by Raven Dark
Vicious’ brow shoots up. He grabs my ankle and spins me onto my stomach. His hand swats my ass, and the sting makes me whimper.
“Ow!” I let out a nervous laugh.
He lifts my hips, arranging me so that I’m on my knees with my legs spread, baring my pussy for him.
Jesus. I can just imagine what he sees. I’m on all fours, completely open to him, a position that feels incredibly vulnerable and sexy.
So hot.
The bed dips with his weight. He pushes my legs wider with his knees and cups my hips. I pant, my heartbeat filling my ears.
The head of his cock teases my aching pussy. I wriggle. His palm taps my ass just hard enough to sting. I go still, and he plays his cock through my sopping folds until I whimper for mercy. Already, he’s hard as a rock again.
“You want me fuck you, Anne?” he rasps.
I nod mutely, incapable of speech.
His fist seizes my hair, yanking my head back. “Say it, Anne. Tell me how much you want to get fucked.
Jesus Christ, he’s so damn hot, I want to die. Before now, I never would have imagined myself saying such a thing.
“I want to get fucked.”
One of those sexy as hell growls I love so much escapes him. Vicious drives himself into me in one swift, hard stroke.
“Ah! Oh, shit,” I cry out.
“Mine.” He pounds me, slapping his hips against mine and pulling my hair hard. “All mine.”
“Yes, yes, yes, yes.”
When I get close to the edge, bucking against him, he slows down, enjoying every long stroke and dragging out my need. He grunts his pleasure and rolls my hips at his pace. Then he speeds up, letting me know who is in control.
The need to come tears me apart. I make that high keening sound in my throat.
Vicious makes an animalistic sound in approval, and then his control is gone. He hammers into me wildly. I cry out and careen over the edge. He gives me three sharp thrusts and roars in release.
We collapse together on the bed, sweating and panting. Vicious rolls over so that he’s lying beside me. He rolls me onto my back, and I lift my face up to meet his kiss.
“Mm, that was nice.” His lips tease mine. Our tongues mate. “I shouldn’t kiss you right now. I might end up fucking you again.”
“You say that like it’s a bad thing. You think I can’t handle it?” My fingers play across the nape of his neck.
He chuckles, a low, wicked sound. His tongue darts between my lips and then sweeps hotly across my mouth. “You deserve to be held. You deserve better than an endless night of being fucked like a club whore.”
How the hell does he make that sound like heaven, make me want to be owned and treated to the dirtiest, wildest sex he can dream up for hours on end?
“I can take it,” I tell him, hoping I can.
“Stop it, Anne,” he warns. “Watch me. I’ll do it. You’ll spend the next hour being pounded into this bed until the second I have to leave.”
He pushes me over on my side and envelopes me in his arms, lying against me so that I feel every inch of him, hot and powerful. I groan in delight and press into him.
I could easily take everything he gives, but it’s nice to just lie here and be held by him without a care in the world. Once again, it feels as if the world has fallen away and it’s only us.
“I wish you didn’t have to go,” I groan.
“Me too.” He nips my shoulder.
“When will I see you again?”
“In a few days. Some of the guys and I have to go out to Atlanta on club business. I’ll come by and pick you up as soon as we’re back, though.”
“M’kay.”
He snuggles closer and kisses my neck. “Sleep. I’ll stay here a few minutes longer.”
I don’t want to sleep. I want to savor every moment I have with him, but if I’m awake when he leaves, it’ll be harder to let him go.
We lie there in each other’s arms for a few beats before he whispers in my ear. “I’ll take you to the club sometime. You’d like it there. They’ll love you.”
A rush of excitement mixes with nervousness. “A place full of horny bikers, booze and women like Birdie who jockey to be the first to take my eyes out?” I smile. “Sounds divine.”
“It’s not like that. Not exactly.”
“I’m teasing, Vicious. I’d love to see what your life is like.”
“Good.” He steals a kiss from my lips. “We’ll go up there when I get back from Atlanta.”
Vicious slips out of my bed, and I roll over on my stomach, hearing him pull on his pants. There’s the quick sound of his zipper, then the clink of his belt. The soft sweep of leather as he puts on his cut.
I drink in every move he makes over my shoulder. He’s perfection. Big, bad, dangerous perfection. Then I notice his eyes dancing as they watch me.
My cheeks heat. I’m lying there splayed across my bed, my naked ass bared for his view. I try to pull the blankets over me, but he jerks them back.
“Don’t even think about it. Never hide what’s mine from me.” He swats my ass lightly, then drops a kiss on my bare shoulder. “Sweet dreams, beautiful. I’ll see you soon.”
He’s gone, shutting my bedroom door behind him before I can reply.
“I love you,” I whisper into the darkness.
8
Misinterpretation
I wake up to the most wonderful sound in the world.
Bacon’s frying merrily in a pan, and at first I think my mother is home. Until I hear Vicious whistling and singing a vaguely familiar old song, something my mother’s generation would listen to but with a rock tone she wouldn’t touch. His deep bass voice drifts from the kitchen.
I sit up slowly, drawing my knees up to my chest and listening to him sing. His voice is beautiful when he talks, but the man can’t carry a tune to save his life. A snicker bubbles up, and I stifle it with my hand.
I like that he’s here, cooking in my mom’s kitchen, as long as she doesn’t come home early. It feels like he belongs with me.
Practically bouncing downstairs dressed in panties and a long T-shirt, I catch him flipping a pancake on the stove and turning over bacon. He’s all in leather, making for an interesting image with him tatted up and badass, puttering around the kitchen. The leather hugs every inch of him, including his gorgeous, tight butt.
“Morning, beautiful.” Not seeming to care that I caught him singing off key, he flips another pancake and looks over his shoulder at me with a smirk. “Are you staring at my ass, Anne?”
I chew a fingernail around a sheepish smile. “How did you get in here? Oh, let me guess...”
“Jimmied the lock.”
“You broke into my house?” I say with mock-offense. “That’s a crime, you know.”
He serves up a plate of food for me and sets it on the small kitchen table, then snatches a kiss from my lips. “Shut up, woman. Eat.”
I widen my eyes, but grin and sit down. “I thought you were going to be away on business for a couple of days.” I slip a piece of bacon into my mouth. It’s crisp, but not too crisp, just the way I like it.
He dishes up his own food. “The Prez called it off until tonight. His son’s in the hospital.”
“Is he okay?”
“Yeah. He broke his leg falling off his ride, but he’ll be fine.” He pours us both some orange juice. He pulls out a chair and turns it around, straddling it and resting his arms on the backrest.
I add syrup to my pancakes. “I’m glad he’s okay. Does that sort of thing happen a lot?”
“Accidents? Not if you know what you’re doing and you respect the road. I have to go in a bit, but I’ll take you for another ride when we get back from our run.”
“I’d like that.”
We eat, and when we’re done, I wash the dishes and he dries them. It’s a surprise seeing him do things I expected him to think was woman’s work.
I haven’t forgotten what I’d said after he’d left, but had
I said I loved him because I’d been caught up in the moment, or did I really love him? Right now, spending the morning with him over breakfast, watching him behave so much like a regular guy and not like a badass biker, it’s easy to believe that if I didn’t already love him, I would soon enough. The thought scares me a little.
Vicious doesn’t look at me at all as he dries the last of the dishes. There’s a tension in his shoulders, in the hard, determined set of his jaw.
“Vicious? What is it?”
He sets a plate into the cupboard slowly with a soft clink, as if thinking. His hands lower to the counter and his chin lowers to his chest.
Okay, I’m starting to worry. There’s definitely something on his mind.
“Vicious?”
He shuts the cupboard door carefully, and when he speaks, his voice is so low I almost don’t hear him.
“Move in with me, Anne.”
My heart leaps into my throat. I must not have heard him correctly. “What?”
“You heard me.”
Unsure what to say, I lean on the counter beside him, trying to get a handle on my racing thoughts. Last night, I’d started to think I could spend my life with him but knowing that it might happen and actually taking a step toward it are two different things. I hardly know him. There are still so many uncertainties, about his club, about what he is, about who he is, not to mention his age. I barely understood the biker lifestyle, and I knew nothing of that world. His way of life was something I’d only heard about or seen in movies and TV, and much of that is romanticized, a fantasy that probably didn’t come close to reality.
Worse, I’d only ever seen one woman who belonged to the club. Birdie is tough and rough, but she is also cruel. How the hell would I fit in with people like that?
“Vicious, God. I… I don’t know what to say.”
He faces me and cradles my nape in his warm palm. “I know it’s a lot. It’s fast—”
“Fast?” I rasp. “Vicious, that’s like saying the sun is hot. I’ve only known you for a few days.”
“I know. It’s crazy. It makes no sense at all. I’m being selfish, asking too much. But I want you with me all the time. I want to come home to you and know you’re there, know we’re there for each other. I want to go to bed every night with you in my arms and know it’s our bed.” His fingers squeeze gently. “No more of this halfway shit, with you having one foot in my life and one foot out of it. I want all of it. All of you in it, all the way.”
“Vicious, I don’t know,” I draw out, torn in two. “I want all that too, but…” I shake my head when he lets go of me. “You are part of something I don’t understand, part of a life I could never understand. Never fit into.”
“Yes, you can.” His voice is low and urgent as he squeezes my elbow. The feel of his grip grounds me, making me feel less as if I’m caught in a sudden gale. “I’m not gonna lie. It won’t be easy at first. It’ll take some adjusting.”
“Adjusting?” I let out a trembling laugh and run my hands though my hair.
My brain starts scrambling, trying to go over what little I know about the MC life. What I know isn’t enough to fill a thimble, but everything about Vicious’ behavior—and Cooker’s and Birdie’s—tells me it’s a world of extremes. A deeply misogynistic world where women are left in the dark about club business and their entire existence revolves around serving their men.
That isn’t me.
Vicious is already so all consuming; how much more so will he be if I live with him? And yet I can’t help being curious. I can’t help thinking that a part of me belongs with him in every way, and that includes his club.
“Vicious, what about my job? College? My friends? Will you just expect me to drop all that? I love being in the kitchen, but I like having the choice to be there.”
He shakes his head. “I would never try to take your life away from you. It wouldn’t be like that.”
“What would it be like?”
His shoulders lift on a sigh. He looks over my head at a spot on the wall, seemingly thinking. “Well, some of it we’ll have to talk about. You’d have to learn what you can tell your friends and family, and what you can’t. The club is about more than just pussy and booze, and a woman’s life is a lot more than just domestic crap. It’s so much more, Anne.”
“And what is that “more,” exactly? What is the club?”
His smile is warm and full of fire and love for his club that goes beyond anything that fits in my head. “It’s everything, Anne. Everything.”
I sigh. “I just don’t know, Vicious. This is all happening so fast.”
“I know. That’s the only way I know how to be.” He traced my cheek with his finger. “Trust me. Trust me to show you how it works, how to live within the rules. You can do this.”
I shake my head, but it doesn’t clear the fog I’m swimming in.
He sighs and rubs my arms. “Okay.” I can see him struggling to make himself back off, to be patient. “Pushing too hard,” he mutters. “All right. Tell you what. Don’t answer me yet. I’ll take you to see the club when we get back. You can meet everyone. See what it’s like, see how it works. Just keep an open mind. Then we’ll talk. Deal?”
I know what he’s giving me. How hard it is for a man like him to slow down and be patient with the scared, uncertain woman who he just wants to drag deep into his life full force, no holds barred. I nod and hug him close. Jesus, I really do love him, but where does that leave me?
He pinches my chin lightly. “Good. Now give me your mouth before I go.”
We kiss, and I wish it could last forever.
I have a lot to think about.
Vicious leaves the house and the door shuts behind him. The house is quiet, and it’s never felt so lonely.
His bike starts, and I think I hear another vehicle’s engine before the rumble of his bike engine fades and is gone.
“What in the—Anne?” My mother’s voice caries through the front yard. She sounds like she’s running before I hear the key in the lock and the door opening.
“Shit! Shit, shit!” My heart races, full on panic mode.
Mom runs into the house, and when she sees me, she grabs my arms. Her face is horribly pale. “Anne, are you all right?”
“Mom, what—”
“What the hell was that hooligan doing here? Was he in the house? Did he hurt you?”
Ohhhh, shit. This is not going to go well at all.
9
Half Right, All Wrong
As soon as she came in, I knew what had happened.
Vicious had been leaving on his bike right as Mom drove up. I could just imagine what she saw—the Hell’s Heathen’s patch on his cut and all those tattoos—before he rode off. That she immediately thinks he was some sort of criminal that broke in and hurt me, tells me all I need to know.
Which is why I pull myself slowly from her arms and consider my every word before I speak. Instinctively, I try to come up with a way to word things to cause minimal damage--as if by putting this to her the right way, I can get her to accept what’s been happening over the past few days.
But I can’t. There’s no good way to do this.
“Mom, I think you’d better sit down,” I say slowly. I hate that my voice comes out shaking. “There’s something I have to tell you.”
What’s left of the color in her cheeks leaves, making her look like a ghost. I can imagine what she’s thinking. I’m about to tell her whatever horrible thing he did to me.
She backs up and sits calmly in the chair I was sitting in before. “What’s happened, sweetie?”
I heave a sigh.
“Anne, whatever it is, you can tell me anything.”
I know that isn’t true. Not this time. The warmth in her voice, the attempt to accept the worst, makes my throat tighten. My eyes sting.
“Um. He wasn’t a…hooligan.”
I see her confusion, her restrained silence, not interrupting me. I look at the ceiling.
Her
e we go.
“His name is Vicious,” I say slowly. “And he’s…my boyfriend.”
A heartbeat passes. My mother’s eyes close. Another beat. Her shoulders lift on a silent breath, then they drop. Her mouth screws up in a wince as if I’ve just cut her with something sharp.
I know my mother well enough to know not to expect her to fly into a panic and start shouting at me or rushing for her phone to call the cops. She’s too composed for that.
She opens her pale blue eyes. Her gaze takes in my oversized shirt, my bare legs, and I can see the wheels turning in her head.
“I see.” She slowly sets her perfectly manicured hand on the table. Her voice is a little too soft and utterly calm. “Sit down, Anne.”
There’s no way to avoid the coming shitstorm, so I look down at the chair in front of me, the chair Vicious was sitting in earlier while we ate breakfast. Her chair. It’s still sitting backwards; that small detail leaps out at me for some reason. I turn it the right way and sit.
“Where did you meet him?”
It’s not casual question, the kind a mother asks when she’s interested and wants to know every detail about the boy from school her daughter is about to go on a first date with. She’s information gathering. This is the calm before the storm.
“At the restaurant,” I say quietly, knowing that won’t make things better.
“He was in my restaurant?” The inflection is barely there, but I can hear the horror in her tone, the judgment, as if I’d just said a serial killer had been in there.
“Yes. Mom, I know what you’re thinking—”
“How long has this been going on?” she cuts in smoothly.
I swallow. “A few days.”
She draws a sharp breath and then lets it out. Her eyes flick over my shirt and panties again. “Okay.” There is real tightness there now. For a long beat she says nothing, seemingly thinking on where to go next.
I seize the moment. “Mom, I know how you feel about guys like him, but—”
She puts up her hand. My lips press together, frustration chewing at me. She meets my eyes, and when she speaks, her voice is intently soft.
