“Some water too, I guess.”
I got two glasses from the counter drain rack and filled them. I glanced down at myself and ran a hand through my hair. Didn’t seem like too bad a case of bedhead. I unbuttoned one of the buttons, feeling a heat rising through my body. We were adults—full-blooded, consenting adults. Why were we being such children about this?
I brought back the glasses and handed him one, bending over slightly in his line of vision. He wasn’t wearing a shirt and I could see the stark outline of his muscle, flexing and relaxing as he reached for the glass. I sipped my water, watching him over the edge of the glass. He pulled his own glass away from his lips and licked them. Our eyes met for a long moment. I stood up and walked over to him, hips swaying.
“This is wrong,” he said weakly as I straddled his lap, knees tucked between his thighs and the arms of the chair.
“Maybe it is,” I said, running a hand through his thick black hair. “But I’ve always had a bad boy fantasy.”
He chuckled huskily, his hand going to the buttons of my shirt. “I’m not a bad boy.”
I swatted his hand away, drawing my fingers down his chest to the waistband of his jeans. “You smell like one.”
“What does that even mean?” he asked, but I answered him with a kiss. His mouth tasted like heat and excitement and anticipation, his body pressed up against mine—warm, solid, masculine. Suddenly I could feel his hands on my bare thighs, moving up my body, over my shirt, almost completely encircling my waist.
I broke away from the kiss and unbuttoned another button on my shirt, and another, and then his hands were there, impatient, intruding, but entirely welcome. Before I could react fully my shirt was across the room and his lips were back on mine, his hands running up and down my back.
Somehow, entangled like this—despite everything else, despite everything believed—somehow this felt more right than all my research, all my writing, all my years of grief and agony and worry. Those seemed to completely wash away as his lips moved away from my mouth and down my neck, sending shivers down my spine. I began using my hands again and started undoing his belt and jeans, searching.
Before I could find what I was looking for, he picked me up like I weighed nothing. I squealed in surprise and he carried me back into the bedroom and we fell on to the bed, me underneath him. He ripped off his jeans and I was finally able to appreciate his entirely naked body. He was gorgeous; there was no other word to describe him.
Then he was kissing me, kissing every part of me. My back arched as my arousal grew. “Michael,” I moaned, begging for more. He grinned at me wickedly and slowed his passionate exploration of my body.
I whimpered as he gently fondled, caressed, and touched me, finding every part of my body—even the parts I was ashamed of—and loving them. I had never felt more valued, more loved, more special, especially since Dad had died. In his hands I was worth more than I had ever been and I never wanted the sensation to end.
He pulled my wet panties off my hips and slowly slid them down my thighs. Impatient, I used my foot to flick them off and throw them to the floor. I shuddered in pleasure as he redirected his attention toward my lower half. Before I even knew what was going on we were rocking together, our bodies moving as one, pushing and pulling against each other, as natural as the tides or the movements of the sun across the sky. Our hands found one other and our fingers intertwined, such a youthful and innocent grip in this moment of passion and release.
Eventually our movements slowed and stopped, our breath coming fast and heavy as we try to catch it, our fingers still wrapped around each other’s. He smiles at me and I smile back and then laugh, turning away, almost embarrassed. He kissed me again, slowly, tenderly, gently, as he does everything.
In the morning I lay sprawled on the bed, his arm still around me. He was awake and I turned smiled up at him and snuggled against his chest, our bare skin warm together. “Hi.”
“Hello.”
“This is nice,” I said.
He nodded. “Yeah…”
“What’s wrong?” I asked, raising myself up on to my elbow.
“It’s just… how can I go back to the CCA now?”
I scowled and turned away from him. “Fuck them.”
“Like I fucked you?” he said playfully, putting his arms around my waist and kissing the spot where my neck and shoulder met.
I shivered in delight. “No, not like that. Although that would be interesting.”
He laughed into my skin. “Yes, I suppose it would. I doubt I would enjoy it as much.”
“Well that’s reassuring, I suppose.” I turned back to face him. “Why does it matter so much?”
“Because what else do they have? What else do I have?”
Our romance did not leave his apartment much. It would be dangerous if we were seen together, so we mostly stayed in bed, to be perfectly honest. He would dash out to pick up groceries or movies and we would stay in his bed, snuggled up together or kissing or fucking.
Our days and nights passed into one joyful stream of pleasure and peace as we got to know one another more, body and soul. I learned about his brave mother, who raised him on her own even though she got pregnant at sixteen. And I told him about my biological parents and the tragedy that happened when I was seven.
He held me when I cried.
His head was on my chest and I was stroking his hair. “You know that soon we will have to part ways,” he said.
“What? Why?” I demanded.
“Because I cannot stay holed up in here with you forever—no matter how much I want to. I have, we both have, responsibilities in the outside world.”
“So? Leave them behind. Run away with me. We are both smart, skilled people. We can find some place new, some place better, where we can be free to do whatever we want. Get out of this cramped city and find our own lives.”
He smiled. “That would be nice.”
“Then let’s do it!” I was warming up to this idea.
“I can’t. I have my duties here.”
I scoffed. “Some duties they are. Look where it got you!”
“With you?”
“And now you’re going to push me away. Leave me like you don’t want anything to do with me.” Tears were starting to come to my eyes, so I got out of the bed and started getting dressed.
“Please, Sarah, don’t do this.”
“Do what? Have some fucking self-respect? You think I’m just going to let myself be tossed aside like a broken toy?”
“No, of course not.” Now he was up, reaching for me. I threw my suitcase on the bed and unzipped it, angrily throwing in the few belongings I had. “Please don’t go.”
“Why not? You just said I had to.”
“I— I don’t know. I can’t make everything work out.” He voice was desperate, pleading. I ignored it, trying to forget the beautiful nights and days we spent together, learning everything about each other.
“I’m just making it easier for you then.”
That night I slept in a hotel.
We didn’t speak over the next few weeks. I half-heartedly looked for an apartment, but now I really just wanted to leave this city and run away. There was nothing really tying me here and more than one reason why I should run away. Michael tried to call me multiple times.
When I wouldn’t answer this calls, he started leaving messages and texting me, trying to reach out to me. He said he was sorry, that he wanted me back, that he would do anything. Pathetic. Even more pathetic was that every time he tried to contact me, I almost told him I would go back. Every time. Because I wanted him.
He was the only person since Dad that could understand anything of who or what I was or am. He let me just…be me, without any reservations, and that was beautiful and special.
But then I remembered he just threw me away for some stupid motorcycle gang. What was I supposed to think or do? How could something so beautiful end so badly? Well, I knew damn well. Because he was the man I had
spent the past three years of my life hating with every fiber of my being. He was the man who I blamed for my father’s death.
I was loading my suitcases into the back of the car when I heard an engine roar behind me. I turned around to see a motorcycle pulling up. Every time I heard or saw a motorcycle, my stomach lurched and I felt a thrill of excitement and fear. I turned away from the biker and tried to lift my heavy suitcase into the back of my car. Suddenly the weight of the suitcase was lifted off me. Surprised I turned around to see Michael.
“You didn’t think you could leave without me, did you?” he asked.
I dropped the suitcase and flung my arms around him. “What, why, how?” I asked through tears.
“I realized that my priorities needed a huge readjustment.”
“No kidding,” I teased.
“And I couldn’t let something like this go.” He intertwined his fingers with mine and pulled me close. He was tall enough to rest his chin on my head, and we held each other like that for a long minute.
“Where are we going?” I finally asked.
“Anywhere you want.”
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***
They stopped looking for Shane Perry fifteen years ago.
They did all they could do; filed reports, dragged the lake, and finally presumed him dead. The high school football field lit up with candlelight at his memorial, and mourners gathered to gaze at his glossy image: youthful and tall with a heart melting grin.
Bikes and bikers are all Maggie Rice has ever known.
She was riding before she could walk and switching out clutch plates by junior high. She was a quirky, fiery haired tomboy and it was her dream to ride with the 417s. Formerly her father’s crew, they all had a hand in raising her after his passing. Now that she ran her own garage, it seemed her chance had arrived at last.
When the ghost of Shane Perry rides into town, he threatens to spoil it all.
The day of her initiation into the 417s, Shane waltzed back into town as if he’d only been gone the weekend, and his first order of business was to crush her chance at happiness. No woman was going to ride in Shane Perry’s gang, not ever, and certainly not his closest childhood friend.
Maggie doesn’t believe for one second his arrival is coincidental.
Was it possible to hate and love a man at the same time? Where had Shane been all those years and why was he back? And when the Hell did he get so damned gorgeous?
***
Allison Russell has a special knack for getting into trouble.
An intoxicating mix of beauty and bravado, she made her living unearthing things certain people would rather remain buried: stolen goods, dirty secrets, and more than a little trouble. She lived for the thrill of the hunt, and a fat stack of cash after a job well done sure didn’t hurt.
Jake Brighton has two talents, riding and thieving.
He loved them in just that order, too. There was no better feeling than making a clean getaway with his partners in crime and fellow bikers, the Dixon Crew. He’d been riding with the Dixons since before he was shaving. They were his friends and his brothers and he’d proudly take a bullet for any one of them.
And that’s why he ain’t buying what Allison Russell is selling.
A case of mistaken identity on the job leads Allison to a startling discovery, but before she can inform her client she must escape the Dixon Crew with her life. She must persuade the handsome but distrustful Jake Brighton to come to her aid, but his loyalty to his friends may just be the only thing more powerful than the aching tension growing between them.
Jake believes in his crew, but Allison intoxicates him.
If what she says is true, he’s been living a lie. But trusting a beautiful woman is never easy, particularly one who stirs a lust in him he’s never known. Is Allison the real deal, or is she using him to satisfy her client?
***
Grace is the very best at what she does.
Working for the Public Defender’s Office is thankless and the pay is meager, but she’s a true believer in the justice system. The beautiful, underpaid attorney has made it her life’s mission to see to it that ‘innocent until proven guilty’ still means something.
Tobey is a self-confessed career criminal.
Enforcer, thief, con-man ... He’s done it all and proudly. Tobey never cared for authority and a life of crime agrees with him.The handsome thug carved out a comfortable life for himself pulling odd jobs for a motorcycle gang, but only when he feels like it.
There are some things Tobey won’t do for any price.
Namely murder, so it’s a shock when he’s arrested for the death of a local businessman. Tobey knows he’s been framed, but the evidence is overwhelming and the outlook is grim.
That is until the lovely public defender comes to his rescue.
But when Grace uncovers evidence to exonerate Tobey both their lives are in danger and Tobey is quickly coming to the conclusion that he can’t let any harm come to his beautiful champion, not now or ever.
***
Casey Stone has always known her family was a little different.
She doesn’t know the details, but she’s heard enough whispers through cracked doors to know they’re criminals of some variety, and she’s happy not to know which.
Brian was just playing around when he sidled up to the Stone boys’ sister and offered her a drink.
He isn’t a cruel man, but the boys were watching and their sister is objectively beautiful - long legs, modest curves, and a face that begs to be kissed. He just couldn’t resist riling them up a bit. Then she spoke and he was lost.
The Stone boys were not about to let this one slide.
They couldn’t send her running to him any faster than by forbidding her to see him. If they’d told her she’d destroy the subtle truce between two rival gangs and cause a cycle of violence and death, she might have been more willing to listen.
Now there’s a line drawn in the sand, and Brian and Casey are standing on opposite sides.
Can Brian put an end to the feuding before he loses Casey forever? Or is it too late already to repair the fragile trust between them?
Masters of Menace: A Biker Erotic Romance Page 3