“Truth is, I like dirty,” I whisper, challenging him with not just my words but my eyes.
“Looks like we both won tonight,” he replies, grabbing my hand. “Time for that ride, dirty girl.”
-Five-
Stryker
That fucking skirt she’s wearing hugs her curves, leaving little to the imagination, and while the view is fucking amazing, she couldn’t be dressed any worse for the ride on the back of my bike. She knew it too and before she followed me out the front door of the swanky steakhouse, she sashayed those hips of hers to the bar. She asked the bartender for a steak knife, handed it to me and asked me to do what every motherfucker in the joint wanted to do—cut the skirt. I traded the serrated blade of the steak knife for the sharp blade I kept in my back pocket and sliced through the stitch behind her knees, extending the slit up the back of the skirt so she could straddle my bike. I’d tear the fucking thing off when it came time for her to straddle me, and just for kicks, maybe I’d cut it off her because fuck me, cutting through the stitching of her skirt had me hard as a rock.
It took every ounce of control I could muster not to let my hands travel under that skirt and sink my fingers deep into her ass cheeks. Instead, I kept my hands on her hips, spun her around and stared up into her eyes. They might be my favorite part of her. After spending most of my time with her fighting not to take in every inch of her body, allowing myself only glimpses so I wouldn’t be distracted by her curves, I became pretty fucking hooked on those eyes. They were a bewitching shade of green.
So fucking rare.
So fucking unique.
So damn pretty.
They had the power to put me in a trance just like her hips that swayed back and forth like a pendulum.
Fuck—everything about her made me want to forget who I am and learn who she is.
The roar of my engine purrs, distracting me from her perfect face and I see the parking attendant pull my bike up in front of us. I hand him the ticket, pay the fee and turn around to Gina, watching as she bites down on her plump bottom lip and assesses my Harley.
Throwing a leg over my bike, I grab the helmet dangling off one of the handlebars and offer it to her.
“Still want that ride?” I ask when she doesn’t take the helmet and continues to stare at the bike. I don’t see any hesitation when her eyes lock with mine and a smile spreads across her sensual mouth—a mouth made for a man to dream of when he’s lonely.
“You bet your ass I do,” she says, closing the distance between us as she braces her hand on my shoulder and straddles the bike. She fits the helmet to her head and adjusts the chin strap as I glance down at her five-inch spiked heels and shake my head. She didn’t belong on the back of a motorcycle, she belonged sprawled out on leather seats in the back of a limo with the divider rolled up and me between her legs.
We were night and day. She was beauty and class and I was nothing, a shell of a man left broken and tormented from war, fresh out of prison, an outlaw—yet, here we were and neither of us seemed to give a fuck.
“Put your feet on the pegs and keep your leg off the pipes,” I instruct, taking both of her hands and wrapping them around my middle. She leans into me, her breasts press against the leather on my back as her fists grip the ends of my jacket and she holds on for dear life.
“Relax,” I call over my shoulder, placing one of my hands on her knee, giving it a squeeze. “I’ve got you.”
At least for tonight I did.
Tonight I was responsible for her.
Tonight I was responsible for her pleasure.
“Four fifty-three Carroll Street,” she whispers her address into my ear. “Do you know how to get there?”
“Carroll Gardens? Yeah, I know where I’m going,” I tell her, throwing up the kickstand. The address she gives me is five minutes away from the Satan’s Knights clubhouse. “You ready?”
Her fingers tighten around my jacket and she leans even closer against my back.
“Ready,” she calls.
She wasn’t ready, and neither was I.
Not for the ride I was about to take her on or the one she was about to take me on.
We were two unsuspecting strangers looking for a good time, an easy fuck, but the nagging in the pit of my gut told me this was more than a gamble and a win, more than just a fuck. This shit was the type of thing that takes your world and flips it upside down. Gina wasn’t the girl you turned to for a quick roll in-between the sheets—nah, it was obvious she was the girl that made you do the shit you never dreamed of doing. As I drove to her apartment, her breath against my ear, her tits pressed against my back, I wondered if one night would be enough to satisfy me. She’s the girl a guy like me stays far away from.
I swear it’s her fucking eyes—they draw you in and the rest of the world fades away.
Or maybe it’s her confidence that’s so fucking refreshing in a world filled with whiney bitches who think the world owes them a favor.
It’s probably the fact I’ve been locked up, and like Wolf so bluntly put it, I’ve been surrounded by nothing but dick for months. Yeah, that’s probably it.
Right.
It’s definitely her fucking eyes.
And that round, wide ass I want to sink my teeth in is just an added bonus.
Welcome home, Stryker.
There is traffic entering the tunnel so I slow down and glance down at her hands on my chest before talking over my shoulder.
“You good?”
She pries her fingers from my jacket and gives me a thumbs up before the traffic eases. I close my hand around hers, making her hold onto me again—trying to convince myself it’s for her safety and not because I like the way her hands feel on my body or how I’m picturing them all over me—every fucking inch of me.
We take ten minutes from the time we get out of the tunnel and pay the toll to the time we pull up in front of the address she gave me. I pull my bike onto the curb in front of the aging brownstone, drop the kickstand and kill the engine. Her arms loosen around me and take purchase on my shoulders as she eases off the bike. The distinct sound of fabric tearing rips through the air and has me turning around. She pulls her leg over the seat, deepening the makeshift slit we made in her skirt until it parts right under the curve of her ass.
“I guess I can kiss this skirt goodbye,” she jokes, removing the helmet from her head.
I stare at her as she shakes out miles of black hair, closing my hands around the handlebars again so I don’t reach out and run my fingers through it—pull on it and force her head back as my teeth mark her neck.
I draw in a deep breath before releasing my death grip on my bike and throw a leg over the seat. I look over her shoulder at the three story building and then back at her.
“Awful big place for one person,” I comment.
“It’s actually a three family. I rent the apartment on the top floor,” she says, tugging her skirt down. “You ready for the grand tour?” she asks suggestively as my gaze works her over.
“After you,” I say, dismounting from my bike and tipping my chin toward the stoop. She’s about to turn around when I reach into my saddlebag and grab her purse I had stuffed in there and hear her groan.
“I forgot my briefcase,” she hisses, taking her purse and fetching her keys.
“Those men—the suits, weren’t they your co-workers?” I ask as I follow her toward the house.
“Yes and right about now they’re probably sabotaging everything inside, including the deal I closed tonight.”
The slit in her skirt inches higher as she climbs the stairs and because I’m a dick—I cock my head to the side and stare at the globes of her ass and the G-string tucked in between.
She turns around as she opens the front door and I smirk at her.
“Glad you like the view,” she comments, sarcasm dripping on every word.
“Pretty fucking spectacular view,” I admit as she opens the door and holds it for me. “I’ll call one of my guys to g
rab your briefcase if you want. They won’t fuck with your shit and will rough up anyone who tries to,” I offer as we make our way up the two flights of stairs to her apartment.
She turns around, raising an eyebrow as she stares at me.
“That means you’ll have to deliver me my briefcase,” she baits as she draws her bottom lip between her teeth.
Fucking sexy as hell.
“Yeah, so?” I reply, reaching into my back pocket for my phone. I quickly text Linc to grab her briefcase and bring it to the clubhouse. I feel the weight of her gaze as I stare at the phone waiting for my brother to reply, but he’s probably too busy turning one dollar into ten.
“So, that means no clean break once we’re done with one another. It means you will see this face again,” she reminds me, waving her hand in front of her face.
I slip the phone into my pocket and take two steps, closing the distance between us, forcing her back against the door as I brace one hand over her head.
She lets out a short gasp as my body leans into hers and I’m sure she can feel my cock press against her stomach.
“Not such a hardship.” I pause, bringing down one hand to touch her cheek. The pad of my thumb draws soft circles along her chin, inching upward to trace her lower lip. “It’s not a face I’m likely to forget anyway but if you’re not comfortable facing me after what’s about to go down between us then I’ll leave your bag on your doorstep and hang onto the memory of your pretty face…” My voice trails off as I run my thumb across her lip. “And all the expressions I’m going to pull from you.”
I pinch her lip in between my index finger and thumb and let out a hiss.
“There you go again,” she croaks as she swallows. “Giving me your bedroom voice.”
“Open the door and I’ll show you what I’ve already told you. There’s no voice, no promise, just me and you. Words aren’t required when your body does the talking,” I add, dropping my hand to my side as I continue to keep the other braced against the door. Her tongue sneaks out of her mouth and traces her lips as I push off the door and take a step backward, nodding toward the door knob. “Go on.”
She closes her mouth and I watch her neck as she swallows, keeping her eyes on me for a moment.
Those fucking eyes.
Rare and unique.
So fucking pretty.
She opens the door, leaving the key in the lock and turns around abruptly to face me again.
“My favorite color is red. I am addicted to skittles and I think taking long walks on the beach is a bunch of bullshit. I’m a stockbroker. I got my license three years ago and I work with a bunch of assholes who think I don’t belong in their firm. I lived in Italy for most of my teenage years after my father was deported. After my father died, we came back to the United States and then my mother died shortly after. I have a brother…but he’s…well, he’s not around much. I don’t have many girlfriends mainly because I can’t stand girls. I have a few cousins I used to be close to but other than that I don’t mind being by myself. I’m a good time, just ask me, myself and I—they’ll vouch for me.” She takes a deep breath before pointing her finger at me. “Your turn.”
I stare at her, narrowing my eyes in confusion as I try to recite her list in my head. She rolls her eyes and I stop in my tracks.
“Just give me five facts. They don’t have to be personal. You can hang onto your mystery man persona. What’s your favorite color?”
“Black.”
“Siblings?”
“No.”
“Parents?”
“My mother lives in Albany.”
She opens her mouth but I shake my head immediately shutting down the questions undoubtedly on the tip of her tongue.
“I don’t talk about my old man,” I answer, throwing her a bone. “I’m more of a Starburst kind of guy and I don’t do walks on the beach. I’ve seen enough sand to last a lifetime.”
“Fair enough,” she says, stepping toward me. “Now we’re not really strangers are we?”
“Guess not,” I say as my feet move simultaneously with hers.
Freezing in place, I stare at her quietly for a moment before shaking my head slightly as she frowns. I can see the disappointment reflected in those eyes I can’t seem to get enough of and that’s when I close the distance between us and take her face into the palms of my hands.
“No more words,” I growl, before slamming my mouth onto hers.
Lightning.
Right there between us.
-Six-
Gina
Hot and hungry.
Starving really. Both of us desperate to consume the other and the tug of war our mouths were playing wouldn’t suffice. It had to be everything—all or nothing, and even then I wasn’t sure I’d get my fill of the stranger loving on my body.
But we weren’t really strangers were we? Not that it mattered much, asking him those few questions and offering some facts about myself was just a ploy to ease my conscience. I knew we’d end up like this; I knew before he told me his favorite color or his preference in candy.
From the first smirk he threw my way, I knew I would go home with him.
Which says a lot because I’ve basically been celibate the last few months—I know, I know, my poor vagina. I don’t know why I chose him to break my dry spell. He was everything I wasn’t used to and everything I craved all at the same time. He was the type of guy that came around once in your lifetime. The guy who shakes things up and makes you wonder if the suit and tie guy is really what you’re after. He’s the guy who entices the bad girl buried beneath the class, the guy that makes that girl want to come out and play.
He tastes like cinnamon and the faintest hint of whiskey—he tastes like everything I didn’t realize I was missing in a man. Planting one boot between my feet, he nestles his hard body between my legs as he walks me backward into my apartment. He kicks the door closed behind him and spins us around so that my back is flush with the door.
Lifting one of my legs, he brings it against his side as his fingers travel up my skin, digging into my thigh. I frantically run my hands over his body, kissing him as if he’s my salvation, which he kind of is because I’m not sure I’ll survive without having him buried inside me. He tears his lips away from mine, forcing me to blink and stare at him.
Please don’t change your mind.
His lips threaten to curve, his eyes playfully assessing every feature of my face as I reach for the button on his jeans. My palm glides over his erection as I continue to stare at him through the fringe of my lashes. Suddenly his gaze turns feral, his brown eyes darken so his irises match his pupils and I watch him lick his lips hungrily, pushing the hair away from my face. The tip of his nose travels down the length of mine and his lips touch mine again, forcefully sucking on my lower lip. His hands snake around, cupping my ass and lifts me against the door. My skirt continues to rip, becoming more of a nuisance. I remove my hands from around Stryker’s neck and drop them to the waistband of the skirt when Stryker sets me on my feet.
“Turn around,” he orders breathlessly as he reaches behind him. I huff, kicking off my heels and brace my palms flat against the door. Instantly, I feel one large hand glide across my ass and for a second I close my eyes expecting a playful smack that never comes.
“Hold still,” he grunts, rustling around behind me. I glance over my shoulder and find him on his knees with the knife he split the seam of my skirt with in his hand.
“What’re you doing?” I breathe.
“Cutting this fucking thing off you,” he growls, working the edge of the blade up the slit in my skirt.
“Wouldn’t it be easier to just pull the zipper?” I question, trying to peer over my shoulder as he continues to cut through the stitching.
He looks up at me, pocketing the knife into his back pocket before grabbing the ends of the skirt and pulling them apart, tearing what’s left of my skirt.
“Easy but not as hot,” he points out, chucking my skirt to
the side and lifting his hands to my ass. “Been taunting me with this ass all night,” he seethes, cocking his head to the side.
My breath hitches as I continue to stare over my shoulder at him, wondering what his next move will be and when he will finally put me out of my misery.
“Later,” he decides. Grabbing me by the hips he spins me around and hoists me back up into his arms. He wraps my legs around his waist, pressing the hard denim covered length of him against my throbbing pussy. I moan against his mouth as he removes one hand from my ass and slides it down, finding the drenched scrap of lace covering the part of me that aches most for him. Rocking back and forth, he presses the heel of his hand against me, and I swear on everything holy I almost come.
“Stryker,” I plead, knowing I’m hypersensitive and this will probably be the most embarrassing sexual encounter of my life.
“Shh. The next time you say my name I want you coming,” he demands in a gravely tone, slipping a finger beneath the lace and between my lips. “Christ,” he growls, running his finger up and down before pressing his thumb against my clit and inserting two fingers inside of me. “Your pussy is so fucking wet,” he mutters, giving me the filthy words he promised. I want to remind him of his no speaking rule but I want the dirty talk. I fucking want it as much as I want him to sink between my legs and never stop fucking me. His teeth pull on one strap of my camisole, sliding it off my shoulder before repeating the move on the other strap and freeing my breasts.
“Gonna bury my cock inside that sweet cunt,” he hisses, his voice just as rough and sinful as his mouth sucking my nipple.
I pant, slamming the back of my head against the door as I arch my hips against his hand. Sliding my hands down his back, I drag the waistband of his jeans down his hips.
He withdraws his fingers and in one swift move he tears my panties from my body. I hear his jeans drop with a thud to the floor before he brings both of his hands back to my ass cheeks and guides my pussy over his cock, never entering me just brushing the thick length between my lips. I bite down on his shoulder to keep the slew of words, no the pleas, from escaping my mouth.
The Nomad Series-Collectors Edition Page 5
