I’m wiped after having all that delicious wine and nothing to eat. Soon, I drift off, armed with a new set of images to dream about, including the hot biker with an attitude. I just wish thinking about him didn’t make me feel so damned weak.
I wake up to the sound of a strange noise. A very, very irritating noise that grates on my nerves. It sounds something like a shrill ringing. And a banjo, or bongo drums. I groan and roll over, forgetting that I’m not in bed but on the couch. Promptly, I land hard on the carpeted floor in front of the sofa, and with zero grace. And God, my head is pounding something awful.
“Shit. That’s my frigging phone,” I whisper, rasping the words from my painfully dry throat as I grope the coffee table counter to find my cell. “Hello?”
“Angel, honey? I’ve been calling you for hours. Are you okay?” My mother’s panicked voice echoes in my brain. Wincing, I switch the phone to speaker and set it on the table.
“I’m fine, Mom,” I groan, and lean my head back on the couch. “What’s going on?”
I blink the sleep out of my eyes as Mom babbles on about what’s on for dinner and how her week has been. Marley is curled up in a tiny section of the couch. The other two are nowhere to be seen, which probably means they’ve taken over my bed. Crap. My alarm has probably gone off in there. Then she asks if I’ve been working long hours. I see the blinding morning son piercing through my living room window blinds, and that’s when I remember. Shit, it’s Sunday. I’m supposed to be at the library today. It’s one of its busiest weekend events. Shit, shit, shit.
“The annual book sale’s today!” I shout.
“It is,” Mom agrees. “But I thought you weren’t working on weekends anymore, love?”
“I have to. Let me know if you want to bring over leftovers. I’m totally game, okay?”
“You need to slow down, baby,” Mom lectures me with her usual concerned tone for the umpteenth time. “All this work you’re doing is too much for one person. Live a little, will you?”
“I’ll do that when all my student loans are paid off. I promise.”
“All right, honey,” Mom says, and I’m grateful she parks the rest of the lecture so easily. It isn’t the first time she’s gone on about me being way too overworked for a librarian, and I know it won’t be the last.
“Listen, I need to get ready. I’ll call you tonight, okay? Love you, Mom.”
“Great. I love you too.”
I tap the end call button and crawl up the sofa to get to my feet, hanging on to the wall to support my wobbly legs. My gaze flies to the clock. Nine in the morning. Perfect. More than enough time to get rolling. With an hour to spare, I neaten up the place, toss the wine bottles under the sink, and head to my bedroom to get ready. Because what can be more fun than being hungover on a Sunday at my place of work, surrounded by more single women, families and kids than I know what to do with?
For the first time in a while, I’m counting down the minutes to closing time. The library sale has been a busy event. Patrons have been in and out since we opened, which is perfect for the library, but my head’s still pounding, my eyes are sore, and my feet are killing me from all the walking and standing around. Thankfully, in less than an hour I can go home and relax. I organize the last few remaining batches of books on the two plastic folding tables devoted to fiction. I resist the urge to stretch out right here on top of this table for a nap. Instead, I straighten my vintage Zac Posen leather skirt and return to the cash register.
A pair of large, rough hands places a thick encyclopedia and a tray with two cups of Desert Java coffee on the counter in front of me.
“This looks interesting. I think I’ll get it.”
My eyes crawl up from the items to those hands. Past the familiar bulging, inked up forearms and biceps, above those broad shoulders, my eyes meet a grinning Axe. He pushes the motorcycle encyclopedia closer to me. Immediately, a stress headache takes over a spot near my temples.
“You again,” I groan.
“Good evening to you too.” Axe taps against the checkout counter and crosses his arms. God, he has delicious forearms.
I pick up the encyclopedia to ring it in and know it’s not a coincidence he’s here today. He’s here for me. Trying to tamp down the urge to smile, I catch myself admiring the finely cut planes of his cheekbones, then stop myself. No, he’s not getting any smiles or friendly comments, not after what he did.
“Don’t you have anything better to do today?” I huff out. “The book is seven dollars.”
He reaches into his pocket, eyes piercing mine as he retrieves his wallet. “Here you go, and you’re welcome. One of these coffees is for you. Just the way we like it.”
I clear my throat and wrap my fingers around the cup, taking it from the tray. “That was a thoughtful gesture. Though, how did you know I work here? Or that I’d be working today?”
“I saw you that morning,” he answers. “And I was grabbing coffee just now when I saw the book sale was on.”
“It’s a bit presumptuous of you, don’t you think?”
“That’s why I’m buying the outdated piece of crap encyclopedia,” he explains, giving me a wink.
“Well, thanks for your patronage.”
“Anytime.” He hands over a ten-dollar bill, studying me. “How was your evening after I left?”
What a way to rub it in. I snatch the money and get him his change. “What the hell do you care?” I whisper under my breath so only he will hear it. “Look, as you can see behind you, there’s a line forming, so how about you collect your change, and take your exciting new book elsewhere?”
“Sure,” he says, and that cocky smirk lifts his lips again. “See you later, maybe.”
I nod, not quite trusting my voice.
The last few minutes of my shift pass slowly, more so with Axe still perusing the sales tables. By then, the lineups have all but disappeared, and my colleagues have begun to pack up items and fold tables, wrapping up for the evening. Twenty minutes stretch into twenty years with Axe’s gaze pinned on me as I neaten up. What the hell is he waiting for? No way in hell am I giving him another chance to get me all wound up for just one orgasm.
Pattie-Jean, my friend from Archives, offers to close out the till while I put the remaining books into the surplus storage room at the other end of the building. As I roll the cart down the wide middle aisle, feeling for my set of keys to unlock the storage room door, Axe falls into step beside me.
“Need some help before I leave?” he asks.
“I’ve had enough help from you, thank you very much,” I snap. I’m so unnerved that he’s still around, it takes me a few extra moments shove the key in and unlock the damn door. I push the cart to the back of the small room, and am not surprised or impressed to find that he’s followed me inside.
“You don’t sound too convinced of that,” Axe says over my shoulder.
I spin around to face him. “Listen, Axe Voltaire or whatever your name is. No one asked you to come sniffing around me, all right? Whatever mind games you’re into, they’re not working on me.”
All he does is take one step toward me, and I’m back in his enticing snare, hands on his biceps, pressing up on my tiptoes to meet his awaiting kiss.
6
Axe
I sure as fuck don’t intend to leave Angel in the state I found her in today. Not without at least reminding her what else she’s missing. Even if the closet is only thirty feet away from the cash register we just left. She’s said what she wanted to say, but nothing speaks more loudly than the same vulnerable expression in her eyes that betrays her yet again. She wants me, but won’t admit it. It’s interesting, the way she keeps her intentions tight to her vest, almost fighting against herself. I’ve got no idea which side of her will come out swinging.
And that’s half the fun.
Angel relaxes her generous breasts into my chest, and her fingers twist in a lock of my hair. “I don’t know whether to punch you or kiss you,” she admits, tu
cking my hair behind my ear.
“None. Both. Whatever you want, just as long as you’re enjoying it.”
She purrs out a laugh, and the noise goes straight to my thickening cock. Christ, I can’t get enough, and all we’ve done in the dark little room is a bit of kissing.
I fucking want her. And my cock kicking to life behind the zipper of my jeans is agreement enough. I hear her bite back a groan, and pick her up, lowering her ass on the same cart she just rolled into the room. All the air she exhales comes out in a hiss. I grasp around her waist, thinking of nothing but her body and her sweet scent.
“I love this leather skirt, doll, but it’s got to go,” I tell her, inching the hard to handle fabric up her legs.
Angel slides off the cart and turns her back to me. “Let’s try it this way,” she suggests in a coy whisper. She hikes up her skirt and bends forward, her hands gripping the handle of the rollaway cart. “But hurry. My coworkers will come looking when it’s time for the library to close.”
Fuck. Sex on the clock is not my usual deal, but for Angel, I’ll make it work.
Angel presses her ass back into my groin. God, she’s gorgeous from every fucking angle. Licking my lips, I take her hips and pull her closer, grinding my cock on her ass. I want her nice and wet when I claim that pussy. Reaching around to her mound, I slide her panties to one side and cover what’s mine with my palm. “You’re wet as fuck,” I whisper, pleased that I can turn her on so easily.
She moans out a whimper. “Take me, right now,” she begs.
“Only if you’ll let me have my way with you the way I like it,” I groan into her ear.
“Fine,” she hisses, and drags her panties down her legs.
Undoing my belt, I free my cock. I quickly drag a condom from my cut, unwrap it and roll it on. “Just so we’re clear,” I say as my free hand roams up to her breasts, “I don’t mean right now. I’m talking about you in my bed, any damn way I want you, for an entire night. Deal?”
“Yes,” she answers.
Taking her hips again, I position my cock at her hot, slick slit, burying myself deep inside of her in one sharp thrust. She’s so fucking tight. Her pussy hugs my cock tighter than a hand job. Angel whimpers out so loudly I’m sure someone will be at the door any second. She holds on to the cart with one hand in a white-knuckle grip, arching her back as I pull out and sink inside of her again. And again. I pick up the pace, sliding a hand from her hip to take her clit, only to find Angel’s already busy at work, touching herself as I claim her.
“You’re so fucking sexy,” I groan, getting close as I thrust harder into her.
She throws her head back and covers her mouth with one hand, physically muffling the cries of her climax so that no one passing by the room will hear us.
“Then, come for me,” she pants out.
That plea opens the floodgates. I can’t hold back anymore. Not after walking away from her with blue balls the other night, even if it was my choice. But now, with her core gripping my shaft, and her inner walls still pulsating with aftershocks of her orgasm, I don’t want to walk away. With three or four punishing thrusts, I release into her completely overcome.
She reminds me that we can’t stay here as we take a minute to catch our breaths. After a moment, I pull out of her and turn her to face me. “I am not done with you,” I warn her. “Not even close. Understand?”
“Yes,” she answers.
Quickly, we straighten out our clothes, and Angel lets me leave first to avoid suspicion. There’s time to spare. A few stragglers are still perusing the sale tables. No one seems to notice me as I stride toward the main doors. Stepping out into the warm evening air, I start to walk toward my bike, but I change my mind and decide to wait beside her car. What I should’ve told her is that I’m not done with her today.
7
Axe
I force back a satisfied grin as I stand in Angel’s monochromatic bedroom. The decor is a black and white theme. A modern sleigh bed is in the center of the room, a couple of chests of drawers are in one corner near her double closet, and two cream armchairs sit neat the large window on one wall. Everything’s neat and orderly.
Angel wasn’t ready to pay a visit to my clubhouse, but she didn’t mind inviting me to her apartment this time around. Thank fuck, because I was starting to feel like I was back in high school again. Still, I’m a little surprised to be here, and to find that she has not one, but three pets running underfoot. The woman doesn’t strike me as a dog person, or a pet person, for that matter. But as she chases three canines out of her bedroom and into a spare room down the hall, the pet lover in her starts to show.
Scanning around the room, I take in the childhood photos and family portraits hanging on the walls and on frames on her night tables. From the looks of it, she had a happy childhood and grew up in a well-adjusted family.
At least one of us got to hold on to our families.
I notice a few photos of her with a girl, and make a guess that it’s Dean Roman’s cousin. The resemblance is obvious. They look more and more like siblings the longer I look. And I’ve seen her somewhere before. Maybe Angel’s friend has ties to the outlaw life too. I wonder if Angel does too. So far, she hasn’t given me any hints to suggest any knowledge of that world. Angel seems like one of the most straight-laced women I’ve met in years.
I hear her at the bedroom door a minute later, flicking off the light switch on her way back to me. I feel her touch before I see her. Her hands reach around my waist from her spot behind me, her big tits soft and inviting against my back. Perking up, I turn to find her wearing something different. It exposes a lot more of her voluptuous cleavage.
I’m fucking hard and impressed at her choice of outfit.
She’s in some kind of leather halter dress.
Her fingers twist a lock of her blonde hair, and I can’t stop myself from swallowing down a groan as I watch her every move. The way her eyes blink up at me. Once. Twice. The curl of her soft fingers as her hand slides up the other arm and stops at her neck, massaging one spot. Like a silent warning, something in her eyes tells me there’s more to come, and I wait, curious to find out what else I’ll learn about her tonight.
“Down,” she commands in that tone she used outside the Hell Valley Saloon.
“What?”
“You don’t get to talk now. I’ll take what I want, and then you can go home happy, got it?”
My cock springs to life again. That look in her eye. She’s a dominant? Before I can ask, Angel puts her hands up into my hair and holds on to a fistful, tugging at my scalp as she uses her controlling grip to guide me down to my knees.
“There. Down,” Angel repeats.
Pain lances through my scalp as the realization hits. This curvy little thing has dropped me to my knees. The sound of my weight hitting the floor echoes around the room, bouncing off the chocolate brown, almost black hardwood floors.
Really? Domination? From this little vixen? I should’ve known, from that smart mouth and confident attitude. Female domination is all kinds of new to me. I have to admit, so far I kind of like it. There’s no hiding the reaction that flickers across my skin while I blindly search for her face in the shadows.
“Am I calling you Mistress Angel now?” I ask.
“I said no talking. My place, my rules.”
Entertained, I nod my agreement.
I don’t know what she actually wants from me, although I’m sure she’ll clue me in soon. A tingle of need spreads down my spine. My knee caps still ache like a son of a bitch. Yet I don’t move an inch. I’m curious to see what this particular version of Angel has in store for me.
Her fingernails delicately play along my scalp. Soon, I start to question whether seducing her was my plan at all. Maybe, in my own twisted way, I completely missed that she was in charge from the get go, and had me on lockdown the whole time. That’s a first. I swallow past the lump in my throat and close my eyes, taking a deep breath of her floral scent, patiently
waiting for the next words to come off her seductively bright red lips.
“Take your pants off.”
Her order is firm, but said in a whisper. Her voice hangs in the air as I do what I’m told, and decide to get to my feet and take the rest of my clothes off while I’m at it. My hands fumble against my jeans, but a second later, as I return to my kneeling position, my dick springs out from my pants into the cool air. Angel is utterly silent. Our choppy breaths seem to echo in her room. Once I’m naked, I idly wrap my palm around my shaft, stroking up and down my length for some relief as I wait.
“What are you doing?” Angel demands in a question, the sharp cut of her voice ricocheting around the space like a whip cracking. Her hands dig into my hair again. “Did I say you could do a damn thing?”
“No,” I say, but it’s hard to fight the overwhelming urge to pick her up, throw her into her bed and fuck her brains out. I’ll keep trying, for now anyway. I’ll give her what she wants tonight, especially if it means getting exactly what I need.
God, we’re a fucking pair.
“Then don’t.” Angel pats my head. Twice. My cock twitches from her touch. I’m eager for more of her body against mine, eager for this game to be over and done with so I can take the reins again.
“Touch me,” she orders, releasing her grip on my hair.
Ready to do just that, I brush my fingers against the soft skin of her bare thigh. All the air in my lungs leaves in a whoosh of sound. This is fucking intense, and she knows it. I hear her moan with need as she leans into my touch. I skim the backs of my knuckles up along her inner thigh, and higher, closer, peeling the constrictive leather material upward as I make my way to my prize.
And fuck, my dick is that much harder when my fingers reach her folds, confirming that she’s naked under this leather costume.
Filthy Savage (Satan's Saints MC Book 3) Page 5
