by Violet Blaze
“Later, Pint-Size. Later. For now, this. Just this.”
I sit up and slide my cut off my shoulders, tossing it to the floor before I yank off my shirt and unzip Lyric's jacket. Underneath … My breath catches sharply and my dick throbs with excitement.
“Is this for me?” I ask as I run my hands down the sides of the purple corset and pause at the zipper to Lyric's pants. “And am I going to find naughty knickers under all this leather?”
“It's not for you,” she says, but her cheeks are flushed with excitement as she looks up at me. “Well, maybe these were, but just a little bit. You beat up my brother.”
“Could've done a whole lot worse,” I say, refusing to let the subject come between us. Right now, hell would have to freeze over for me to stop—and even then it'd be a stretch. “That fucking phone call,” I say, unzipping her pants and finding a matching pair of panties and a bloody garter belt. “If that shit hadn't been enough to drive me crazy, then this would be.” I need this girl, I think as I peel her riding pants down her legs, tear off her boots and then finish the job, until she's lying there in nothing but purple lingerie. “I need to fuck you right now, love. If I don't, I'm going to lose my goddamn mind.”
I lean over her, kissing the side of her neck and working my way down to the corset, running my tongue along the top of it, tasting the pale creamy swells of her breasts. When my fingers seek out her pussy, it's soaked straight through and ready for me, clamping down hard on my hand as I work two and then three in and out.
“I told him I was your old lady,” she gasps as my thumb grazes over the front of her lacy panties. Well now. That gives me pause and my mouth curves into a grin.
“Why? Because you want to be?” I ask, noticing that Lyric's put her panties on over her garter belt and thigh highs. Like she knew someone would want to be able to take them off and leave everything else on. Fuck.
“I don't know,” she whispers as I slide my fingers out and grab her knickers, trailing them down her legs and over her feet before tossing them to the floor. “I really don't know.”
“Guess we'll figure that out, too,” I say as I unzip my pants and lower my body on top of hers. “Tomorrow. We'll figure all this crap out tomorrow.” When I thrust inside of her, she spreads her legs wide and welcomes my cock inside, fingers clutching at my hair, tongue teasing mine as I kiss her and take her hard against the mattress.
Her hot, wet body soothes my demons away and brings a moment of peace to the fucking roller coaster ride that makes up my life. Shagging beautiful girls has always been a pastime of mine, something to make me feel better, let go a little. But it's never been like this. Guess I can see why some of the boys are so into their old ladies, why they never even glance in the direction of the leather lovers. They don't even fucking see 'em. Don't fucking need them.
“Lyric,” I groan, grinding against her as she moans and writhes beneath me, her body milking mine so hard that I can barely move my cock in and out. I decide to roll us over and let her ride me, putting my hands on her waist and encouraging her hips to roll, her palms splayed out on my chest as I squeeze her soft flesh and let her grind her clit against me.
“Royal,” she groans as I bite my lip and suck in a harsh breath. “Royal.” A sharp little gasp. “Royal.”
“That's it, Pint-Size. Let it go. I want to watch you come.” Her hips move harder, dark hair hanging around her face, lips parted with pleasure. When she comes, hands still on my chest, back arching, she looks like a fucking queen.
My queen.
Royalty.
There's a pint of ice cream in front of my face when I open my eyes, lashes fluttering as I take in the container and the big tattooed hand that's holding it.
“Mornin' Pint-Size,” Royal says, tossing a spoon onto the pillow with his other hand. “Thought you might enjoy a little taste of your namesake.”
I groan and sit up, my body sore and my face throbbing like … well, I like I got elbowed in the nose. I reach up and touch it, hissing at the pain, but I don't think it's broken. It'd hurt a hell of a lot worse, wouldn't it? My chest feels tight though, the line where the seatbelt caught me an aching mess.
“What … what the hell happened last night?” I groan, even though I was a part of all of it. Being followed, crashing the truck, Royal's hand wrenching the door open, arching above him as I rode his cock.
Oh God.
I groan again and rub at my face as I sit up, glancing at the two wolves lying patiently at the end of the bed, eyeing the ice cream container before looking back at my face with pathetically hopeful expressions.
“I have to head out of here in a minute, but I wanted to talk you before I left,” Royal says, tilting his head to the side and examining me carefully. There's so much between us, so much that needs to be said, talked about.
“Who were those guys last night?” I ask, reluctantly reaching out and dragging the ice cream into my lap. A surge of panic goes through me before I realize that it's Sunday. Sunday. No work. Nobody will know I'm missing. I breathe a small sigh of relief.
“Bunch of fucking tossers that have finally lost the plot.”
“Wow. You don't sound at all like you've ever lived in London,” I say with a small smile and Royal grins at me. The expression fades almost as quickly as it came and his mouth tightens, the muscles in his jaw ticking.
“I don't know how to say this,” he begins and my heart stutters frantically. The way he kissed me last night, the look on his face, how scared he sounded on the phone … he's not kicking me out, is he?
“You want me to go?” I ask and he blinks at me like I'm the one that's lost the plot. Royal reaches into his pocket and grabs a smoke, sliding it between his lips and talking around it, his dark hair thick and clean and perfect. Must've showered already. I stare into his dark brown eyes and wait for him to answer me.
“Now you really must be taking the piss with me. Lyric,” he begins as I set the ice cream aside and turn to face him, looking down at his tattooed hands instead of his face. The roses seem more red today, the vines more green, the pistols more … dangerous. “I don't know how to do this shit, and frankly, I don't really care. Look, here's the thing.” He takes a deep breath and glances over at the bedroom door like he's expecting someone to come in at any moment. That's when I hear the deep rumble of a man's voice. Someone responds to him, but I can't hear what they're saying. So there really are people out there.
Royal turns back to face me.
“You've gotten wrapped up in this shit, even though you shouldn't be.” I open my mouth to protest, but he just keeps talking. “You calling in Brent … ” Royal grits his teeth. “Don't ever mention that to anyone ever again. You hear me?” I raise my eyebrows but he just stares me down.
“I hear you,” I say, knowing that if he's telling me this, it's probably for a good reason. Look what happened to Sully.
“But what happened with Landon, and all of this,” Royal sucks in a breath, “none of that is your fault. And I … ” He grits his teeth again and then throws his cigarette on the bedside table. “I'm a dumb shit, and I know that this thing between us, it's a fucking nightmare waiting to happen.” Royal leans in and cups the side of my face with his hand. “But it's too late now. I'm fucking invested.”
“Invested?” I whisper, my heart pounding hard against my chest. I should care more about what happened last night, demand answers about who and what and why. But I can't. And I don't. This, right here, I need to know about this. “What do you mean?”
“Pint-Size, you ever consider a different life? Something that's … it's not exactly a walk in the park. You figured that out last night.”
“A different life?” I ask and Royal rolls his eyes, leaning in and putting his forehead against mine.
“I'm asking you to be my woman, Lyric. Even if this all falls to pieces and goes to hell in a handbasket at some point, right now the only thing I want to hear from you is yes. The details, we can work out later.”
“My dad,” I begin, but then Royal puts his mouth against mine, kisses me the way he did last night against the side of his truck. Mine. I open up to him, put my arms around his neck. Yours.
This isn't going to end well, is it? I wonder in the back of my mind. But my heart doesn't care. Not one bit. Right now, this man … he feels wicked and brutal and tender and perfect and … his tongue is tracing my bottom lip and bringing goose bumps up on my arms. How can I say no to that?
“You know why they call me Royal, right?” he asks me as he pulls back and leaves me panting. That dirty grin of his splits his face as I close my eyes and take in the smell of leather and earth, Royal's smell.
“Why's that?” I ask, opening my eyes and meeting his hungry gaze with one of my own. “Is it because it's your name?”
“Cheeky twat,” he says, slapping me on the knee and standing up, a vision in leather and denim. “It's because I'm king, love. And I need a queen. Just tell me okay, so I can get the fuck out of here and come home to find you waiting in my bed for me.”
I should tell him that I have work in the morning, that I still want to be a senator, that we met a week ago, that … I'm stupid and young and in love. But I won't say it. Yet. I don't think he will either. Later, maybe, when we're both ready. Yes, definitely later.
“I'll be here, Royal,” I promise as he raises his brows at me. “I'll be here and I … like you, Royal. I really do.”
“I like you, too, Pint-Size, more than a whole hell of a lot.” Royal leans back over me, eyes focused on mine until I lean back into the pillows and let him brush his mouth across mine again. “Give me a definite, so I can hold my head up with these assholes out here.”
“It's a definite,” I say and his lips split into a grin again, one hand tracing up my side before he kisses me one more time and pulls away.
“You're mine?”
“For now,” I say with a sly smile. “As long as you're mine, too?” He winks at me and picks up his cigarette in two fingers, cutting a daring silhouette against the navy blue walls.
“Never thought I'd say this so bloody soon, but … you got it, love. I'm yours.” Royal gives me a little wave and turns around, reaching for the bedroom door. I watch the wolf on the back of his leather vest until the wood's almost obscured it from view.
“Wait,” I say, a random thought popping into my head. “What's the tattoo on your chest say?” I've seen it several times now, but we've always been too … busy for me to read it. Royal pauses and peeks back in the door with a grin.
“Raw and dirty,” he growls, giving me a look that could melt the panties off a nun. “Raw and dirty and … yours. I hope you're fucking ready for this shit.”
Then he closes the door behind him and leaves me in his bed with just a pair of wolves and a smile for company.
More Royal, more Lyric, more beautiful brutality.
Releases March 2016.
Turn the page for a sneak peek at Violet Blaze's next novel ...
Dash Buchanan should never have walked into my life.
When he did, he made a mess of it.
A hot, wicked, tangled mess that I'm not so sure I want to crawl out of.
If only I'd been more careful, if only we hadn't been seen.
One night, one mistake that changes everything.
Dash and me, we're in way over our heads, drowning in our demons.
I can only hope he has the strength to swim.
***
Adelaide Vaughn should not have been at my concert.
Hell, she shouldn't have been anywhere near me.
As the son of the CEO of Buchanan Bikes, there are a lot of rules.
First, never touch a Vaughn girl.
Second, never let anyone see your weaknesses.
This girl, this daughter of the Weeping Bones Motorcycle Club . . .
Damn it, but I'm pretty sure she's going to make me break all of them.
CHAPTER ONE
DASH
I love it when my dad calls me into his office - mostly because I like to screw his secretary.
“Fuck,” I groan, grinding my hips against the petite little blond's, twisting my fingers in a handful of her hair. She tilts her head back and gives me access to her pale, perfect throat. I run my tongue along her skin, tasting the sweat that's beading there, eating up the proof that I'm doing this right, doing her right.
See, I don't just like to fuck women, I want to pleasure them, shake them to their core and feel them tighten around me when they come. Can you even believe Laura didn't have her first orgasm until she was twenty-four? That's a goddamn travesty if you ask me. Thankfully, I was able to take care of that for her. Imagine how many other women must be suffering in the same way.
I might just be one man, but I aim to make the world a little better - one hot, frenzied fuck at a time.
“Oh my god, Dash,” she moans as I ram her into the granite countertop of the ladies' bathroom. Hopefully nobody walks in on us. But if they do? Oh well. I'm the prince of this palace so to speak, future CEO of Buchanan Bikes. They can deal. “Deeper, Dash. Deeper.”
“Turn your ass over and I'll be happy to oblige.” I slide out of Laura's slick, wet heat and spin her around, pushing her chest into the sink. We both groan as I fill her up again, pound my pelvis into her firm round ass.
And I thought working for my dad was going to be boring?
Hell, if this is on the agenda for my workday, I'll gladly quit the band and come over full time.
I glance up and catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror, sweat beading on my forehead, a stray droplet sticking to my lower lip. I flash a grin and then lean over, curling my fingers gently around Laura's pale throat, drawing her head up so I can meet the eyes of her reflection. She bites back a gasp, tucking that red rouged lip of hers beneath white, white teeth. Her eyes are ringed in liner, and they look huge, open, bare as I keep our gazes locked, ramming into her again and again and again.
An orgasm catches her first; I can see it building in the curl of her spine, the tightness of her fingers as she claws at the countertop with her perfectly manicured nails.
“Dash!” she screams, loud enough that I wouldn't be surprised if one of the security guards came traipsing in here. “Oh God, yes.” Her voice breaks like a wave cresting on a rock, crashing around me as she squeezes tight, holding my body captive for one, perfect moment. One fucking perfect moment where I don't have to be anyone or anything except myself. Sex is like a drug, isn't it? And I can't seem to stop myself from leaping between highs. “Wow,” Laura says as I pull away and drop my used condom in the stainless steel trash can. I fix my jeans as I watch her turn around and gather herself together, smoothing strands of blonde back into place, adjusting her suit jacket and skirt, pulling up her panties. “That was amazing. Please tell me you'll be coming into the office more often?”
I shrug and reach into my back pocket for a smoke.
“I'm going on tour this summer with the boys,” I tell her and pretend not to notice when her face crumples. Laura's nice and all, but she's got this attention to detail that drives me nuts. Everything with her is so perfect, so put-together. I like messy girls, girls with frizzy hair, makeup on one eye but not the other, a bedroom floor strewn with books and T-shirts and high heels still in the box. I don't have to ask myself why or get introspective about it – I know why I like chaos. The answer's pretty simple: my father made me this way. “I'll see you when I get back?” I light my cigarette and watch as Linda's eyes crinkle at the corners. Last time I saw her, she gave me a packet of brochures on the dangers of lung cancer.
“Sure thing, Dash,” she says and then points a red-nailed finger at me, “just don't tell your dad we did it again.”
Thirty minutes ago, my stepbrother pulled off one of the biggest jewelry heists in history - and I helped him do it.
Now we're on the run, and I don't know what to think.
He says he'll protect me no matter what, but I'm not sure if I should be
lieve him.
After all, we tried that once and it did not turn out well for either of us.
Besides, his father raised us both after my mother passed away.
Gill can be lots of things to me, but he can't be my lover.
Not again.
When I turned twenty-one, he disappeared. Just disappeared without a word.
Over a decade later, and now he's back and more ruthless than ever.
He says the right things, does the right things, but the truth is ...
I'm afraid of him.
I'm afraid for him.
CHAPTER ONE
Diamonds.
They're supposed to be a girl's best friend, aren't they? So why, right now, do they look like the enemy, staring back at me from a tumbled heap inside the black duffel bag parked between my bare feet?
Sweat pours down the sides of my face, sticks my orange dress shirt to the skin on my lower back. I can't stop panting, my ragged breathing tearing from my chest as I wiggle my toes and try to convince myself that I did the right thing, that everything will work out in the end. If I believed that though, really and truly believed that, I don't think my heart would be pounding quite so hard.
“Ten minutes,” Gill whispers hoarsely, his own breath even, his hands loose on the steering wheel. “Ten minutes and we'll be in the air.” I sit up, forcing my stiff fingers to drop the edges of the bag and glance over at him. Something about my stepbrother's expression, the set of his shoulders, the lack of sweat on his forehead, it bothers me.
Relaxed.
That's what he is. Relaxed. My life as I once knew it is over, everything changed in an instant, snatched up and twisted in the tornado that is Gill Marchal, and there he sits like he's on the way to the airport for a goddamned tropical vacation, some pleasure cruise that'll end in sand and surf and a ticket back home waiting for afterwards. This? This is nothing like that.