by K. L. Savage
Love isn’t real, only hate is. I chant the mantra in my head, but the more I look at her, the more the words fade. I look away and sit back on the slider and then disappear under the Buick I no longer need to work on. I can pretend I am, so I don’t have to talk to the little walking wet dream anymore.
She’s driving me crazy. My cock is harder than it has ever been, straining against my jeans, and I don’t want her to see it. She’ll probably get disgusted that a guy like me finds a woman like her so attractive.
“Hey, I’m talking to you!” she huffs, and her heels kiss the ruined cement. It’s almost comical that something so beautiful would grace these floors. I never thought I’d see the day, but here I am, witnessing a miracle with my own two eyes.
“I’m busy,” I grunt, banging against the undercarriage of the car so it sounds like I’m doing something. “Hand me a socket wrench.” I hold out my hand, waiting for her to place it in my hand. “Come on, woman. I don’t have all day.”
“My name is not woman. It’s Juliette, you freaking caveman.”
“Listen, princess,” I start to say when she puts a tool in my hand, but I can tell by the weight and feel of it, it isn’t the right thing. “It’s not the right one. Give me a different one.” I let the flat head screwdriver fall to the ground and hold out my hand again. “Listen, I don’t really care about your huffy puffy attitude right now. I said you were free to go, no harm no foul. Climb in your truck and leave. You’re the one making it difficult.”
She plops another tool in my hand, and I sigh in frustration when I see it’s small drill bit in my palm. Has this woman ever seen a damn toolbox before? “That’s not it either. Hand me—” I’m silenced when she jerks me out from under the car and lays the tip of her heel against my neck.
Juliette smirks down at me with her hands on her hip, looking sassy and sexy, and my eyes rake up her thick legs. The white edge of her lace panties tease me, and I want nothing more than to grab her calves and sit her on my face while I eat that sweet pussy.
My mouth waters, and my tongue twitches. Just one flick across her clit. That’s all I’m asking for.
“Listen, princess,” she spits my nickname at me, and it makes me smirk. She’s feisty. “I’m not a mechanic. You want a pocket wrench—”
“Socket wrench,” I correct her while she stares down at me.
“Whatever. You want tools given to you, get your mechanic.”
“Why would I want one of my ugly mechanics when I have a pretty thing like you standing in my garage?” I whip back, and if I’m not mistaken, a blush tints her cheeks. A bit of the fight leaves her, and she breaks our gaze, glancing away from me.
Interesting. She’ll give me lip all damn day, but one compliment renders her speechless. Mental. Note.
“I have moving to do,” she says, removing the tip of her heel from my throat. She struts away, giving me a view of her wide lush hips that I want to hold onto.
Perfection.
I never thought it could exist in the back of a moving truck wearing a blue dress. She looks too fucking good as she places her heel on the step and lifts herself up into the driver’s seat. She settles in, and I chuckle when I notice she can barely see over the wheel. She goes to crank it, but it just turns and turns until it dies. The engine starts to steam, and her mouth drops open before she hits her head against the steering wheel.
She climbs down, landing on her heels like a pro before stomping her way over to me. The steam fogs behind her as the wind blows a few pieces of her chocolate brown hair away from her face. With how her hips sway seductively, it’s like something out of an action movie before the woman lets her hair down and shakes the strands loose.
Oh, please, take your hair down.
She doesn’t. She stops in front of me with an angry scowl on her face.
“Looks like you’re stuck with me,” I tease.
“Yay me,” she sounds all but enthused.
Sirens roar in the distance, and the annoyance in her eyes quickly turns to panic.
“What’s wrong?” I ask her as I make my way over to the truck. “Just the cops.”
“Crap, crap, crap,” she says. “Oh, he’s going to be pissed.” Juliette paces and brings her thumb between her lips and nibbles.
I walk over and slap her hand out of her mouth. “Don’t do that. It’s a gross habit.”
“Says the guy covered in oil.”
Right. The guy covered in oil is a low-life and gross. Good to know.
“I didn’t mean it like that,” she says in an apologetic tone when she realizes her mistake.
The sirens pull up to the garage, and two cop cars skid to a stop. Reaper comes out of the side door, walking in quick strides over me.
“What did you do?” he asks.
“I don’t fucking know. Nothing!” I don’t think I did…
“It’s not either of you. It’s me.” Her sweet voice wraps around my heart, and I can’t believe for one damn minute this girl is a criminal. I’ve met criminals. She isn’t one of them. Criminals don’t look that good. Facts.
“Juliette!” Sheriff Fuckwad Johnson yells from behind his open driver’s side door as he aims his weapon at me. “Get back from these thugs.”
“Dad. I’m fine. It’s all a big misunderstanding. The truck won’t start, see?” Juliette points to the truck that’s still smoking.
“Juliette, get over here now,” the sheriff orders, and I can tell she’s embarrassed because her eyes shine with tears. She closes her eyes, takes a deep breath, and opens them again, and that strong resolve is back. Juliette throws her shoulders back, spins on her heel, and walks toward her dad. “Put her in the car,” he says to his deputy before walking over to me and Reaper, gun back in his holster, but his hand is still on it.
I bet his finger is just twitching to pull that trigger. We aren’t fans of the sheriff. He’s a dirty cop, and we’re never on the same page. He wants to tear the club down and kick us out of the city, but we aren’t going anywhere.
Ever.
“You better stay away from my daughter. She’s too good to be seen around low-lifes like you,” he sneers and then spits on our boots.
I growl, taking a step forward. No one disrespects the Prez like that. Reaper’s palm slaps against my chest, stopping me from shoving my screwdriver between his eyes. A skill I’ve honed in on over the years.
“We will deliver the truck after it’s fixed, Sheriff,” Reaper says calmly, but I can tell he’s about to lose it.
“I’ll have a deputy pick it up. I don’t want you knowing where my daughter lives.” With that, he turns and walks away, slamming the door after he cranks the car and flips off his lights.
Juliette turns to look out the back window as they drive away, and something in my gut clenches with how she stares at me.
“Remember that punishment, Tool?”
Fuck. “Yes, Prez.” I’m ready. I’ve been waiting on this day for months.
Reaper turns on his heel, nose to nose with me. “You’re not to touch the sheriff’s daughter. We don’t need that mess on our doorstep. Do I make myself clear?” he threatens. If I don’t stay away, nothing good will happen to me. “I saw that look you two just shared. You can have anyone else in this city, but not her. Stay. The. Fuck. Away.” He shoves a finger in the middle of my chest and makes his way inside the clubhouse, slamming the door.
This should be easy, but I find myself wishing he would’ve carved a heart in my chest instead. I don’t want anyone else. I want her.
The off-limits sheriff’s daughter.
The woman in blue.
The woman who sounds like a song sparrow.
Disobeying the Prez means death, but hearing heaven might be worth it if it’s in the sound of her voice.
Juliette is the sin in my world of evil, and I’m going to fail at being the saint Reaper wants me to be.
4
JULIETTE
My dad is furious at me. He has every reason to be, but it
’s not like I asked to be at Kings’ Garage. I fell asleep. I didn’t know I’d get towed!
That argument didn’t work on my father. He gave me a lecture on the Ruthless Kings and told me just how ruthless they were, how dangerous and violent. He told me about cases could possibly forever be open because they can’t find the bodies of the men the Ruthless Kings have killed. My dad had a wild look in his eyes, one that told me he was on the verge of mania.
I haven’t heard from him since.
Which means I’m getting the silent treatment.
He made good on his word. My things were delivered by movers early this morning and were waiting for me at my tiny home, according to his text message. Since I had nowhere to stay, I stayed with Dad last night.
I woke up to an empty house because Dad was being a dramatic brat. I decided to walk home since my car was there, and I had no other options.
Now, I find myself sweating again in this dress, that I’ve somehow worn for three days now, and I’m disgusted with myself. How has this happened? Who gets towed to a damn garage while sleeping?
And who also meets the hottest man they have ever seen in their life? Whewie, that man is sex on a stick. He oozes the sexy bad-boy biker vibe with all those tattoos. I mean, he is covered in them, head to freaking toe. Even the sides of his temples are tattooed. Half of his head is shaved while the other half is pitch black and long in length, hanging to his chin. On top of that, he has a thick beard that I want to run my fingers through and bury my nose in. I bet he takes care of it with beard oil that smells so good, it will make me want to straddle his lap and have my way with him.
My body flushes when I remember his body against mine when he put that screwdriver under my chin. I knew he wouldn’t hurt me, but the feeling of danger with a man who exudes power so naturally has my nipples tightening and my clit throbbing. A man like him probably has women left and right. He’ll want nothing to do with me.
That doesn’t mean I can’t take care of myself to the thoughts of him. And as soon as I get home, I’ll do exactly that.
I’m drenched in sweat by the time I get to my house. My feet are killing me. I took off my heels two blocks ago, and I can’t wait to soak in a hot bubble bath. I groan when I make my way up the stairs. My shoulders sting from the sun, and a hint of red on my skin tells me I have officially sunburned.
I always make sure to wear sunscreen, but the events that have happened over the last few days have left my mind a mess.
A new welcome mat greets me, and when I look down, I know that’s where Dad put the house key. I squat and flip over the mat then take the shiny silver key in hand. I stand and slide it into the doorknob, slowly opening the blue door.
Air conditioning greets me, and I close my eyes, moaning as it dries the sweat on my skin and eases the ache on the flesh of my shoulders. I open my eyes and smile to myself as I toss my heels to the left. The dark hardwood floors shine, and my bare feet stick to the floor as I make my way to the bathroom. I reach around to grab the zipper of my dress and drag it down, but I freeze in place when I notice something off about the house.
Taking a step back, I look left noticing that my living room is unpacked and my green Victorian couch sets against the wall across from the windows that have a built-in bench, the perfect reading nook. I hurry to the right where the kitchen is and open each cabinet. All of my pots and pans are put away.
My pink retro coffeepot is plugged up next to the sink, and I blink away tears of relief. Not because my house is unpacked, but because it’s my dad’s doing. I thought he might have hated me for ending up at Kings’ Garage. I notice a note on the counter, and I take two steps forward, picking the square paper up.
It’s from my dad. He always uses the small notebook that can be slid in his uniform pocket.
Pumpkin,
Fridge is stocked, pantry is full, house is set up; except the clothes in your bedroom. I love you.
Dad
I gasp and hurriedly open the fridge doors to see all of my favorite foods and drinks. I pull out my phone from my dress pocket—yes, my dress has pockets; it’s awesome, I know—and send him a quick thank you text.
The only way this house could have been unpacked so quick is if he had a few deputies here too. I hold the note to my chest and skip down the hall toward the bathroom that’s attached to my bedroom. It’s the one room that sold this place to me. My heart fell in love with the classic claw-foot tub and walk-in shower. It has a double vanity sink that’s a bit outdated, but I don’t mind putting some love into it.
My dress falls to the floor of my bedroom, and I step out of it and lean against the wall as I stare at my new bathroom. Everything is set up in here too. My favorite lotions, perfumes, shampoos. Everything.
I have the best dad in the world.
The walls have an awful rose wallpaper on them that I plan on getting rid of as soon as possible; it’s hideous. My hands grip the sleek gold handles of hot and cold, turning them equally to create a nice temperature. I plug the tub with the gold stopper and then pour my mango-scented bubble bath under the rush of water.
I’m addicted to anything that smells like mangos.
But I don’t like the fruit. I don’t know why.
I sink into the water and groan, lean my head against the edge, and let my arms fall to the bottom of the tub on either side of me. The warm water heals my body. It’s been a hell of a few days, and I want to relax.
Shutting my eyes, the biker’s face comes to view. I never got his name, but I bet it’s something sexy; it has to be when a man looks as good as he does. His eyes are so dark they blend to the edge of black. It’s like looking into pools of ink or oil, which fits since his life is based around it.
I remember how he smelled. Sure, there’s sweat and grime, but underneath all that, I remember pine.
He reminds me of a demon ready to possess my body. If I allow the hijack to happen, I’ll succumb to his dark and delicious ways, and I have a feeling I’ll never want to walk on the safe side again. I’ll be the Persephone to his Hades, but the ride will be a far cry from hell.
My hands find my breasts and the hard, beaded nipples that ache for his touch burn between my fingers as I pinch and roll them. I whimper into the empty bathroom and imagine what he looks like naked. I bet he is all hard lines and abs. The tattoos on his neck disappear under his shirt, and I want to lick every black line on his body.
While one hand keeps a tight hold on my nipple, my free hand moves between my legs, sliding over the tuft of hair over my pussy. My fingers glide through my folds, and my hole clenches and flexes with the need to be filled. I press my fingers inside my aching body, and my entire body heats.
And it isn’t from the water.
I pump my fingers vigorously in and out of my virgin hole, curling my fingers at the last second to hit that special spot that intensifies my orgasm. My clit is sensitive, but I’ve never been able to get off by rubbing it. I have to have something inside me. It’s why I have a collection of toys. There isn’t a better feeling than being filled up and stretched.
“Yes,” I groan, sliding a third finger in, and my hips push down, seeking more than I can give myself. I bet hot-biker man can give me exactly what I need. I imagine him sliding his cock inside me and breaking that damn barrier I hate so much. I’ll finally become a woman. He won’t go easy on me. It will be hard with grit and maybe an edge of pain.
He looks like the kind of man who carries too much power to hide the amount of force he can bring to the bedroom. I want to be on the devastating end of it—wrung out, gasping, body shaking as he pulls orgasm after mind-blowing orgasm from my body.
Like no man ever has.
He’ll know how to have his way with me, and I’ll let him.
I bite my bottom lip when my lower belly tightens, and the weightless feeling numbs my limbs. I’m seconds away from having the best orgasm of my life.
I fuck myself faster, harder, thrusting my hips down and causing the water t
o splash over the sides of the tub, soaking the floor. I don’t care. I need this. I’m right there. I need more. The quick fantasy in my mind has him shooting his cum deep inside me, conquering me, and making me his.
My orgasm slams against my bones, igniting fireworks in my eyes, blinding me for a few seconds as the shocks of pleasure tingle the tips of my toes to the abused flesh on my lip. I keep my fingers inside me when I fall limp, gasping for breath, and I pretend my fingers are his cock still enjoying me.
“Oh wow,” I say, a bit blitzed and drunk off my orgasm. When the bath becomes cold, I pull my hand free and turn the hot water knob again to warm the water. Hot biker guy is a man I’ll never see again, except in my dreams, and even though my heart is still pumping in wild abandon, the thought of not even knowing his name makes the high come crashing down.
My dad will make sure the Ruthless Kings are never in my life. I can’t go against my father, not the man who raised me, who has been there for me twenty-four-seven after my mother died. He hasn’t even taken care of himself. He’s focused on me and only me. If he doesn’t want me mingling with the Ruthless Kings, I can at least grant his wish.
I never thought the one thing I’d be forbidden to do would be the thing I want most. That’s how it works, though. Anything someone can get on a day-to-day basis isn’t special; it’s normal, and there isn’t an urge.
When something is out of reach, out of the norm and forbidden? It only makes the urge spike to a dangerous level.
I’ve never disobeyed my father and I’ve never had a rebellious streak, but biker man is already bringing it out of me, like a damn magnet, bringing to the surface all the wants I’ve denied myself.
He’s the forbidden fruit, and I want to take the biggest, juiciest bite out of him. I know he will ruin me. The temptation is sardonic, wrapping and constricting around the purity of my soul to replace my innocence.
How can a girl resist?
5
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