by Evie Monroe
I’d never felt so excited to get out there and dance.
“You ready?” Kevin asked, squeezing my hand as I adjusted the corset of my hot red dress and practiced going en pointe to make sure my shoes were comfortable. “You looked a little pale before. You okay?”
I smiled at him, my Don Jose, as the familiar music of Carmen began to play. I had been a little green before, but the make-up had helped that. “Just some closing-night jitters. I’m ready as I’ll ever be. Let’s do this.”
This night was the most important night yet and would probably be the highlight of my career as a prima ballerina. As I rushed out onto the stage and danced my heart out, I thought of how far I’d come in the past six months. It had been a whirlwind, with so many practices, followed by touring up and down the California coast. I’d really grown as a ballerina, in both ability and confidence.
As I danced, my heart soared. I felt completely at ease out there, with the spotlights on me, the audience a sea of darkness. I knew he was out there. Front row. Like he promised.
One thing I knew about Nix is that he always made good on his promises.
Ballet, of course, wasn’t Nix’s thing. But he said he’d be there for the final performance. I could just imagine him sitting in his front-row seat, in his jeans and motorcycle vest, surrounded by men in suits and women in their evening gowns. I imagined him enduring it, clapping politely.
He’d do it because he loved me.
My father had been to performances, too. Our relationship wasn’t perfect, but it was so much better. He’d turned legit and was making a name for himself handling several high-profile immigration cases. I was proud of him. We’d gone over to his house for dinner a few times, and met his new girlfriend, who was also an attorney. She was a really nice person, and I guessed she kept him in line.
When the curtain closed at the end of the third act, after my death scene, the crowd erupted into applause. A standing ovation! It fed my excitement and made me giddy. I grinned a mile wide and hugged Kevin and the other performers, then we linked arms for our bows. As in typical Carmen fashion, people began to throw red roses onto the stage. The dancers gathered them all up and handed them to me.
I squinted at the audience in each of the three bows, trying to make out his face, his dirty motorcycle boots. I didn’t see him, but I never wondered if he wouldn’t be there. I just knew he would.
I’d never felt so exhilarated. I ran back to my private dressing room to drop the flowers off before the cast party, which would be in the back of the stage following the performance. It was a big send-off before the season ended, where all the main performers would give speeches and thank-yous, and we’d all congratulate each other on a job well done.
As I opened the door, I gasped. I checked the name on the door to make sure I’d gone into the right room.
My dressing room was filled with red roses.
I stepped inside cautiously, sniffing the heavenly aroma. Only one person could be responsible for this.
“Red is definitely your color.”
I whirled around, lost in a sea of red, when I saw him, sitting on the stool at my dressing table, leaning back, elbows on the counter.
No wonder I hadn’t recognized him in the audience.
He was wearing a suit.
A suit. Nix Nash was wearing a goddamn suit. Suit, tie, jacket . . . the whole nine yards.
For me.
I just stared at him, mouth open.
He stood up, and walked toward me, slowly, his eyes holding mine. Every nerve in my body was zinging. He started to clap as he walked, slow, controlled, the intensity in his expression enough to drive me insane. “You’re amazing, dancer girl.”
I smiled. Of all the applause I’d received, his mattered most. “You liked it?”
“I liked you. I have no idea what was going on up there.” He hooked a thumb in the general direction of the stage.
I let out a giggle. “Well, it’s simple. Carmen is a gypsy girl torn between two lovers. The guard and the bullfighter,” I said as he came closer. His eyes were on me, but I didn’t think he heard a word I said. He had a savage look about him, like he wanted to devour me whole. My voice faltered, and he came so close I lost my breath. He may have been in a suit, but he still smelled like my Nix, faintly of manly motor oil and cigarettes. It made my every pore tingle. “They battle for her love, and in the end, she—”
At that moment, he put a finger under my chin, lifted my face, and kissed me. I swooned, my knees wobbling, and it had nothing to do with spending the last two hours en pointe.
“What’s with the suit?” I asked him, touching his lapel. It was certainly very sharp. He could’ve brought down the women of Wall Street just as easily as he brought down any other women. But . . .
He straightened his red tie, smoothing it down on his broad chest. No, he didn’t look like a politician. Not even close. He looked like my rough, dangerous Nix, playing dress-up. Hot, always hot, but not the way I wanted him. It made me smile. “Thought the occasion called for it. You like it?”
I nodded slowly. “I like it. I like that you made the effort.” I patted his lapel down. “But I like my dirty, wild Nix better.”
He grinned. “Thank fuck.” He loosened his tie and pulled it from his neck, then undid a couple buttons of his shirt. The cobra on his throat showed itself. He shrugged off his jacket and tossed it on the ground. “I feel much better now.”
Yes, I definitely liked my dirty biker man much better. I loved riding on the back of his bike. Loved feeling his strong, hot body. Lost control every time I saw him approaching in his jeans and t-shirt that showed off his muscular arms and his broad chest. The suit was nice, but it wasn’t Nix. It wasn’t the man I loved.
Someone had left me a bottle of champagne. Nix popped the cork and poured us each a glass. “What should we toast to?” he asked.
I put my glass on the dressing table and walked up to him and very slowly began to unbutton his shirt, unveiling his hard, cut chest. I opened the shirt and laid kisses all over his hot skin. God, he tasted good. “Dirty biker boys. May they never feel the need to hide their hell-raising side again.”
He smiled down at me. “Think I’ll toast to beautiful dancer girls. Even though I have no fucking idea what they’re doing, I have to admit, they make the world a prettier place.”
He tossed the entire flute back in one gulp and set the glass down.
Hands spanning and almost completely circling my waist, he leaned into me, trapping me against the wall in a sweetly-scented forest of roses. “What’s next?”
“Cast party,” I sighed, slightly annoyed as I finished my own glass of champagne and he took the flute from me. Sure, I wanted to celebrate with my friends. But I also wanted the man right in front of me. More than anything.
“Can you be late?” he breathed, his eyes trailing to my lips. His beard twitched and his lips curved into a sexy smile. His hands reached under the little skirt of my dress, cupping my ass through my ballet tights.
“I can be.” I stood up en pointe and kissed his cheek. “Very.” I kissed his other cheek. “Very.” Kissed his forehead. “Very.” Kissed his mouth. “Late. Late as you want me to be.”
“Then I’m sorry. But you’re not getting there at all,” he growled, kissing me, tangling his tongue with mine, hard and commanding. “Mmmm. Fuck you taste good. Come to think of it. I’m not fucking sorry at all.”
He wrapped his arms around my back and lifted me to him, his hands cupping the globes of my ass as he pressed his nine-inch organ of pleasure against me. My pussy clenched like never before. Fingers digging into my hip bones, he walked me toward the chaise, practically buried in roses, and said, huskily, as his fingers wandered between my legs, “You dance like an angel. But the things I wanted to do to you when I saw you on stage? Not very angelic.”
I smiled. How was this my life? How was it that badass Phoenix Nash was saying these dirty things to me, running his big, rough hands all over m
y body and making me come alive? Six months had passed since I’d met him, and damned if things just kept getting better and better. The butterflies inside me, put there the moment I laid eyes on him in his dirty bedroom, only fluttered faster now. Everything I learned about him just made me love and want and ache for him more.
I moaned as he flicked his tongue into my mouth. It felt too good. His hands molded up my hips. He slipped his fingers under the red lace and fringed sleeves of my one piece costume and pulled it down in one swift move, allowing me to help by wriggling my hips free appropriately. As soon as I stepped out if it, he grabbed my tights and slowly rolling them down, inch by agonizing inch. I lifted my ass off the chaise and he continued to roll them over my thighs, down to my calves. He stopped at the pointe shoes, carefully lifting each one, untying the ribbon, slowly unlacing the ties around my ankles. He slipped one shoe off, then the other, with the care of a master craftsman, working his trade. When he’d pulled the tights down lower, he lifted my legs, delivering kisses to my inner calf, working his way up my thigh as he removed the tights completely.
Trapped between my thighs, he spread my legs wider, and slid his hands under my legs, and dragged me closer as he continued to trail his tongue up my inner thigh. He gently placed his fingers gently on my pussy lips, spreading them wider. When he fastened his mouth on my pussy, I thought I’d die from ecstasy.
He kissed and sucked at my clit, making me mewl like a wild animal. God, I loved his tongue. His beard. Him. Fuck the cast party. Fuck ballet. This was everything. When I came, I came seeing stars and colors and rainbows and ribbons of light. Feeling like this was the best day of my life, not because of the ballet, but because of him, Nix, who I wanted to spend the rest of my days with. I could truly see forever with him.
A shiver ran down my spine, as I pulled on the button of his pants and slowly lowered the zipper, unleashing his cock from the hold of his boxer briefs. He was already hard and long and perfect for me. I wanted his dick so bad that I salivated for it.
He guided me to the edge of the sofa, spread my legs and lightly touched my thighs. He kissed me, rubbing his cock along the slick entrance of my pussy before thrusting in, dragging a gasp out of both of us. My body jerked with pleasure.
Then he started to fuck me, long, slow strokes. In. Out. Deeper. Faster. Harder. Grunting my name. He owned my body, my pussy, the way he owned my whole heart. He watched me, his eyes fastened on my every expression, his voice husky and thick as he told me that he was so fucking happy and had never wanted anything as much as he wanted me.
We raced to the edge of climax, crossing the finish line together, all the while holding each other’s gazes. I arched my back and cried out as the orgasm hit, doubling me over, leaving me breathless. I grabbed for him, but he never slowed his thrusts. When he came, he buried inside me to the hilt with full power, pumping me full of him. He let out a groan and his head fell between my breasts. He planted a kiss there, murmuring, “I love you, Liv. You are it. Everything I’ve ever wanted.”
Locked in each other’s arms, we took a moment to catch our breath before he helped me up. I cleaned myself up with some tissue he handed me and then slipped into my dressing gown while he watched, his eyes dark on me. “Your director told me they’re doing auditions for a new ballet, and they’re hoping you try out,” he said. “I can’t remember. Snow White?”
“Cinderella,” I corrected. I nodded and gave him a smile. “I know.”
He tucked his shirt into his pants and raised an eyebrow. “You know? So are you going to? You’d make a good princess, princess.”
I smacked him lightly, then shook my head as I gathered the roses off my counter and started to put the loose ones into the extra vases around the room. I leaned down and checked my face in the mirror. My red lipstick was now smeared all over my chin, but I wouldn’t have had it any other way.
“I don’t think it’s in the cards for me. I mean, don’t get me wrong. I loved being prima ballerina. But it was a lot of work. A lot of touring. I missed you a lot. I think I might want to take a break.”
“Yeah?” He sat down on the chaise, spreading himself out there, and stroked his beard. He still worked at lifting cars for the Cobras, but not as much as before. He spent a lot of time at the Lucky Leaf as a mechanic. “How long?”
“I don’t know,” I said, biting on my lip. “At least nine months.”
Heart thrumming, I looked quickly at his reflection in the mirror so I could gauge his expression. I’d known about this for a week, but we’d never talked about kids before. His life wasn’t conducive to having a child. Mine as a ballerina wasn’t, either. This was unplanned, but in my mind, it wasn’t an accident. I was meant to have a baby with this man. I was fully ready to make whatever adjustments needed to be made, to have a family with Nix.
I only hoped he’d feel the same way.
He didn’t say anything right away, but I could see the moment it struck him. His eyes lit up briefly. His brow furrowed. “Wait. Are you . . .”
I whirled to him and nodded, still biting my lip raw.
I never thought I’d knock the great, tough Phoenix Nash speechless, but I did. His eyes widened. His mouth formed words, but nothing came out. Finally, he scrubbed a hand over his beard and breathed, “Holy shit.”
“Are you happy?” I asked, hopeful.
He let out a laugh, grumbled a low, “Hell yes.” Jumped off the lounge and dragged me toward him, landing me on his lap with a graceless thud that knocked me breathless. He held me tight, kissed my face, my mouth, my hands, every body part that was readily available to him, again and again and again. Kissed me crazy, all the while rubbing my belly, which was still flat. I was only seven weeks in, if that.
“Jesus, Liv, I’m . . . ecstatic. Are you fucking kidding me?”
I grinned at him. “Well, I haven’t gone to the doctor yet, but I’m pretty sure. Do you want to go with me?”
“Yeah. Hell yes. Fucking hell. So we’re going to have our own pretty little ballerina,” he mused, still dumbstruck by the news. “Like her mom.”
I kissed his temple. “Maybe we’ll have a hell-raiser, like his daddy?”
He shrugged. “Maybe we’ll just have to have one of each.”
We sealed the deal—pretty much all night long—with a little celebration of our own, alone, surrounded by a heaven of roses. Though I heard later that the cast party went on well into the night, Carmen never made it there.
But unlike the ballet, this Carmen didn’t end in tragedy.
No, this Carmen was too busy building a future with the man she loved, the man she never thought she’d end up with, the man who saved her, the man who made her heart go wild, and continued to do so, every day of her life.
~ T H E ~ E N D ~
I hope you loved this story as much as I loved writing it.
Meet the Prez! Cullen is out now on Amazon!!
Cullen
Steel Cobras MC
By Evie Monroe
Copyright © 2018 Evie Monroe and BookBoyfriends Publishing LLC
Copyright and Disclaimer
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2018 Evie Monroe and BookBoyfriends Publishing LLC
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the copyright owner. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of the trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.
Cover Model: J
osh Mario John
Photographer: Lane Dorsey
Chapter One
Cullen
Just what I liked. Sitting around a table across from the rest of the club, with our thumbs up our asses.
That wasn’t how I usually operated my Steel Cobras. We were fierce. Made big plays with high risks. Kicked ass and took names.
But we sat there now, giving each other stupid looks, because no one wanted to admit it. We didn’t know what our rival motorcycle club, Hell’s Fury, was up to.
They’d been quiet for the past few weeks, ever since we offed Blaze, their leader, and tore them new assholes. They’d run for the hills, crying for their mamas.
But their silence was suspicious.
“I tell you, they’re planning something,” Phoenix, the VP of our club, and my best friend, said. “We need to act. Crush them. This won’t be over ‘til they’re all dead.”
Easy for him to say. He’d wanted to destroy our rival club ever since they’d snapped up his girl, Olivia, to use for bait. They nearly killed her. For the last two weeks, he’d been preaching No Mercy when it came to Hell’s Fury.
His bloodthirst was beginning to spread. Now Jet, Phoenix’s little brother, and Drake, both officers in the Cobras, were starting to echo those sentiments.
Which meant I, as President of the Cobras, needed to shut this shit down before it got worse.
I held out my hands as the men raged around one another, jumping off their seats, at each other’s throats. I didn’t raise my voice. I found that I didn’t need to. “Men. Sit the fuck down.”
Phoenix—also known as Nix—was as loyal a motherfucker as there could be, always listening, respecting the club. Once he sat his ass down, the rest of the men fell in like dominos.
I pulled up off of the chair I was backwards-straddling and took a drag of my cigarette. I moved to the front of the room in the warehouse we’d recently moved into as our clubhouse. For the past two years, since I’d become president, we’d been having the meetings at my house. That all ended about a month ago, when Hell’s Fury decided to pay us a little unfriendly visit.