Bound to the Bad Boy

by Molly Ann Wishlade

  Stop it.

  She was almost at the doors when a hand landed on her shoulder. She froze and swallowed a scream. Her mouth dried up and the pink punch swirled in her stomach, threatening to re-emerge at any moment.

  No. Please, no. This was a mistake. I can’t do it.

  “Well, well . . . if it isn’t Megan Agnelli.”

  She cringed at the high-pitched voice that reminded her of fingernails being raked down a blackboard. There was only one person it could belong to. She turned on her heel and plastered on a fake smile.

  “Hannah Pinter… How nice to see you, and you look…” Megan glanced quickly up and down the woman in front of her. She assumed her best poker face. “You look just amazing.”

  And she did. Amazing for a woman who had once been svelte enough to wear a cheerleader’s short skirt and tight top as she somersaulted across the field. Megan realized that if Hannah tried that now, she might well injure herself or at least be hindered by the fifty or so pounds she had gained.

  “Hmmm.” Hannah narrowed her eyes. “You look pretty good yourself. Life in the city seems to suit you. Married?” She peered at Megan’s left hand. “Dating anyone?” She raised her penciled-in eyebrows.

  “I’d like to hear the answer to that one too.”

  Megan gasped as the mouth so close to her ear moved a ringlet against her face. His breath was hot on her neck as he gently moved her hair and swept it over her shoulder. Tiny shivers ran up and down her spine as images from their joint past flooded into her mind.

  Matt.

  The familiar scent of leather and pine washed over her, filling her senses and making her heart leap like a spring foal. It set her skin on fire and stoked the yearning between her legs that only he had ever been able to fully satisfy. Matt always ‘got’ her. He had understood what she needed and craved as no other man ever had. But their love had been dangerous, her passion for him overpowering. It had consumed her like a bushfire, sweeping throughout her body, heart and mind and she had needed to get out in order to survive. She never wanted to feel like she was teetering at the edge of that chasm of vulnerability again, even though the alternative was just so dull. So lonely. So empty.

  It would be easy to turn now and kiss him the way she remembered. To press her lips against his and breathe him in until she found the high she craved. She was consumed by the longing to be swept up in his muscular arms, held against his rock hard chest and loved until the sun rose in the Minnesota sky.

  Yet, that would be inappropriate and out of character for the woman she now was. She had long since put such rash behavior well behind her. So she battled her desire and turned, slowly and carefully, to meet his curious gaze. But even though she steeled herself, looking into his chocolate brown eyes made her jump like she’d been bitten by a snake, and she wobbled on her high heels.

  “Hey there, Megan.” His big easy grin lit up his tanned, chiseled face and she felt herself melting. Losing her carefully constructed façade of respectability. Surrendering to his power and strength.

  And wanting to.

  This was why she’d broken it off over the phone. Megan had known that if she’s seen him face to face, she would have been unable to do it. She could not break up with Matt whilst gazing into his big brown eyes. It wasn’t how things worked between them. He dominated her and she submitted to him, in exchange for love, devotion and protection.

  That was how it had worked between them.

  And she hadn’t realized until this moment, or hadn’t wanted to admit, exactly how much she’d missed him.

  ****

  With her face pressed into the back of his leather jacket and arms wrapped tightly around his waist, Megan watched as the familiar sights of the town she’d grown up in flew by. The well-maintained wooden houses with their expansive manicured front yards and wooden picket fences. The mail boxes next to the gates, numbered and painted in a myriad of colors. The varying greens of the trees…everywhere, the trees, grown even taller during her absence. The familiarity tugged at her heart, reminding her that she had been happy here once. Her whole life had been here. Her hopes and dreams had been focused on the life she thought she’d have here, with Matt.

  Same town, same people and a whole trailer load of memories.

  Some good. Some bad. Some hot as hell… The latter ones, all featuring the man she now gripped with all of her strength. The man whose leather jacket was emblazoned with the logo of his club: a silver skull set on top of a flying motorcycle. The man who was now sat between her thighs while her dress rode up almost to her panties, which were rapidly getting damper.

  Just like old times.

  What on earth was she doing? Sure, Matt was still gorgeous, alluring, commanding but it didn’t mean she had to go home with him. This was crazy. She could get hurt . . . they could both get hurt. But part of her kept repeating that they really were adults now. They had both been in other relationships. They were no longer foolish kids swept along on a tsunami of passion and irresponsible behavior.

  Surely, this could just be what it was?

  A one night stand following their high school reunion.

  Just one night. No more . . . no less.

  Her body throbbed in response.

  But her heart screamed. One night would never be enough. She would never survive tearing herself away from him again. She craved his love, his adoration, his tenderness and his fierce, dominant passion. She had never met a man like him. None of her lovers had been his equal. None of them. Not that there had been that many, or that she had actually given them a chance.

  Not really.

  She breathed deeply of his scent and shrugged. It was too late to back out now. She had gone this far. She’d go back to his grandma’s old house, which he’d inherited, and would spend the evening, maybe even the night. Perhaps he’d changed anyway and didn’t like the things he used to. The secret, dark things she dreamed of and fantasized about. The things that made her wake up most nights soaked in sweat with her hands pressed between her thighs and her sheets twisted around her.

  The things she longed to do again.

  But perhaps that was all in the past for him. And if so, then it would be for her too. For she hadn’t been with anyone with tastes or desires like Matt’s. And she wouldn’t want to. That side of herself was too shocking for most men to deal with. She had been forced to act vanilla with her other lovers, to bury her desire to be spanked or flogged until she came gushing and hard. Time after time.

  They pulled up in front of the house that was located just over two miles outside of town, and Megan removed the helmet Matt had loaned her. Funny how he’d brought a spare one to the school. Almost as if…He wouldn’t have been that certain that she’d be there…surely.

  She gaped at the large white house in awe. It looked nothing like it used to. It now resembled the houses she’d seen in holiday brochures for places like Switzerland or Austria. With its beautiful wooden exterior and small, glass panes surrounded by elegantly carved shutters, it was her dream home. She had always longed to travel to Europe. Matt knew that. It was a dream he had shared. They had even discussed shipping his bike over so that they could cruise the mountain passes whilst breathing in the fresh, alpine air.

  “Wow!” she gasped. “You’ve . . . .uh . . . really done this place up.”

  “Knocked it down and started from scratch actually.” He slid an arm around her shoulders and ran a hand through her wavy red hair. It made tiny shivers run up and down her spine. As he tightened his fingers in the section at the nape of her neck, her breath caught in her throat. Her heart thundered and heat curled between her thighs.

  He was reminding her. Gently but firmly. That he was in charge.

  Still holding her hair, he moved forwards and kissed her. He kept his lips together. They were warm and soft. It was a chaste kiss but she responded instantly. She opened her mouth, eager to feel his tongue, but he pulled back and stared at her.

  “You are still beautiful, Megan.
But I fear that you might well have forgotten a lot in your time away. Unless, that is . . . you would prefer not to remember?” He hung his head and his ebony hair fell over his brow. She reached out, longing to tuck a few strands behind his ear but she remembered herself just in time.

  “I haven’t forgotten, Master.” How she had longed to use that term of respect again.

  He looked up and his eyes darkened. He licked his lips.

  “Do you want to spend the evening with me, Megan? I have missed you but I won’t force you to be with me again. You can come in…and we can just talk…then you can go back to your hotel. If that’s what you want. Or I can remind you about the sweetness that you’re missing. That we are both missing.”

  Something flickered across his face and it made Megan’s insides turn to jelly. Was it hurt that had cast a shadow over his handsome features? Was he still wounded by her sudden abandonment? And why was he so certain that she hadn’t indulged in the scene at all since she’d left him?

  “How do you know that I don’t . . . that I haven’t . . .?”

  He placed a finger over her lips to silence her protest. “I know that you haven’t been with another Dom, Megan. I see it in your eyes. You’re hungry. Starving, in fact. For what I can give you.”

  She chewed the inside of her cheek. How could he know? How could he read her so well? She had spent the last four years trying to deny her own needs but half an hour with Matt and he knew better than she did what she needed. It had been so long since she had been excited by sex. So long since she’d been fulfilled by sex. Fulfilled by a human connection. Which was what she’d had with Matt.

  “Are you coming in?”

  He held out his hand and she stared at it. Even though he was a mechanic, his big, strong hands, which could heighten pleasure or inflict controlled pain, were spotlessly clean. Controlled pain. Her breaths became jagged at the thought.

  She placed her hand in his. Her body began leading her mind.

  One night with her bad boy. Her Dom. It wouldn’t hurt, would it? Just like a glass of water to a parched woman, Matt could help to quench her thirst. To feed her desires. She hadn’t searched out another Dom because she knew that it wouldn’t work. Matt was the only man she could ever be dominated by. Surrendering was a colossal act, not something that could be done lightly or flippantly. She had trusted Matt implicitly. They had set their own rules and boundaries. It was what had made it work between them.

  It was easy. Really. Being with him and just letting go.

  Apart from the tidal wave of emotion that will rise over your head and drown you…

  Shut up. Not now. I can deal with that later.

  And she would deal with her emotions. But she would put them aside for now. Because she knew that leaving him tomorrow, would be the hardest thing she had done in years.

  Chapter Two

  Matt swung the front door open then stepped back.

  “After you.”

  Megan smiled as she walked past him into the shadowy hallway. He was such a gentleman, even though some might think that his appearance suggested otherwise. She had always appreciated the way he put her first, how he opened doors for her, pulled out her chair and walked on the outside of the curb. Not many men she’d met showed such courtesy anymore. Of the few she’d dated after ending things with Matt, most had been too busy or too concerned with their own needs or appearance to worry about her, including in the bedroom. She thought of the nights she’d spent at various men’s houses, behind a locked bathroom door with her bullet vibrator, just trying to ease the frustration left after sex.

  Matt closed the front door behind him and removed his heavy leather jacket. He opened a door to a small cloakroom and hung his jacket and bike helmets in there before turning back to her.

  “So?” He grinned and Megan’s heart flipped. Heat glowed in her as if a fire in her belly had just been stoked. She should get out now. She knew it as well as she knew her date of birth. She should run to the hills and keep on going. But she couldn’t. She was rooted to the spot. Frozen in time. Imprisoned by her need.

  Matt moved closer.

  She held her breath. The air between them crackled with anticipation.

  He reached out and touched her nose with the tip of a finger.

  “You want the grand tour?”

  A tour of the house. Yes. That would be normal, civilized, and might help her to relax. They could pretend that they were just acquaintances meeting up after a long time. Nothing more, nothing less.

  Yeah, right.

  “Please.” She nodded vigorously. “I’d love to see what you’ve done. Why . . . um . . . exactly did you rebuild it?”

  “Woodworm.”

  “Really?”

  “House was old. Grandma knew it had issues but didn’t have the energy to do it in her final years.” He hung his head and Megan felt bad for asking.

  “I’m sorry.”

  “What?”

  “For your loss.”

  He shook his head. “She was eighty-four. A grand old age.”

  Guilt pounded through Megan. She hadn’t even said goodbye to the old lady. Too busy trying to build her new life in Minneapolis, she hadn’t been back in years. Too busy avoiding facing up to quitting on Matt, more likely. But still, Grandma King had been a kindly old lady. Proud and independent, but sweet to Megan. And she couldn’t bury the guilt that she hadn’t even called her after she’d split up with Matt.

  But that was life. Everyone carried some form of guilt or regret that hung around like a bad smell you just couldn’t wash away.

  “Well I’m still sorry that I wasn’t . . . here for you when it happened.” Megan swallowed the lump in her throat. This was not the time to get maudlin on him. “So you built this? Yourself?” Change the subject, Megan. Move on.

  “Uh huh. With the old man’s help, of course. But I live here alone.”

  “Your father still lives at the clubhouse in town?”

  Matt nodded.

  His father. The older Mr. King, known to his friends as Henry VIII because of his tendency to marry in haste then get rid of his wives just as quickly, was president of the Cherub charter of the Night Warriors. He was a quiet man but Megan had always sensed that there was more to him than others would believe at first glance. He certainly carried the same sense of cool that Matt displayed, as well as the aura of danger. You just didn’t mess with the Kings. Unless you were keen to find a whole load of trouble.

  Megan took a step forwards. She wanted to start the tour. To get moving. To stop the fervent racing of her brain before it made her dizzy. Before she changed her mind and fled.

  Matt didn’t move.

  She went to take another step forwards but she paused. What was he waiting for? Had she done something wrong, other than deciding to come here with him?

  “Matt?”

  “You have forgotten.”

  She tensed. The tiny hairs on her arms stood on end. Did he want her to kneel? Should she have kept to ‘Master’ instead of using his name? How would this work between them now after so long? Did they just slip back into their old ways?

  Surely he’ll tell me what to do, just like always. Whenever I’ve been in doubt, he has helped me, led me, and even calmed me.

  “Megan,” he whispered as he moved closer. “Do you need me to remind you?”

  She gazed into his eyes but found no answer there. Only the darkness of desire, and the danger of passion. A passion which could be roused like a hungry panther with claws just as sharp and a body just as beautiful, just as powerful. Yes, Matt was dangerous. Addictively so.

  She nodded, afraid to speak.

  “Take off your dress.”

  “What?” her voice squeaked.

  “You come into my home, then you play by my rules.”

  She looked down. The fire in his eyes was too fierce, too intense. She stared at his broad shoulders instead, at how they morphed into a full muscular chest that bulged beneath his fitted black t-shirt. Hi
s arms were heavily tattooed with colorful sleeves that told the story of his life so far. Images of things he’d done, people he’d known, and places he’d travelled.

  My name.

  She jumped as she spotted it.

  Just above his left wrist, written within the body of a snake that was wrapped around a bleeding heart. Had he done that after she’d broken up with him?

  Her stomach clenched. Had she hurt him that much that he’d felt the need to ink her betrayal upon his flesh like a brand to remind him?

  He lifted his arm.

  “Is that because . . .” She couldn’t finish her question.

  “Yeah . . . because you left. Because it hurt. Because I never forgot.”

  “Oh.” Her eyes stung suddenly with hot tears. She had tried not to think about his feelings when she told him she needed out. He was tough. A man, a biker, a Dom. How could she have possibly hurt him?

  He looked away for a moment, a muscle in his jaw twitching as if he was trying to regain his composure. Deciding how to deal with her. She held her breath. Would this be it? The end? Would he remember how mad he was that she had left him and leave her to a night in the lonely hotel bed with just her bullet vibrator for company? And after being this close to him again, she had a feeling that the tiny battery operated device would be unable to even tickle the need that now welled up inside her, shaking her to her very core.

  He blinked then turned to her again. His face was calm, his features relaxed, as if he had pulled down a roller blind to hide his emotions, doubts and fears.

  “So…Megan…” He ran a finger down her arm and she shivered. His touch was feather light yet it stirred her immediately. Her panties dampened with her moist heat. “Are you staying?”

  She nodded. “Please, Master.”

  “Then . . .” He gestured at her dress.

  She lowered her eyes. Her crimson bodice stuck out in two places where her nipples protruded. A bead of perspiration trickled down between her heavy breasts. She absently brushed at the sticky residue of the reunion nametag but it clung to the shiny fabric like her lust now clung to her.