by Nina Park
And if I’m being honest, I knew baked goods got him all hot and bothered, so I’d baked more since living with him than I had in my entire life.
Cade wrapped his hands around my back and slid down, so he was holding onto my ass, sliding me towards him with every thrust, so we met in the middle. He quickened his pace, and I grabbed handfuls of his hair, tugged at the collar of his shirt, and dug my nails into his biceps. I tried desperately to cling onto him.
Finally, his breathing became even more erratic, and I felt myself begin to crumble as well. Our bodies trembled with pleasure as we orgasmed at the same time. By the end of it, Cade had slid me off the countertop and lowered me onto the floor, pushing himself lazily into me with the last bit of energy he had.
Cade rolled off of me and laid his hands across his chest, breathing heavily. “Yep, you are the best roommate ever.”
I laughed. “I don’t know. I think there is a case to be made for you being the best roommate ever.”
Just then, the oven timer went off, and I jumped off, pushed my skirt back down around my thighs, and put on my oven mitts. I leaned forward and pulled the pan out of the oven, and Cade whistled. From his position on the floor, he could see straight up my skirt.
“Are you whistling for the banana bread?” I asked, turning around and winking at him.
I sat the pan on the counter and by the time I took off the oven mitts, Cade was standing behind me, his hands sliding up the backs of my trembling thighs.
“I was whistling for the sexiest woman I’ve ever seen,” he replied.
“Are you ready again already?” I asked, reaching around to feel his hardness pressing against the front of his jeans.
“You drive me crazy.” He groaned, pulling my hair to the side and kissing the back of my ear.
I smiled and pressed my hips back against him. “Prove it.”
There was a flurry of lifting and unzipping and positioning, and then Cade was inside of me again. This time, my hands were pressed against the tile backsplash, the edge of the counter biting blissfully into my hip bones as Cade pounded into me from behind. Our bodies slapped together, echoing off the kitchen walls.
Cade slid his hand from my hip to my front, circling his thumb over my sensitive spot. My legs began to shake, and I worried I wouldn’t be able to hold up my own weight.
“You are so sexy, Falyn,” Cade whispered in my ear, his finger working furiously on my clit. “Come for me.”
On command, my body arched and released, somehow managing another mind-blowing orgasm so soon after the last one. My muscles clenched as I rode the wave of pleasure. Cade’s fingers dug hard into my skin as he climaxed, shallowly pulsing into me until he slipped out.
I turned to him and looked up into his icy blue eyes, running my hand through his bright blonde hair.
“I love you,” I whispered, more nervous than I thought I would be.
We hadn’t said that to one another yet, and I worried it was too much too soon. The last thing I wanted was to scare him away. He had become my home. Cade and Guts and Angie and the Stone Devils. They were my family, and I couldn’t imagine my life without them.
“You don’t have to say it back if you don’t—”
Cade pressed a finger to my lips and laughed. “Do you really believe I get this excited over baked goods?”
I looked at up him, my face pulled into a question.
“It’s you, baby,” he said, leaning forward to brush his lips across mine. “Seeing you here when I wake up, when I get out of the shower, when I come home. Knowing you are in my life is almost too much to handle. Of course, I love you.”
Relief washed over me, and I hugged him, resting my cheek against his chest.
Cade ran his fingers down my spine and then stopped, pulling me away from him. “Does this mean you’re going to stop baking? Because although your banana bread doesn’t make me horny, it is delicious.”
“I’ll keep making banana bread,” I replied, laughing and pulling him back into a hug. “Anything for the man I love.”
THE END
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***
And then… keep reading for a sneak preview of Book 2 in the Broken by the Biker Collection – HOPELESS!
Sneak Preview of HOPELESS
Read on for a sneak preview of my second book, Hopeless!
Hopeless: A Motorcycle Club Romance (Damned Devils MC) (Broken by the Biker Collection Book 2)
Resisting me is hopeless.
From the moment I saw her, I wanted more.
But giving her a baby might have gone too far.
Now, there are violent men eager to spill our blood.
But they’re about to learn the hard way: I’ll do whatever it takes to protect what’s mine.
BASTARD
I’m a nomad without ties.
I owe my loyalty to no one – save the Damned Devils MC.
That’s how I prefer it.
Live for my patch, die for my brothers.
Nothing else matters.
Until I lay my eyes on Kit.
The fiery singer becomes the one thing I have to have.
No matter the cost.
And once I get a taste of her sweetness, I’m addicted.
Her moans have been ringing in my ear ever since the night I took her.
Now, I’m riding out of town with her.
There’s danger hot on our heels.
We’re all at risk of suffering a terrible fate:
Me, Kit…
And the unborn baby in her belly.
CHAPTER ONE
The husky timber of the singer’s voice snaked through the dimly lit nightclub like a serpent. Bastard couldn’t look away from the black-haired beauty if he tried. Her voice was a combination of honey and drugs, making him feel woozy and tingly, like maybe his underpriced drink had been spiked.
Hell, if this was the side effect of the cheap rum and cokes, then he welcomed it. This was his third night at the Cat’s Claw. He’d come because of the drink prices, but stayed because of her. He watched her like an enamored schoolboy, pure staring and rapid heartbeats when her voice cracked raw on the small front stage. The woman clearly had a throng of admirers, too. Plenty of familiar faces in this place after three consecutive days here, and most of them watching the act a little too intently.
Bastard wasn’t from Olympia, so it was nice to have something of a routine while he worked south of Seattle. Even if that routine involved pumping into his fist while imagining that red-lipped beauty as soon as he hit the shower of his motel room each night.
But by day three he knew he needed to shit or get off the pot, as his Nomad brother Jack always told him. The asshole loved to spout the phrase even when it didn’t apply, and this situation seemed just as distantly relevant as any. The smoke-throated hottie wouldn’t leave his mind. He kept showing up to this bar like a damned caught fish. Besides, this run out in Olympia was ending soon. He had to make a move.
Bastard let the singer’s last song wash over him, like savoring a sweet treat that he knew would be over after just one more bite. Except he hoped it wouldn’t be over for long. When she sang the last throaty Ooooh of her final song, the bar exploded with applause. Bastard’s wolf whistle ripped through the air, and he headed for the bar, rapping twice on the wood with his knuckles.
“Hey. That singer? She drink?” He jerked his chin toward the woman on stage, as though there were any doubt about what singer he could possibly be referring to.
The bartender sized him up, squinting a little bit. “You want a drink?”
Bastard looked at his mostly empty rum and coke. “Sure. Another rum and coke.”
The bartender took the glass without a word, his tightlipped face bordering on a grimace.
“So that girl up there–" he began again.
“She has a name, you know.” The bartender’
s annoyance came out singsong under his breath.
Bastard blinked, looking back at the stage. The band was packing up a little, the redhaired beauty making her way through the crowd. “Well I don’t know it.”
The bartender remained quiet while he prepared the rum and coke.
“Listen, I just wanna buy her a drink. She’s talented as fuck, ya know? So can you tell me if she drinks or not?”
The bartender looked unimpressed. He slid the rum and coke across the bartop and Bastard finally noticed his nametag: Dipper.
“I wouldn’t bother,” Dipper intoned. “She’s a tough nut to crack.”
Something about this brief glimpse into the singer’s life egged him on. Made it sort of a challenge. Hell, he was probably least qualified to crack any nut. It was his tendency to crack ‘em open and then run. But he liked the challenge. “Don’t matter. Just wanna thank her for the show.”
Dipper frowned slightly, his gaze sliding to somewhere across the bar, then back to Bastard. “Okay. What can I get, then?”
Bastard drummed his fingers on the bartop, searching the crowd for her. What the fuck would a lady like her want? “You tell me, brother.”
“I’m not your brother.”
“Sorry. Damn.” Bastard gnawed at the inside of his lip, looking Dipper up and down. This guy had a chip on his shoulder when it came to that singer. “So no suggestions?”
Dipper let an exaggerated sigh, his gaze wandering back across the bar. “Probably the same as you.”
“Good. Great.” Bastard nodded, his stomach jerking briefly as he caught sight of that dark, almost blue-black head weaving toward the bar through the crowd. “Let’s do that.”
Dipper prepared another drink quietly, his gaze flitting up across the crowd a few times. Something unspoken lay there, and if the singer was a tough nut to crack then maybe this guy was the squirrel hiding her acorns. Still, it made him curious to learn more.
Dipper slid the second drink to Bastard, who made a big display of leaving ten dollars for him. Dipper arched a brow and then swung his attention around to the next customer waving money at him. Bastard spotted the singer heading his way, so he snagged the open stool next to him. He turned, leaning his back against the bar, moving the extra drink in front of the open spot.
And then he watched her approach, saw the careful lilt of her smile as her gaze dragged across the faces of the various bargoers clogging the way. Saw the sexy lift of her brow as she noticed the open seat, the waiting drink. And then she headed straight toward him, eyes shrinking to knowing slits, as if zeroing in on her kill.
Their eyes locked, and electricity shot through his veins.
A look like that might make some men run. But for him, it only begged him to stay.
***
Kit could spot a free drink meant for her from a mile away. Usually she ignored them, but tonight, the giver was the one man she’d been waiting to talk to. The buzzcut brute had been showing up at her bar for three days now. It wasn’t uncommon for men to be repeat audience members. The way she painted her makeup and tugged down her top ensured that she had a steady fan base.
But this guy? He was the type of guy she fantasized about. The rough-hewn biker with gemstone eyes that snagged her even across a dimly lit lounge. Pouty lips that already whispered sweet angst and heartache.
Or maybe that was just her creative side wanting another project. You should funnel this into more songs. And yeah, maybe she’d funnel this restless creative drive into new songs and better chord structures…but for now, she wanted to play, too.
She sauntered toward him slowly, enjoying the way his jaw tightened as she made her target clear. He leaned against the bar like he was offering his lap. And maybe he wouldn’t mind if she just sidled right into it. But she wasn’t like that. She didn’t make it so easy.
Mere feet from the sexy man waiting for her at the bar, someone else stepped into her path. A tall man, dark sideswept hair, slitted eyes that told her he thought he was a catch. Smugness worn like a cologne.
“Your voice is an angel’s,” he said, the tang of alcohol reaching her nose.
She offered a tight smile. This guy was in here often too. Basically a regular. But he’d never approached her until tonight. “Thank you.”
“I’ve been working up the courage to come say hi to you for weeks now,” he went on. He shoved a drink into her hand, the cold plastic forming condensation in her hand immediately. “It’s the least I can do.”
She lifted a brow, looking down at the beverage. “Well thanks.” She didn’t tend to let men buy her drinks, but tonight was apparently the exception. “What is it?”
Over the guy’s shoulder, she could see the buzzcut biker, jaw tight as he looked her fan up and down. She bit back a smile.
“Gin and tonic.” He swallowed hard, looking at the drink with knit brows. “I didn’t know what you liked. But I thought you might be hoarse. From all that beautiful singing. I hear you when I go home, you know.”
He stepped closer, and in a flash she grew tired of the conversation. Of course he just wanted to bone. He’d hurl compliments at her until she caved. She’d fallen for that shit in the beginning of her career, but not now. No, she’d built her fortress walls high by now.
Kit cleared her throat, sidestepping the guy, moving closer to the biker waiting for her at the bar. She flashed him a cheeky grin, and then asked quietly, “Is this drink for me?”
The biker jerked his head into a nod, his hungry gaze coursing over her face. Except she liked his attention. Wanted more of it, in fact.
Except he’d bought her—looked like a rum and coke. Ugh. She hated rum and coke, the G&T was much more her speed. What to do?
She snatched up the rum and coke waiting for her on the bar and turned back to the dark-haired fan. “Here. You take this. Thanks for buying me one, but I don’t like being indebted to people.” She shoved it into his hand before he could respond otherwise. And then she turned her back to him, sidling up to the sexy biker at the bar. Drink? Check. Cute guy? Check. All systems go.
“Were you saving this seat for me too?” She arched a brow.
He didn’t look amused, glancing over his shoulder at the fan who stood confused behind them. The buzzcut hottie grabbed for the drink in the fan’s hand.
“This was mine, actually.” Biker Badboy shot a glare at her fan, then turned his back to him. Kit stifled a laugh. This was gonna be a good way to spice up a normally hum-drum weeknight at the bar.
“It’s okay, I don’t need it.” The fan ran his fingers through his hair, shoulders hefting with a laugh. “You know this guy? I can—”
“He’s my friend, thanks.” Kit offered him another tight smile and sank onto the barstool, facing the bristled biker once more. She shot him a secretive grin, swirling the straw in her drink before taking a cool sip.
“You can go now,” the biker said over his shoulder to the fan, who still lingered.
“Thanks again,” Kit said, waving her fingers at the fan as he stumbled away, confusion etched onto his face.
“You must like to start trouble,” the biker grumbled. Ice rattled in his tumbler as he sipped at his drink.
“No, I just like to see who’s really worthy of my attention.” She shrugged, taking another absentminded sip of the G&T before remembering who had bought it for her. She slammed it on the bartop, motioning for Dipper. He came instantly.
“Babe, can you get me a water? I don’t want this.” She shoved the cup toward him. It was her personal policy to never drink an unsolicited beverage. That was how bad shit happened to girls, especially with all the hungry-eyed men that showed up like ghosts in her bar.
“I’d offer you the rum and coke that I bought you, but…” The biker gestured toward the drink.
“But you already drank half of it in defiance?” Kit laughed, smoothing her hair down as she settled into her seat. She crossed her legs, allowing a long, creamy slit of skin to poke through. The biker’s eyes darted down
for the briefest of seconds, but it was enough to start a fire inside her.
“Well I bought it for you, but if not for you, then for me.” He crunched on an ice cube as he met her gaze. Something playful but dark lurked in his eyes.
“I don’t take drinks from men I don’t know.” She took a sip of the water Dipper dropped off for her, catching the brief moment of side-eye he delivered like a spear to her chest. He probably had something to tell her; probably it had to do with the man at her side. Dipper watched over her like a hawk, especially on the nights that she performed. After three years using the Cat’s Claw as her artistic base, they’d developed a friendship that rivaled family. “And if you knew me, you’d have bought me gin.”