by Anne Malcom
Brock gave me a look. “Babe, I did you a favor. Those guys were pussies who scampered off the moment it looked like their suits would get crinkled. They were nowhere near good enough for you. You want a man who would fight tooth and fuckin’ nail at just the prospect of getting into those panties of yours. One who would tear any motherfucker down who got in the way of the chance of tasting your cunt when you come.”
I swallowed.
Ignore the way his words make you squirm in your seat, Amy.
“What gives you the right to think you can decide who is worthy enough to get in my pants?” I sneered, superbly impressed I hadn’t launched myself across the table at him.
Brock leaned forward, his eyes turning dark and serious. “Because I fully intend on getting into your panties. I would be more than willing to tear down a thousand of those suit-wearing pansies, because sweetheart, if your pussy tastes as good as I think it does, its fuckin’ worth it,” he murmured.
Okay, so I didn’t know what I’d done to make this guy think I had a golden vagina, but the promise of sex in his tone made me reluctant to correct him. I only hoped my lady parts didn’t get performance anxiety. That was if I did actually decide to go home with him.
“You really think talking to me like that and acting like a possessive ape is going to get me to go home with you?” It totally would.
Brock’s eyes twinkled for a second then darkened. “I think we both know it’s a matter of time before I get that sweet ass in my bed. I just don’t wanna wait. I wanna get you on the back of my bike and fuck you till you don’t remember your own name,” he declared hoarsely.
I tried to think of a witty response or even to find some willpower to get up and walk away from the infuriating sex god, but neither happened. I worried about my ability to strut off effectively due to the potency of the cocktails I had consumed. Those very same cocktails caused me to get up. Screw it.
“Okay then, let’s go,” I said to him as he got up too, anticipating an escape attempt.
His eyebrows rose at my statement, as if he expected some kind of catch.
“Your place or mine?” I continued impatiently. Now that I had committed myself to the idea of sleeping with Brock I was tingling with sexual anticipation.
His gaze turned hooded. “Mine’s closer.”
“Right,” I said, losing my breath at the carnal look he was devouring me with. I pointed at him. “Let’s get one thing straight. I am not ‘yours’. I do not belong to anyone. This isn’t the prelude to some intense biker relationship you all seem to be so fond of. It’s just sex,” I declared.
Brock stepped forward into my space and it felt like the air crackled. “Works for me. As long as I get inside you in the next thirty minutes.”
We stared at each other for a couple of moments. His hand rested lightly on my upper back and he guided me out. My only focus was on the hand that was currently setting my body on fire as he directed me toward the exit. I did notice Laura Maye’s knowing grin and not so subtle thumbs up. I grinned stupidly back at her.
The brisk breeze of the night caused me to sober up slightly, but it didn’t affect what Brock’s sex hormones were doing to me.
“Fuck it, I can’t wait—especially when you’re wearing a dress like that,” he mumbled.
His hands tightened at my waist and he yanked my body flush against him. I let out a little sound of surprise before he covered my mouth with his. His kiss was brutal, unrelenting and a hundred and twelve on the hotness scale. His hands moved down to cup my ass and I ground into him, quite prepared to have sex on the street the way things were going.
My plans for indecent exposure were foiled when he released me.
“Jesus,” he muttered.
In the streetlights his eyes glowed and a fierce look crossed his face. “We need to get you on the back of my bike.” He grabbed my hand, pulling me towards his Harley. Of course I had known a biker would be driving a motorcycle but I hadn’t factored that into tonight’s transportation.
Brock handed me a helmet. I glanced down at it, not taking it. “I can’t get on that,” I declared.
Brock’s eyes narrowed in disapproval. “The little princess too good to ride on the back of my bike?” His voice was low.
I shook my head. “Not at all. Given proper warning and enough time to put together a suitable outfit I’d be jumping on. But this,” I gestured down, “is Alexander McQueen.”
Brock eyed me. “I don’t give a fuck what that is. Get on the fuckin’ bike so I can take you home and eat your pussy until you pass out,” he commanded roughly.
I shivered at his words. Alexander who? I snatched the helmet.
The ringing of a phone interrupted my efforts not to jump him on the sidewalk. Brock glanced down at the display. “Fuck,” he muttered. He glanced up at me. “A second, Sparky.”
“This better be fuckin’ important,” he hissed into the phone. I watched him silently listen to whoever was on the other side with a hard jaw. “I’ll be there in twenty,” he bit out furiously.
I pouted at him like a sullen child after hearing his last comment. He ran his hand through his hair. “We’re gonna have to raincheck, babe, something’s come up.”
My vagina and I both frowned at him. Actually I think it was safe to say I glowered.
He stepped forward, lightly grasping my hips. “Fuck, normally I wouldn’t let anything interrupt me getting in there.” His palm crept to my ass. “But this shit is pressing and it’s something that can’t wait.” He sounded genuine and supremely pissed. But I was drunk and horny and his sincerity meant sweet fuck all at this moment.
“Get on, I’ll take you home,” he said, stepping back.
“No way,” I responded quickly and with a slight hint of venom in my tone. I stepped back, out of his grasp. I needed to be out of range of his male pheromones in order to practice the feat of extracting myself from his presence without humping his leg.
“Pardon?” He frowned at me.
“I said no. I bet that’s not a word you’re used to hearing due to your impressive muscles and inhuman kissing skills,” I said. “Now I was willing to risk couture for the promise of what those muscles could do, considering you went to all of that effort to scare away my dates. But leading me on, ordering me around, then bailing on me? Not okay. So I’m going to call a cab and go home to my vibrator who never disappoints. You go and take care of whatever you need, and enjoy your blue balls,” On that note I turned on my heel and walked away, ignoring Brock’s shouts and curses.
CHAPTER FOUR
After nursing my disappointment and rejection, I was back to being supremely pissed at Brock. No matter what his reasons were he still got me all hot and bothered only to ditch me for his little club. It may be childish or immature but I didn’t care. I maintained my healthy dislike because the alternative was to drive over to his house like some sort of doormat and beg him to fuck me. That was not me. I didn’t beg.
So I dodged unknown numbers on my phone, avoided any place where leather clad men might frequent and kept myself busy. Gwen was currently all loved up with her own biker so I couldn’t even suggest nightly cocktail sessions with her. Luckily Rosie and Lucy were happy to comply.
After days of probing, the girls convinced me to head to the weekly club party, promising me there would be loads of hot men from out of town visiting. I complied with only the slightly evil plan of flaunting my Upper East Side version of biker chick in front of him. Okay, maybe I was thinking of doing a little bit more than flaunting. I could only stay angry and sexually frustrated for so long, and I wasn’t about to jump into bed with any other bikers. Not that I didn’t want to; I just didn’t want to be the girl that caused shit between friends. And by Brock’s possessive behavior the other night and descriptions of Cade’s actions from Gwen I guessed these were a special breed of men. The type of alphas that decided a woman belonged to them and them only until they decided otherwise. I didn’t agree with this. Not one bit. But I wasn�
��t going to be the Yoko Ono to this band of outlaws. Guess I had no choice but to sleep with Brock. I was doing it for the good of the community. It was the charitable thing to do.
So when I arrived at the club with Rosie, Ashley, and Lucy I wasn’t intending on being anything other than friendly to whatever hot men I encountered. That was until I saw a sandy-haired girl sitting on Brock’s knee. I didn’t consider myself a jealous person. But right then, I was considering ripping the girl off Brock with my freshly manicured hands.
“Ames?” Rosie questioned, following my death stare.
“Oh shit,” she muttered. She thrust a beer in my hand. “That’ll help. And let’s go over and have a chat to the guys from the New Mexico charter.”
I glanced around at the party. I had been to a lot of parties over the years, ranging from stuffy society parties where they served five hundred dollar champagne to raves in Europe where I had to dodge used needles on my way to the bathroom. I had never been to a biker party. I guess I suspected burning tires, men throwing knives at a prospect chained to a dartboard and maybe some public sex. What was in front of me was a slightly rowdier version of Rosie’s barbeque. Granted, there were a lot more leather clad men and the women were decidedly skankier. My eyes darted back to one skank in particular. It was unfair of me to think of her that way. She could have been a perfectly nice girl, but right now all I could see was her hand on Brock’s chest.
Rosie successfully defused the situation and led me over to some very attractive men. I drained my beer quickly and it was immediately replaced by the dark haired man I was chatting to. He wasn’t bad looking. Not at all. He was Hispanic, he wasn’t tall but he had the obligatory muscles and a seriously awesome goatee which made up for what he lacked in stature. I respected any man who still looked hot with a goatee.
“You belong to anyone here, Red?” he asked bluntly, a glint in his eyes.
I smiled and opened my mouth to reply when a deep, pissed off voice beat me to it.
“Yes, she fuckin’ does,” Brock snapped, hand at my elbow.
Goatee Guy held up his hands. “Sorry, brother, wasn’t aware this one was yours.”
“I am not his,” I argued and Goatee Guy just smiled.
“When you’re able to convince him of that you come and see me,” he said, ignoring Brock’s growl.
I didn’t get the chance to argue further when the hand at my elbow tightened and Brock started dragging me toward the parking lot. I struggled but it turned out his muscles weren’t just for show.
“What are you doing? Let me go!” I hissed, debating on smacking him with my beer bottle. I decided against it, not because I didn’t want to maim Brock, but because I sensed alcohol might be needed in this interaction.
“I’m taking you home to do what I should’ve done the first night I met you,” he declared, not turning back.
“Introduced me to Goatee Guy so I could have gotten laid like I planned?” I retorted.
He stopped in the middle of the lot and turned. He face was tight with fury at my statement. “No, I should have dragged you to my bed and fucked you so hard you felt me in your throat,” he said, eyes moving over my body.
I couldn’t even restrain the shiver I had at his gaze. “Sorry, you lost the opportunity to do that when you passed me up for some ‘club business’.” I accentuated my distaste with said business with sarcastic finger quotes. I glared at him. “I’m sure the blonde who was draped over your lap would be a willing participant,” I continued, leaning in, “though she will be nothing compared to me. I’m guessing fucking her would be like throwing a sausage down a hallway.” I was surprising myself with such spiteful words, my jealousy turning me into a screaming bitch.
“You jealous. Sparky?” he asked with a glint in his eyes.
“Jealous? Yes, actually I am—she had on some kick ass heels that I was coveting. If you’ll excuse me, I have to go and find out where she got them from.”
I attempted to turn and walk back to the party but he grabbed my hand.
“Not that I don’t love it when you’ve got your claws out, but I think this extended form of foreplay has to stop. This is going to happen. We’re going to happen.”
I glanced at the bike that had just roared up, one Gwen was on the back of. I really didn’t want to have some scene in front of her. She’d be nervous enough about a party full of men without me adding to it by bottling her boyfriend’s best friend.
I snatched my hand away. “Sorry, you had your chance and you passed me up. I don’t wait around for anyone.”
I turned and strutted toward the party, swinging my hips a little because I knew my ass looked amazing in these shorts. I smiled when I heard the frustrated curse from behind me.
The night passed with a fair amount of drama, including me almost getting into a second catfight and I hadn’t even been there an hour. The second one was due to some other bee-atch draping herself all over Cade. The hurt in Gwen’s eyes had me ready to pass Rosie my earrings and go full skank bash on her ass. That again was foiled, this time by Gwen. I didn’t like the fact that her man had left her at a party full of bikers and then let a woman who should have been jailed for her fashion choices sidle up to him. Well, admittedly he pushed her away, but he had disappeared when he should have realized how intimidated Gwen felt by a party full of men who reminded her of the ones who attacked her. I was so giving him a piece of my mind later.
Apart from my worry for my best friend I had an amazing night, cementing the fact that Ashley, Lucy and Rosie were all seriously cool chicks. The more drinks I had the more I felt like it was a good idea to waltz up to Brock and demand he take me to bed. Who cared about the reasons why not? Him being seriously sexy and not taking his eyes off me was reason enough.
I was talking to Dwayne, trying to distract myself from the urge to go and lick a certain biker’s biceps when I felt heat at my back. A large hand gripped my hip tightly. I didn’t even have to turn to know who it was; the flames ignited from the simple touch told me.
“We’re going. Now,” a rough voice ordered in my ear.
The erotic promise in his tone plus the fact I was suffering from the female equivalent of blue balls had me nodding.
“Bye Dwayne.” I waved at him and he smirked at the nickname Gwen and I had christened him with.
“Bye babe.” His eyes cut to Brock. “Lucky bastard,” he muttered.
Brock turned me around and I almost gasped at how freaking hot he looked, all broody and turned on.
“Got your shit, babe?” he asked impatiently. I waved my Chanel at him.
“Right,” he murmured pulling me by the hand to his bike. I followed dutifully, my panties already wet with anticipation. We arrived at his bike and he turned to give me a head toe inspection. The heat from his gaze almost had me spontaneously combust on the spot.
“You need a jacket,” he said with a frown.
“I do not need a jacket,” I argued.
“Babe, it’s a twenty minute ride to my place and it’s cold on the bike once the sun goes down. You need a fuckin’ jacket.”
I crossed my arms. “Well, let’s got to my place. It’s like two minutes away,” I suggested.
Brock gave me a look. “I intend on fucking you for the entire weekend. I don’t want to have to worry about the neighbors hearing you scream after I make you come harder than you ever have in your entire life.”
“Okay, your place it is,” I said immediately, voice husky.
Brock shrugged off his jacket and handed it to me. I immediately put in on, inhaling his manly scent. He’d make a killing if he figured out how to bottle that shit.
“Now you’ll be cold,” I pointed out.
“Sparky, with your hot little body pressed against me it’ll be like riding through a fuckin’ firestorm,” he declared, handing me a helmet.
Well, alrightly then.
The ride out to Brock’s was awesome. I didn’t want to advertise it, but I had never ridden on a motorcycle be
fore. You would think during my campaign to piss my parents off in my teenage years a boy with a motorcycle would have factored in somewhere. It was the ultimate fuck you to Upper East Side parents. But I never got the chance. I still had plenty of fuck you moments for my parents to remember fondly. Like the time I replaced all of the catering staff at one of my mother’s charity events with strippers. That was a fun night.
I didn’t want to advertise my bike virginity to Brock so I had just done what I always did in life: fake it till ya make it. I had jumped on the bike like I’d done it a hundred times before and swallowed any anxiety. The thrill of hurtling down the road under the stars while pressed up to arguably the hottest guy I’d seen up close was beyond words. And a very special kind of foreplay. One that had me almost breathless from the vibration of the bike between my thighs. I had slipped my hands under Brock’s tee and run my nails up his rock hard abs. I had no choice in the matter.
By the time we turned up to Brock’s place it was safe to say I was sufficiently turned on. I think Brock felt the same because once he had turned the bike off instead of hopping up, he reached around and lifted me to sit on his lap. While sitting on the bike. It didn’t topple over or anything. I was impressed. He unclipped my helmet and discarded it.
He seized my head and his mouth crashed onto mine, plundering it, mercilessly fucking my mouth with his tongue. I ground against his hard on with a moan, the friction nearly causing me to burst into flames right there. His hand went to my ass to press me harder against him while his other tweaked my nipple through my shirt. I kid you not…I almost screamed.
Not many times in my life did I ever regret an outfit choice, but right now I cursed myself for wearing leather shorts. All I wanted right now was a dress so Brock could slip my panties aside and fuck me on his bike. Brock must have come to the same conclusion about the lack of easy access because he stood us up and dismounted.
“Next time I’m fucking you on the bike,” he declared roughly.
He didn’t move his mouth from mine as he carried us inside, me grinding on him impatiently. It seemed like it took him hours to get to his bedroom.
