A Ride or Die Kind of Love

by Chelsea Camaron

  “I’m. Her. Man,” Frankie spat through clenched teeth. “Any fuckin’ babies she’ll be havin’ will be mine.”

  Oh good Lord.

  “Frankie,” I said sternly. “First of all, you are not my man. I have no man. And I don’t plan on having one anytime soon, especially not one who has fucked my entire high school! Second, I don’t want to talk about hypothetical weddings or babies. Ever again. Third, if you get into another fight with one of Daddy’s business partners that Daddy’s cool with, he’s gonna kill you this time. Not just put you in the hospital with minor brain swelling, but put you in the ground. So do me a favor, go get a beer, go take a walk, go get a blow job, whatever. Just calm the hell down. And lastly, I need some time to process all this new information. So please give me some space.”

  Frankie growled at me. An honest-to-God growl.

  “I’m gonna tell Daddy,” I warned.

  “Do you have any idea how fuckin’ dangerous this asshole is?”

  I glanced up at Deuce. Our eyes locked, and those baby blues sucked me in. Sheesh, he was beautiful.

  “I’m guessing he’s about as dangerous as you,” I said, still staring up at Deuce, unable to look away. “So go,” I demanded.

  “We’re talkin’ later, Eva,” Frankie said, fuming. “Count on it.”

  He stalked off into the crowd.

  “Boy’s got it bad for you, darlin’,” Deuce said, taking a seat beside me. I lifted my right leg onto the table and turned to face him. Suddenly, all my senses went on hyperalert. The proximity of him allowed me to smell the booze on his breath and a day’s worth of summer sweat on his skin. It wasn’t altogether a bad smell. It reminded me of…man.

  “Not that I blame him. If I was his age and you were mine, I’d be jumpin’ up and gettin’ in faces, too.”

  If I was his age and you were mine. Wow. Just…wow.

  “I’m nobody’s,” I shot back.

  His eyebrow rose. “Not sure Frankie agrees with that.”

  I snorted. “Frankie’s a whore.”

  “He fuckin’ your friends?”

  “Yep. All of them except Kami, my best friend. She would never touch him.”

  Kami and I had gone to prep school together since kindergarten. She was the daughter of a former senator and an heiress. She was raised by nannies, spent most of her time with me, and steered clear of Frankie. She’d didn’t like him, and in all honesty, I think he scared her.

  Smirking, Deuce shook his head. “He’s tryin’ to get you to notice him. Tryin’ to make you jealous. A fuckin’ blind man could see how bad that boy wants down your pants.”

  Grossed out, I scrunched up my nose. “Not gonna happen. He’s like my brother. Besides, I’m not about having a boyfriend. I don’t even like boys.”

  Except him. Only Deuce wasn’t a boy; he was a man, full grown. It was ridiculous to feel this way, but I couldn’t help it. Every fiber of my being felt drugged with his presence. I kept catching myself leaning into his space.

  “Darlin’, you just haven’t met the right guy,” he said, smiling. “If you were just a little bit older…”

  He stopped talking and shook his head.

  “If I was older?” I prompted, needing to hear what he’d been about to say.

  He leaned sideways and bent his head to mine. His lips brushed against my cheek. “If you were older, darlin’, I’d have you on the back of my bike and in my fuckin’ bed. And you’d be not just likin’ it, but lovin’ it, beggin’ me for more.”

  My lips parted, and my chest expanded as I sucked down much-needed air. Holy shit. I’d felt that statement all the way down to my toes and back up again. I wanted to feel it again. And again. Only naked and wrapped around Deuce’s body.

  “There it is, darlin’,” he said softly, his lips curving slowly in a sexy grin. “Nothin’ like seein’ a pretty girl gettin’ all fired up.”

  I. Just. Stared.

  “Back of a bike is comin’ for ya and soon, too. ’Cause, baby, the way you’re lookin’ at me is tellin’ me you want it. And you want it bad.”

  Pushing himself off the bench, he winked once and disappeared into the crowd.

  My heart pounding, I looked around feeling embarrassed and overexposed, but no one was paying me any attention at all.

  I put my earbuds back in and started singing again, not quite as loud as usual since my voice was shaking.

  • • •

  Deuce stayed up on the roof long after everyone had moved inside the club to keep partying, start fucking, or pass the hell out.

  He was having a hell of an internal battle and had already gone through half a bottle of Jäger and two packs of smokes while he was having it.

  Eva. That fucking girl. She should have stayed awkward and skinny—all elbows and knees and legs too long for her body with insecurity blazing in those big gray eyes.

  She was damn beautiful now. Her face had carved out nicely, baby fat gone, ivory skin as far as the eye could see, dark wavy hair hanging down her back, full fucking lips, and those damn big and beautiful eyes, the color of a rain cloud. Goddammit motherfucking shit. Her awful singing. Those damn Chucks. Those fucking tits—fat and heavy, nipples hard, pressing through her threadbare Harley tee. Jeans, big and baggy, hanging real low on her hips, low enough to see her hip bones.

  He wanted inside of her. It was sick, and he knew it. His old man kinda sick. But there it was.

  And he wasn’t the only one. Frankie had it bad and not in a good way. Kid was fucked-up. Got crazy eyes every time he looked at her. He got the jealousy thing. Eva was a fine piece of ass; being as sweet as she was, as smart as she was, and not giving a shit about mainstream crap, only made her even hotter.

  “Fuck,” he muttered. He had to get out of there. Get on his bike and get the fuck out of Manhattan. Away from Eva fuckin’ Fox and her soul-sucking eyes.

  He made it down to the fourth-floor stairwell when he heard yelling coming from the floor below. Pausing, he leaned over the railing.

  “What’s wrong with me?” Frankie demanded.

  “Nothing,” Eva said. “It’s not just you. I don’t want to be involved with anyone…like that.”

  “You looked pretty fuckin’ involved on the roof talkin’ to that fuckin’ Horseman! I watched you with that fuckin’ asshole! You were fuckin’ flirtin’ with him! You let him touch your fuckin’ face!”

  “Yeah, Frankie, I was flirting with him, not shoving my tongue down his throat. He’s hot, so what? It’s not like he gives two shits about some sixteen-year-old girl he barely knows!”

  She thought he was hot? Women didn’t think he was hot. They thought he was scary as fuck. But this beautiful, young, sweet-as-fuck girl thought he was hot. His cock jerked.

  Fuck.

  Don’t go there, asshole. Do not fucking go there.

  “Not the fuckin’ point, babe! What the fuck did I tell you?” he yelled. “What the fuck did I tell you about other fuckin’ guys?”

  Eva sighed noisily. “You said they’d hurt me. They’d use me and throw me away.”

  “Yeah, baby.” Frankie’s tone had gone soft and threatening. “What else did I say?”

  “Sheesh, Frankie, what is up your butt tonight?”

  “What. Else. Did. I. Say?”

  “That they would never love me. That only you will love me.”

  Man, this kid was sick.

  “Want you on my cock, Eva. Sick of waitin’.”

  Deuce’s teeth clenched. If Frankie wasn’t Preacher’s golden boy, he’d fucking kill him.

  “Then stop waiting!” she shot back. “Because it’s not gonna happen! You’re like my brother, Frankie! My brother!”

  “You keep sayin’ that,” he growled. “But we’re fuckin’ sleepin’ next to each other every night, and you’re pressin’ your tits on my arm and your ass on my cock, and I’m so fuckin’ hard I can’t see straight. You won’t fuckin’ do shit ’bout it. Makin’ me go out and fuck other bitches when you know I only want
you. When you know I’m not gonna let anyone else fuckin’ near you. Ever. Never ever, Eva. You get me, or you get nothin’. Do you get that? You’re not with me, you’re never with no one.”

  Ass. Hole.

  “Frankie,” she said evenly. “Stop acting crazy. I do not press anything against you. You wrap yourself around me like a damn blanket, and it’s you who is always rubbing against me and copping feels. And if you keep throwing this shit in my face, I’m going to tell Daddy you sleep in my bed every night. And I’ll tell him you jerk off right next to me.”

  He heard Frankie’s heavy boots pounding the wood floors, and then a door slammed. He waited a beat, and then continued down the stairs.

  Eva was sitting in a corner on the third-floor landing, knees pulled up to her chest, smoking a cigarette. Her head turned in his direction, and she smiled. He smiled back.

  “Hey,” she said softly. “Thought you left.”

  He’d been trying to leave. He should still be trying to leave.

  “I heard,” he said gruffly, “you and that crazy fuck.”

  She pressed her lips together and looked away. “He’s just overprotective.”

  “So your definition of overprotective is makin’ sure no man gets anywhere near you, forcin’ you into bein’ with him?”

  She shrugged. “My father’s going to pass him the gavel someday, and Frankie and I together would give him peace of mind.”

  He got that. Preacher was looking out for his baby girl. Made sense. Put your VP and daughter together and you know the club is going to be there for her when you no longer can. What he didn’t get was how Preacher could, in good conscience, hand off his girl to a fucking mess of a man.

  “Doesn’t sound to me like that’s what you want.”

  He watched her suck her bottom lip in her mouth and roll it under her teeth. Damn. Fuck. Shit. He really needed to adjust his cock.

  “It’s not,” she whispered, dipping her head down, looking up at him through her eyelashes.

  Walk away, he told himself. Walk the fuck away.

  He bent down in front of her. “What do you want, babe?”

  She turned away from him and hid behind her hair, but not before he saw her turn bright red.

  He filled with primal male satisfaction. She wanted him. Her, a fucking angel in a mess of demons, wanted him, one of the biggest fucking demons he knew.

  “Say it,” he said harshly.

  Fuck. What the fuck was he doing?

  She turned back to him and tucked her hair behind her ears. God, that face. That sweet, perfect face.

  “You a virgin, Eva?” He already knew the answer.

  “Yes,” she whispered.

  Christ.

  He leaned in closer, close enough to smell the nicotine and beer on her breath. “You ever been kissed, darlin’?”

  She sucked in a sharp breath. “No,” she breathed.

  Good. So fucking good.

  He turned his head and rubbed his cheek up against hers, inhaling the fragrance of her strawberry-scented hair.

  “You wanna be kissed?” he whispered in her ear.

  He licked the skin just behind her ear, and she shivered. He sucked on her skin, bit down lightly, and rolled it between his teeth.

  She was breathing hard, her pulse in her neck fluttering wildly against his mouth. He started sucking with vigor, and her legs fell open. He took advantage and shoved himself between them.

  He spread kisses across her neck and under her chin, up to her cheek, kissing a line to her mouth. His lips met hers. She trembled.

  “One more time, babe,” he said low and raspy. “You wanna be kissed?”

  “Yes,” she whimpered.

  He was instantly on his feet, yanking her up with him. Grabbing her waist, he hefted her up and pinned her against the wall. “Legs, babe,” he rasped. She wrapped her legs around his waist as he jammed his erection between her thighs and shoved his tongue inside her willing mouth.

  He’d lost his motherfucking mind. None of this should be happening.

  But there it was.

  The road to hell is paved with good intentions, and he’d just bought himself a one-way ticket.

  • • •

  Deuce’s hand tangled in my hair while his other hand cupped my jaw and squeezed my cheeks, causing my mouth to open. His tongue plunged inside, slid along mine, and began exploring my mouth. No, exploring isn’t the right word. He laid siege to my mouth. He plundered and pillaged until I had no reservations, no choice but to kiss him, and so I kissed him back with all the fervor and passion a sixteen-year-old who had never been kissed has when kissing the man of her dreams.

  Which was a lot.

  I have no idea how long we kissed. You tend to lose track of time when you’re young and enthralled. But like all things sexual in nature, soon kissing was no longer enough.

  I tried desperately to get closer. Burning hot, feeling ready to explode, I tore his hand from my hair and shoved it on my breast, whimpering needy little noises into his mouth. I needed more, so much more. I wanted his hands on me, touching me. I wanted skin against bare skin.

  Shifting me in his arms, he lifted me higher and slid his hand down the back of my pants. One hand was squeezing my backside as the other slipped under my shirt and did the same to my breast. I was panting, and he was cursing. It was the most wonderful thing that had ever happened to me. If he would have asked me to, I would have jumped on the back of his bike and ridden to the ends of the earth with him.

  “Deuce,” I cried softly. “Oh my God, Deuce.” His hips were between my thighs, and he was grinding his body into mine. The friction of our jeans, the feel of his hands on me, and his tongue in my mouth—something was happening, something that felt right and wrong and too much and not enough. Something I wanted more than my next breath.

  He shifted me again and jammed his hand down the front of my jeans.

  “Shhh,” he growled into my mouth. “I got you. I fuckin’ got you. Just let it go, baby girl, just fuckin’ let go.”

  His fingers slipped inside of me, and my body locked up tight. My sex contracted and exploded, pulsing through the wonderful sensations.

  He bent his head, pressing his forehead against mine.

  “Wish I coulda felt that on my cock.”

  Oh. God.

  He pulled his hand from my pants only to slide it back up my shirt to resume playing with my breasts. His hand moved from one to the other, and his fingers snagged on my necklace. Cupping the medallion in his palm, he looked up.

  “Baby,” he breathed. “What the fuck?”

  “You gave it to me,” I said lamely. I left out the part where I loved it, never took it off, and sometimes would hold it in my hand and stare at it for hours.

  “Yeah,” he whispered. He began thumbing my nipple, pinching and kneading the flesh around it. His groin pressed harder into mine. He started breathing faster. I started breathing faster.

  “Kiss me,” I said breathlessly, needing his mouth. “Please…”

  Gently, he sucked my bottom lip into his mouth, pulling and lightly licking, and my head fell back against the wall. His mouth again found my neck, and my body lit up like a firecracker. I reached between us, reached for him, cupped him. Groaning, he pushed himself into my hand. The world ceased to exist. It was only Deuce and me and this beautiful, perfect moment.

  It ended abruptly.

  “Fuck,” he muttered, running his hands through his hair, backing away from me. “Fuck, I fucked up.”

  I took a step toward him, reaching out, wanting him back, but he stumbled backward, putting more distance between us. I dropped my hand.

  “I’m sorry,” I whispered, not feeling sorry at all.

  He shook his head. “No, darlin’, you didn’t do anything wrong. It’s all on me ’cause I knew better, and I did it anyway.”

  We stared at each other. He still wanted me. I could tell by his eyes. Frankie looked at me like that, like he wanted to eat me alive.

&n
bsp; “I’m married,” he said quietly.

  I knew that. My father kept tabs on everyone he considered even a mild threat to him, and the people he considered a major threat—people like Deuce—he had extensive amounts of information on.

  “I know that,” I said just as quietly.

  “And you’re sixteen…and I’m thirty-four.”

  I knew that, too.

  “Fuck,” he muttered, running his hands through his hair. “Fuck!”

  He stared at me a moment longer; his indecision plain as day.

  Next thing I knew the door to the stairwell was slamming behind him, and I was alone. I sat back down and lit up another cigarette. And grinned.

  • • •

  Deuce got away from Eva as fast as he could, took the stairs two at a time, burst out onto the sidewalk, and slumped against the clubhouse, breathing heavily. He fucked up. He fucked up big-time. He was so far beyond disgusted with himself, but his cock was hard as a rock, aching for sixteen-year-old pussy. Christ. Yeah, he was just like his old man. Rock fucking bottom.

  He couldn’t even blame his fucked-up marriage since he’d been solving that problem with club whores. This was different, so fucking different and so fucking confusing. He hadn’t wanted a sixteen-year-old girl since he was sixteen, maybe eighteen. But he wanted Eva, and now that he’d gotten a taste, he wanted her something fierce.

  Girl was about to give it up to him, too. And not because he was coercing her into it, but because she straight up wanted him. She didn’t have the first clue how to kiss, but instead of being timid, like the teenagers he remembered from when he was a teenager, she threw everything she had into it. And when she came on his hand—fuck—that was beautiful.

  Goddammit! What the fuck! How could he have lost control so completely? He was all about control. How could a sixteen-year-old have fucked him up?

  “Holy fuck,” he muttered, scrubbing his palms over his eyes. “Holy fuckin’ fuck, I fucked up.”

  “Yeah, you did.”

  His hands fell to his side. Preacher stood a few feet away. Alone.