk cursed loudly as his somewhat still-fogged mind finally put two
-and-two together. He looked down at his chest. His military plates were not there any longer. Neither was the key to the garage.

  “God damn it!” he cried out, furious.

  He raced around the house to the garage, and he wasn’t surprised to find the door open and his bike gone. Without a moment’s hesitation, Dirk jumped into the awaiting jeep. As he brought the engine to life, he couldn’t stop berating himself. How had he been so mind-numbingly stupid? As Dirk pulled away from his house and into the wilderness of the Mojave Desert, he swore to himself that this was the very last time he ever surrendered to a woman.

  Chapter 21

  There were a few skills that Camilla had picked up during her travels as an investigative reporter. One of them was to ride a bike—sort of. This Harley-Davidson, it turned out, was a lot heavier than the bikes Camilla had tried. However, she knew enough of the basics to keep herself in the saddle.

  She had not considered just how cold the desert was at night, and she shivered in the much-too-big-for-her leather jacket she had stolen from the chair in Dirk’s bedroom. That way, she had figured, if anyone were to spot her—God forbid—at first glance, she would look like a Minuteman going about his business.

  She only hoped it wouldn’t be the Tar Mongols who spotted her first. In fact, she hoped no one would. It was only a matter of time before Dirk came after her, anyway, and he would be a formidable enough adversary to worry about. Even now that she was away from the house, Camilla had no great hopes to outrun him; no matter how exhausted he had been after their heated sexual encounter earlier that night, men like Dirk Coleman didn’t stay dead to the world for long.

  Camilla couldn’t suppress another shiver, and this time it had little to do with the cold desert night. Vivid images from her prowess in Dirk’s bed rushed back to her memory. Yes, she had meant to wear him out so that she could finally make her move, but she had not expected it to go that well. She would have been lying if she said she didn’t enjoy it.

  The Harley-Davidson hit a bump in the unpaved desert road and Camilla jumped, barely managing to regain control over the bike before it threw her off the saddle. She harshly berated herself. She needed to focus. Her mind was racing along with the bike she had stolen. She knew what she had done was pretty stupid, but she didn’t feel like she’d had a choice. She had to try. She had to give herself a chance. This waiting things out at Dirk’s house, waiting for “the war”—as Dirk and his men called it—was driving her insane. Guilt had become an ever-present burden ever since she had heard of the death of that Minutemen lieutenant and his family. She just had to do something. Even if that something was running through the Mojave Desert on a stolen Harley-Davidson, quite unsure of where she was going in the first place.

  There was a heaviness in her heart, and she felt half-consumed with something very close to panic—and if she were to be completely honest with herself, not all of it had to do with the fact that she was, indeed, wandering amongst the California desert on a stolen bike. Some of it—and a good chunk of it, at that—had to do with the fact that she was leaving Dirk behind. She felt a sense of loss at the notion. She would miss the fiery hot sex she had with him, and she would miss him, too.

  Camilla almost rolled her eyes at herself. Trust her to go and get Stockholm syndrome. But it was really, really hard—if not utterly impossible—to ignore the remarkableness that was Dirk Coleman. Camilla knew that she had lost him. Because even if he caught up with her—which was quite likely to happen—things would not be the same after the stunt she had just pulled. At the very least, he would not want to have sex with her again. Or maybe he would, Camilla thought after a moment, reconsidering, and it would be rougher. A shiver of anticipation ran down her spine.

  Camilla shook her head to forcefully push those thoughts away. You’re an idiot, she reprimanded herself. Just watch where you’re going and try not to fall off.

  She had to stop her mind from wandering like that; it was dangerous. She needed to focus of all of her energy on her escape if she wanted to have a real chance at somehow getting back to New York.

  New York. Camilla sighed in contentment at the mere thought. Oh, but she missed it! She missed all of it. The chaos and the beauty. She missed her apartment and her friends. She missed the TIME headquarters and her co-workers. She missed Kurt, her boss and mentor.

  Camilla shuddered as thoughts of Kurt entered her mind. She would have to explain to him what had happened. She could already see him, shaking his head at her naivety. Granted, he had been as fooled by Tobias Alvarez as she had, but Camilla was the one who had climbed on the back of his bike without taking any precautions. She would have to tell Kurt they had lost the story, because there was no way she was ever coming back here. He would be so disappointed…and Kurt Davis was the one person Camilla hated to disappoint—more than anyone else in her life.

  She tightened her hold around the Harley’s handlebars, ever glad that she’d had the presence of mind to grab a pair of Dirk’s biking gloves from the garage. They were too big for her, but they got the job done.

  Camilla thought she heard a howl in the distance, past the roaring of the bike. She shivered. Coyotes. If she crashed, she would be a good prey for them. Of course, coyotes don’t usually attack humans, but with her recent stroke of bad luck, she wouldn’t be surprised if something else were to go horribly wrong.

  As if on cue, she heard a redoubled roaring of bikes. She managed to cast a quick look behind her without falling off her transportation, and she cursed when she caught sight of two bikes coming after her in hot pursuit. She tightened her hold further on the handlebars and gave more gas, speeding up.

  Two bikes. Where could Dirk possibly have gotten two bikes in such a short time? She hadn’t been gone that long, and yet he had managed to not only notice that she had gotten away; he’d even had the time to get backup. Then again, Camilla reasoned, the Minutemen probably had outposts scattered all over the desert; they must have seen her speed by.

  Camilla couldn’t help but hate herself just a little. This really was a bad plan. What had possessed her? Was she really thinking she could get away with slipping out of the Minutemen’s vice-president’s house and stealing his bike? On the club’s own territory? It was pure madness. But Camilla had been desperate, and try as she might, she couldn’t see any other option.

  So here she was, racing in the middle of the Mojave Desert on a bike that wasn’t her own, pursued by the thugs of the man she wanted to be near but whom she had to get away from. The whole situation was just too fucked up for words.

  How did I get here? she thought in frustration, not for the first time over the past few weeks.

  Camilla stepped on the gas and commanded the bike to go even faster. She didn’t know how much longer she could run without losing control of her ride, but she would hold on as long as she could. Even though, ironically, getting away from Dirk was the last thing she wanted to do.

  ***

  Dirk was furious as he drove at breakneck speed through the desert. He was furious with himself for being stupid enough to fall for Camilla’s old-as-time trick, and he was furious with Camilla for having tricked him. How dare she? Had he not treated her with nothing but respect? Did she know how good she had it, considering her situation? There was no way any other biker’s gang would have been this considerate. She should count herself lucky. Instead, she had snuck out in the middle of the night and stolen his beloved Harley-Davidson. So much for gratitude.

  Dirk stepped on the gas pedal, as he was hit with a renewed wave of anger. He could only imagine what Stephan would say if he lost her. The ramifications would be endless, and he wasn’t sure Camilla had thought of them. Everyone knew they were screwing each other, and her escape would raise questions. People would become suspicions. They might even go as far as to think that he let her go.

  Dirk tightened his hold around the steering wheel until his knuckles turned white. Did she know the danger she was putting him in? Or did she just not care?


  Speaking of caring…why did he? He knew there was no way she had any idea where she was going. Chances were she would just get lost in the desert, and he could search for her the next day with the men’s help, with no rush. Why was he even going after her right now, in the middle of the night?

  Dirk shook his head. Asking himself those questions was dangerous territory. He’d best just tell himself that he was doing it out of anger. He wondered if he should come up with a way to punish her…and then he shook his head again at the images that thought brought to his mind. Damn Camilla and her curves. She had put him under a spell that he had no idea how to break, although he knew he had to, and that he had to do it soon.

  The jeep jumped and wobbled over the uncertain terrain of the unpaved desert road, but Dirk hardly noticed the harshness of the movements. All of his focus was on Camilla. He just couldn’t wrap his mind around what had happened. He had been stupid and careless, and it just wasn’t like him. He had let his guard down, and that was the thing that angered him the most. He never let his guard down. Ever. Especially around women. He couldn’t afford one of them to sneak in and get under his skin. Like Camilla had done, even though he hated to admit it.