Betting It All: A Hellfire Riders MC Romance (The Motorcycle Clubs Book 11)

by Wilde, Kati

  Still reeling—holy fuck he’s carrying me—I ask, “What the hell do you have in there?”

  “Dinner, since neither of us ate at the meeting. Or fuel for later, if you ate when you went riding.”

  “I didn’t.”

  “Good.” He continues on through the dining room, where I finally manage to kick my jeans down over my ankles. They land somewhere on the short flight of stairs leading to the bedrooms in the upper level. “There’s also more lube.”

  I can’t stop my grin when I see the amused curve of his lips. God, even if he screws my ass, I really am going to enjoy this.

  Enjoy winning, I mean. Not this. Not the carrying or the licking or anything else.

  And definitely not enjoying the way he lays me in the middle of my bed, gently, like he’s some chivalrous hero and I’m some virginal damsel. Tension suddenly rides over me again, holding my body in a taut grip. At least the romantic image is shattered when he takes hold of the long rope and lashes it to the headboard, drawing my hands up over my head.

  Gruffly he says, “There’s enough slack that you can still open the cuffs with your teeth.”

  I nod, my body stiff. Time for the fucking to begin. “I’m lucky I don’t have a padded headboard. You’d have to tie me somewhere that isn’t as comfortable and it’d be harder for me to fall asleep while you’re poking your dick into me.”

  “Not luck.” He pulls off his boots, setting them neatly beside the bed. “I reconnoitered.”

  My mouth drops open. I stare at him as he places his shoulder harness on the nightstand, searching his face for the smile that says he’s joking. He’s not. “You scoped out my place? You broke in and scoped out my place?”

  “Yes.”

  Jesus. “That’s so fucked up.”

  Still fully dressed, he eases down on my left side, stretching out the length of his hard body against mine. “Yes.”

  Yes. So easily. As if he already knows it’s fucked up. Just as he knew making me follow through on this bet was fucked up, too.

  The bet. “When did you break in?”

  “About six months ago.”

  I tug on the ropes to draw his gaze up to the cuffs. “You’ve been planning this for six months?”

  “This, for two years.” His thumb slides across my open lips and down over my jaw before I remember to bite him. He pauses and his gaze returns to mine. “No. I’ve been thinking of this for five years. The bet just made it possible.”

  Five years. Since we met. I hate both the warmth and the ache that follow his admission. “Fuck all that. No matter how long you’ve planned, I’m still going to win.”

  “I know, Lily.” His fingertips trace the upper slope of my right breast. “You’re the only one here who can win.”

  “What?”

  “I lose either way.” Leaning over me, he bends his dark head, warm lips following his callused fingers. His mouth is gentle but each word is harsh. “I take you this way, using this bet, I never have you again. I don’t use this bet, I never have you at all. No matter what happens tonight, tomorrow I lose—but at least this way I have you once.”

  Something hot and tight swells in my chest. “You could have asked.”

  “You don’t fuck other Riders because you don’t want anyone looking at you like a brother’s old lady. You’d have risked that?”

  I can’t see his face and I’m glad he doesn’t look up at me, because he’d see something I don’t want to give away. I would take that risk. I’ve earned my place. I’ve earned respect. I might survive being with another Rider now. If it was someone I trusted. If it was someone worth the shit being with him would bring down on my head.

  But saying that I’d have slept with him would risk admitting too much, so I only shake my head.

  He can’t see my response but must have felt the movement. His eyes are dark and empty when he looks up. “Not just Riders, either. No local men. Women here, men in Portland.”

  My body goes rigid. He’s right, I never sample the local dick. But I don’t talk about my trips to Portland, about trolling a hotel bar hoping I’ll find a partner worth having for a night. About wearing my red dress and heels because that combo catches exactly what I want and because my kutte usually scares them off.

  And I hate that Jack knows anything about it.

  How does he know it? But I don’t ask. Instead I see the dark cloth he pulls from his pocket and shake my head. “No blindfold.”

  He hesitates. Actually hesitates, like he’s considering it anyway.

  “No fucking way,” I snarl. “The bet was you tie me up. You don’t get to blind me.”

  Jaw clenched, he watches me for another second. I don’t know what he’s debating but it must be something important—Jack fucking Hayden never hesitates. Finally he nods and rolls over to place the blindfold on the nightstand.

  Jesus. What the hell? He accepted every other rule so easily. No touching without being tied. No kissing. But he hesitates over a blindfold?

  What doesn’t he want me to see?

  But there’s nothing to see. He rolls back against my side, his expression flat, eyes empty. Just the same old nothing as always.

  Unless he doesn’t want me to see him touching my skin. Unless he doesn’t want me to see my nipples standing stiff as he circles the peak of my breast with his thumb, or the goosebumps that race over my flesh as he bends his head to my tits.

  God. That can’t be what he doesn’t want me to see, because when I close my eyes and try to shut him out, I can still feel him. The roughness of his fingertips, the hot glide of his tongue, the erotic pinch of his teeth that he soothes with a lick. His hand slips down my belly as he sucks, thumb dipping into my navel, fingertips sliding beneath the waist of my boyshorts.

  Desperately I grip the headboard, trying to anchor myself, to control my ragged breathing. I can’t stand this tenderness. I’m not ready for it. I thought he’d just push my legs apart and start fucking. Instead he’s tasting me, touching me, and I can’t get my head out of this bed like I planned to. I grit my teeth as his strong hand pushes between my legs, but he doesn’t rub my clit, doesn’t fuck me with his fingers, just cups my pussy in his big palm.

  Then his teeth roughly clamp down on my nipple and my hips shoot up off the bed, my back arching. Oh, fuck. I choke back my pleasured cry but he knows. He knows because his hand is all over my cunt and I just got so much wetter.

  Quietly, he tests me. Every reaction. My response to a soft bite. A slow lick. A long suck. All over my neck and breasts and belly. It’s sweet torture and through it all he doesn’t say a word, doesn’t crow about how aroused I am, though my pussy is a sweltering ocean against his cupped palm. He gives nothing to distract me from his mouth and fingers, offers nothing to piss me off.

  But I need something. Anything. At my hip, he licks the taut skin. He licked me there earlier, too, but now he’s sucking hard enough to draw a bruise.

  Panting, I try to get my head back in the game. “Either you’ve got a hip fetish or you seriously need a road map.”

  Oh, shit. He’s not supposed to smile. But he does and I force myself not to squirm against his hand. Why isn’t he fucking me yet?

  “Your jeans are always right here”—his tongue traces a line parallel with the waist of my panties, just below the point he was sucking on—“and your shirts always cover this spot. Except when you mount your bike and your shirt rides up. So I’ll still have this tomorrow.”

  Still have…what? A bruise?

  What the fuck— “You’re marking me?”

  His teeth flash in a grin before he sharply nips the reddened spot. Between my legs, his thick fingers plunge deep into my pussy. My outrage dissolves into a strangled groan that I desperately try to stifle, but I can’t stop the clench of my inner muscles. Sweet fucking hell. I can’t think of my hip or his mark. It takes everything I have to stop myself from squeezing his wrist between my thighs and keeping him inside me.

  I want to cry when he withdr
aws his hand, until his fingers hook over the waist of my panties. His big body slides down to the end of the bed and he drags the drenched cotton down my legs, painting a wet trail along my inner thighs. His hands grip the underside of my knees as he comes up over me again. Mercilessly he pushes my legs wide, exposing my pussy to his ravenous gaze, the aroused flesh plumped and slippery with need. Stark hunger lines his face.

  Oh, God. I can’t watch this.

  His head dips and I close my eyes. My body shudders as he begins tasting his way up the inside of my thigh, but I clench my jaw and focus. No orgasms. Worst lay ever. I’m just going to picture the turboshaft engine that powers my bird, then mentally pull all the components apart before putting them back together—

  Jack licks my pussy and the engine flies apart. Gasping, I grip the headboard tight. His tongue runs up the seam of my cunt and flattens over my clit, rubbing hard.

  Oh, my God, he’s good at this. He’s so good at this, licking and sucking on my clit, never hard enough or fast enough to make me come, never light enough or slow enough that I can concentrate on anything else.

  But I have to concentrate. And put the engine together.

  Except it’s so hard when Jack groans that I taste so fucking good and digs in, his thumbs spreading the lips of my pussy. His tongue spears up into me, fucking past my slick entrance in long swirling thrusts and setting fire to the nerves in that tight, sensitive flesh. I know my body’s undulating beneath him but I try to ignore my response, try to ignore the burning pleasure, ignore his mouth, his incredible mouth, and the way he eats me out like he knows just how I love it, rough and sloppy. I try to ignore that it’s so perfect, that he’s so hungry and I’m so wet.

  And the engine isn’t enough. I have to think of combat, think of flying through the night over arid mountains, knowing a missile could come any time.

  With a barrage of hard, quick licks, his tongue targets my clit. His broad fingers invade my pussy and slowly begin to thrust. I picture the fiery tail of a missile streaking across the dark sky, mentally perform the counter maneuvers. I’m going to die if it hits my bird. I can’t be distracted by Jack fucking Hayden.

  My legs are shaking. Oh, fuck, I’m going to burn.

  The tension’s so tight I almost scream at him when he lifts his head and his fingers slip out of me. Oh, no no no. My eyes snap open. My legs are spread, held apart by his body as he kneels between them. He’s looking down at my face, his mouth glistening with my juices and I want him to kiss me, I want to taste my pussy on his mouth. I want to bite his lips and suck on his tongue and hear him groan.

  “Giving up?” The words sound raw, as if I’ve been screaming with pleasure instead of holding the screams in.

  “No.” Jack’s gaze doesn’t leave mine as his hands drop to his belt. “I’m going to fuck you now. Unless you tell me to go.”

  I barely hear anything after fuck you now. “Unless I what?”

  “Tell me to go. I’ll walk out.” He pulls the belt free of the denim loops. “Just tell me to.”

  “Right. So you can tell everyone I backed out of our bet?”

  His expression darkens. “I wouldn’t tell anyone a fucking thing. No one would know about this bet now if you hadn’t announced it at the meeting.”

  And there wouldn’t be anything to know about if he’d let the bet go. I’m not going to apologize for covering my ass.

  But every retort dies in my throat when Jack unzips his jeans. Oh, Jesus save me. His dick is long and thick and utterly gorgeous, heavily veined and capped by a broad flaring head. His big hand roughly strokes his shaft as if easing the ache while he waits.

  My need doesn’t ease; instead it grows until I can’t feel anything else. I want that big cock inside me. I want Jack fucking Hayden and I don’t care if this is how I get him.

  Hoarsely I tell him, “I’m not backing out.”

  His fingers tighten, squeezing the broad head of his dick before he releases his shaft. His breathing roughens, but neither of us speak as he tears open a condom and smooths the latex down his thick length. Gripping the base of his cock, he moves over me, bracing his free hand beside my shoulder.

  Still fully clothed.

  “Wait,” I say and his body immediately stills. His dark gaze jumps to meet mine. “Shirt and jeans off. Give me something other than your face to look at.”

  He only hesitates a moment before sitting back and tearing off his shirt—and I just made a huge fucking mistake. Oh, God. Sometimes when he’s sparring, Jack will wear a sleeveless T-shirt but I’ve never seen him without one. I’ve never seen his chest but he’s beautiful. Broad shoulders thick with muscle, his sculpted pectorals darkened by coarse hair that narrows into a treasure trail. His stomach is tight and ripped. Ink covers the left side of his chest and shoulder, a combination of script and illustrations. On the right side, the Hellfire Riders’ emblem decorates his upper arm.

  I’ve seen that tattoo before. But not his chest and not the scars, from bullets and knives to burns. Jesus. Is that why he hesitated? My gaze shoots to his face but as always there’s nothing there.

  He shoves his jeans down heavily muscled thighs. “Do you plan to close your eyes?”

  Not if he wants me to. Silently I shake my head, my pulse pounding as he settles between my legs again. Bracing one rigid arm beside me, he grips his cock and I can’t look away when he aims that thick length toward my cunt. My fingers tighten on the headboard. Jack’s breath hisses between his teeth as he slides the broad head through my slick pussy lips and wedges his cock against my entrance.

  Slowly he pushes into me. God, he’s big. So big and I’m tight, my inner walls swollen with arousal. His heavy shaft sinks into me and I shut my eyes. The sight of his dick stretching and penetrating my cunt is too fucking hot, but now Jack is all I can feel, thick and sliding deeper and deeper and deeper, until he’s seated firmly within the greedy clasp of my pussy.

  With a groan, he reaches forward and grips the headboard. His voice is strained. “All right, Lily?”

  I reply through clenched teeth. “Just get on with it.”

  Please, please. Get on with it.

  My body shudders as he withdraws, my inner muscles clinging to his heated iron length. He pulls out, that big flaring crown catching every nerve lining the sensitive entrance of my pussy before pushing back in.

  Oh, God. My back arches as I’m stretched and penetrated again and again, as I take his cock as deep as I can. I’m supposed to be thinking of something else and distracting myself from these sensations but I can’t. It shouldn’t be this way. When I’m with someone I’m always all in, determined to make my partner come and to find my own pleasure, but I have to work for it. I have to concentrate. Now I’m working against it but the way Jack fucks keeps sucking me back in. He’s not just hips and cock banging away; instead his thighs are pushing mine wide and his knees are shoving into the mattress as if to make sure he gets into me as deep as he can. His strong hands are wrapped around the top of the headboard, his carved biceps bunching and pulling his upper body against mine each time he fucks into me, my tits swaying with each long, rocking thrust.

  My thighs come up to grip his hips, to hold him tight, then I realize what I’ve done and try to let them fall open again, but Jack reaches back and catches my leg, ratcheting it up higher around his back as he slowly sinks into me.

  God. God. Where’s the hard fuck? On a shuddering breath, I open my eyes and watch him fill my pussy again before lifting my gaze to his face. I need to see his empty eyes to remind me that this is nothing to him, that he feels nothing for me.

  But his eyes aren’t empty.

  Stunned, I stare up at him. Jack freezes mid-thrust, his body poised above me, his dark gaze locked on mine. And I see, I see—

  —agony, longing, need—

  So much. Bleeding from the darkness of his eyes, swelling inside me, and I’m suddenly so full.

  My body trembles beneath his. “Jack.”

  I only b
reathe his name but the sound seems to blow every emotion away. His eyes shutter and flatten. Abruptly he grips my waist and rises onto his knees, hoisting my hips high into the air and slamming his dick into my cunt with spine-jarring thrusts, as if a hard fucking might make me forget what I’ve seen.

  But it’s too late. I’ve seen and it changes everything.

  I’m still all in. I’m still going to win. But the game is suddenly different and so much more important.

  “Jack, I need—” I can barely catch my breath as his cock pounds into me. “I need…to feel you…against me.”

  A groan rips from his chest and he leans forward, lowering my back to the mattress and bracing his hand against the headboard. Not close enough. The rope securing my arms has enough slack for me to loop my bound wrists around his neck, bringing his head down to mine. His brutal rhythm stutters and slows as my lips finds his in an open-mouthed kiss. All at once he’s fucking me like a man starving for my taste, sucking on my tongue and pistoning deep into my pussy.

  Writhing, needing more, I lock my legs around his waist. “Make it hard, so hard.”

  “Lily,” he growls my name and I cry out as he grinds against me, rocking against my clit in sharp thrusts, fucking me with his entire body, his strong fingers digging into my ass, the coarse hair on his chest abrading my nipples, and I can’t hold on, I’m going to shatter apart.

  Oh, God. My fingers fist in his short hair. Moaning with each slide of his cock, gasping for each breath, I tell him, “I love the way you fuck. It’s so good, Jack. It’s so good, so good, so good—”

  The orgasm slams into me like a fist into my stomach, curling me against him, stealing my breath. My pussy clamps down on his dick as he’s shoving into me and I can’t take it, it’s too much sensation all at once, but his cock relentlessly fills me, my hips bucking beneath his as my body shakes through its release. As if the convulsive clench of my flesh snaps his control, Jack groans and fucks me harder, until I’m crying his name through the wave of another orgasm. Abruptly his powerful body goes rigid above me.