“What’s your name, Wildcat ?” he asked.
“Why are you calling me that?”
“Your tattoo. Come on, tell me your name.”
She hesitated a moment and then pasted on a seductive party girl expression. “What do you want it to be?”
He shook his head. “No. I want to know your real name and don’t tell me it’s Candy or Cinnamon or any of those other bullshit stripper names. What is it really?”
Like before, the guise of professional stripper deserted her and he could see the real flesh and blood woman, not the dolled up fantasy girl persona she put on to entertain drunken, horny guys. “You didn’t tell me your real name.”
“Well, let me rectify that. It’s Jake Grant.”
She nodded to him as though they’d met at a fancy citizen party or something and were making polite conversation. “Good to meet you, mine is Daisy Weston.”
“Daisy.” He liked that name, very old-fashioned and authentic. “What brings you here?”
She hesitated a moment and he thought she might confide in him, tell him something real but the actual woman fluttered away, and fantasy girl took her place. She licked her cherry lips. “Exploration.”
With that, she started to move on his lap and he lost the ability to speak once more. Let alone think. He didn’t come here for a thrill, but dammit, he was only human. He leaned back in his seat and let her grind on him. She carefully avoided his cock at first, perched a few inches above it, but he doubted she didn’t miss the way his jeans puckered and bulged at the crotch.
Nine Inch Nails’ Closer came on next and all that talk about feeling a woman from the inside sounded damn good. Might not be country, but he could relate to that shit. Especially now.
She raised her hands above her head and he thought for a crazy second about tying them. Fuck yes. He could tie her open, arms and legs stretched out. So, she couldn’t close herself off from him, spread her wide so he could fuck her. Endlessly.
She bucked against him then. Mimicking riding his cock. How much temptation can one man stand? Then she perched above him, bracing her arms on either side of the velvet chair, putting his face even with her cleavage.
He grabbed the chair arms again.
Then, she slowly slipped off of him, gliding her body down over his. Every single inch of her brushing against him until finally she knelt between his splayed legs. She caressed the outside of his thighs and he couldn’t help but buck his hips up. Meeting her. He spread his legs even wider and she rubbed his inner thighs.
He nearly lost his fucking mind. His cock twitched in his pants, as though it wanted to reach for her of its own accord.
She lowered her head between his legs and he groaned. Damn. The thought of her red, swollen mouth around his cock. Fuck. Sucking him deep, licking every single, hard throbbing inch of him. Christ, please! He needed it. Wanted it.
But instead of undoing his pants, freeing his cock and giving him the blow job he so desperately craved, she bent down and then placed the long column of her neck up against the seat with her face to the floor. Then, she gripped his thighs for balance and thrust her body upwards like a fucking gymnast. She pressed her tight ass up right against his chest and splayed her legs for him. Giving him a glimpse of heaven.
Oh, fuck me.
Between her thighs, her panties had twisted a bit, revealing swollen pink pussy lips, so slick and wet. She wanted him too.
He clamped down on the chair, viciously, fingers digging in. He called on every single ounce of willpower he possessed, anything to keep from lifting that tempting pussy to his hungry mouth. Licking it. Burying his face there.
He hovered in hell, unable to touch or taste, for minutes but it felt like hours.
Then, agile as a goddamn cat, she rolled back off him. With a grin, she snagged the glasses and sauntered to the table near the door once more, tantalizingly out of his reach. She peeked at him over her shoulder. He knew the look. She silently dared him, like a grown up game of keep away.
She undid a few hooks on the front of her corset and turned around again. Winked. The corset peeled away from her skin, fully revealing that smokin’ hot tattoo. He had the urge to trace the line of it with his tongue.
The corset dropped to the floor, but she wouldn’t turn around. She could teach a course in teasing When, she finally came his way, she held the champagne flutes and he was treated to the sight of her breasts bouncing. He rubbed his hands up and down the length of his thighs, hoping to ease his need to touch her by stroking himself, trying desperately to quiet his greedy body. His good intentions nearly shredded by need.
“Champagne is delicious, although it is an acquired taste.” She set her glass down, but held on to his and then straddled him once more, knees on either side of his thighs.
“I’ll take your word for it.”
“Try it again, for me?” She brought it to his lips and he obligingly took another sip, some leaked from the corner of his mouth. Yep, still tasted like shit, not that he fucking cared at the moment.
“Oh, you missed a spot.” She captured it with her fingertip and he sucked it in his mouth, licking the sweet little digit clean. He drew on her finger in a pantomime of what he’d rather be doing, sucking fiercely on one of her nipples. Both of them were hard, pinkish tan and so tantalizingly close he could fucking scream. Wildcat was slowly killing him.
Her voice lowered to a throaty whisper. “Here,” she said, pressing the glass to his lips once more, “have another drink.” He gulped down the rest of the foul-tasting stuff. He would have done anything to make her happy in that moment. He didn’t want her to get off his lap.
She brought her mouth to his, soft lips grazing his. For a second, he thought she would kiss him, but no, she teased him with the promise of one.
Damn. I’m going to cum in my pants.
And that’s when shit started to go south in a big way.
He suddenly felt a little lightheaded. Tipsy. But besides the girly champagne, he’d only had a couple of beers tonight. Okay, four beers. But that couldn’t be it. Now and then he’d stay out with the brothers all night, doing shots with beer chasers for hours sometimes. He had a high tolerance. Sure, he felt queasy as fuck afterwards and sometimes he even made an ass out of himself by singing Ring of Fire at the top of his lungs but he never, ever passed out. He could handle his liquor like a man.
But not this time.
A few drops of champagne had him feeling like a debutante on prom night. He had the strangest notion he’d just been fucked over.
He searched her face, but she seemed perfectly fine. In fact, she’d dropped the stripper facade altogether and watched him with a raised eyebrow and an air of impatience.
What the hell? Did she drug me?
He slumped further down in his seat, nearly unable to keep his eyes open. He heard her chuckle as she crouched over him. He struggled to lift his head, move his arms, but it felt like lead weights had been cuffed to him.
“Lights out, Cowboy,” she purred.
And the world faded to fucking black.
Chapter Two
“The bigger they are,” Daisy muttered as she hoisted herself off the unconscious biker. She pressed her head against his chest to check his breathing. He had a steady heartbeat and exhaled evenly, peacefully snoozing away.
Excellent.
She’d crushed up a couple of the weapons-grade sleeping pills the VA doctor prescribed for her into his champagne flute. Mixing it with alcohol had given it an extra punch, and sure enough he’d conked out.
Too bad nothing about this situation made sense. Cowboy didn’t seem like a Raptor. From what she’d discovered about the MC, they were assholes. They trafficked in women, drugs, and God knows what else.
Cowboy had been almost a gentleman, considering the circumstances. Sure, he’d been turned on as hell, but oddly respectful. She’d fully anticipated having to drug his ass sooner to keep him from trying to get in her panties but he hadn’t groped her, pro
positioned her for sex, or even said anything crude she’d have to slap his face over.
If he was a member of the MC, he didn’t wear a cut like his brothers. From her research, she knew outlaw bikers always wore their colors. It was a point of pride.
Hmm. Maybe he belonged to a different gang? Though, that made even less sense. Why would he risk being in another MC’s territory? They carved out areas for themselves and guarded them zealously.
I could see if he has any tattoos….
Bikers were usually tatted up and the ink would tell her which gang he belonged to, but that would mean removing some of his clothing while he was unconscious and vulnerable.
Maybe you just want an excuse to see him naked?
She stared at him for a moment, six and a half slumbering feet of sex on a stick. Hell, yeah, she wanted to take a closer look.
He had a muscular build with longish dark brown hair and a couple of days’ worth of beard growth on his handsome face. She gingerly undid the buttons on his denim shirt and then eased the edge of his black cotton T-shirt up, but he didn’t stir.
No chest hair and no tats on his torso, just a couple of necklaces, one a steel cross and the other a horse pendant. He had a muscled abdomen and smooth tanned skin, which her fingers itched to explore further, but she had to keep site of the mission.
She carefully pushed the denim down his arm and then peeled the shirt back to reveal his bicep. Hmm. Another horse. This time, a club logo, the kind bikers wore on the back of their cuts.
Four Horsemen, Texas.
It was official. Cowboy wasn’t a Raptor. They Raptors had this whole bird of prey symbol–hawks and eagles, and other flying taloned things.
That meant she should stop undressing Cowboy.
Damn.
But she hadn’t sated her curiosity. Not yet. She wanted to see more of his tawny skin. Besides, he’d gotten a free show earlier in the evening. Tit for tat, right? Literally, in this case.
She unveiled the other arm, and found a horseshoe inked on it. When, she tried to maneuver him forward, so she could see his back, she couldn’t quite lift him, not without risking waking him up. Well, she could check a bit lower instead, just in case any other tats had escaped her notice. Seated low on his hip, he had a six shooter tattoo, positioned as though it had been strapped to him. It disappeared beneath the waistband of his tight blue jeans.
She paused, tempted to ease open his fly. Earlier, she’d felt his cock pressing against her when she’d slid down his body, hot and hard and oh so thick. She couldn’t help but wonder what it looked like, what it would feel like in her hand. Maybe her mouth. Oh God. And the way he’d watched her every little move…she’d gotten lost in the role of femme fatale for a few minutes.
Daisy shook her head, trying to get a grip. Back to business.
She couldn’t afford to listen to her clamoring hormones. With a sigh, she put his clothing back to rights. Daisy stood and on impulse, leaned down and pressed a kiss to his full, sensual mouth.
He sighed, turning towards her. “Wildcat,” he murmured, eyes opening briefly before he drifted off again.
“Good night, sweet prince.” What a pity. If they’d met under different circumstances she would have loved to spend the night with him. He looked like the perfect candidate for a one night stand. Sexy, good looking, and most importantly – disposable. Bikers weren’t exactly the dating type.
Enough fooling around.
Cowboy would okay, sleeping it off in the room and she had a more pressing priority. The champagne room happened to be right across from the Pussycat Palace manager’s office, where all the records were presumably kept. Could get dicey if she got caught, but she’d risk it for her sister. Three tours in Afghanistan had quelled most of her fears. She rode headlong into danger with the best of them now and it barely fazed her anymore.
She struggled back into her discarded lingerie, feeling awkward as crap in this slutty getup. She’d take fatigues and combat boots any day of the week. Easing open the door, she poked her head out to see one of the bouncers at the end of the hall, his back to her. He surveyed the club, arms crossed, and his full attention firmly focused on the group of army boys by the stage.
Sucker.
She tiptoed to the office door and removed the lock pick kit she’d smuggled in. She’d had to duct tape the damn thing to the inside of her corset. It took up precious breathing room, but was totally worth it.
She kept one eye on the bouncer and placed her ear against the wooden door to listen She didn’t hear anyone inside, so she inserted a little wrench into the keyhole and then the pick. And listened carefully to every creak and click the lock made as she painstakingly raked the pins one by one, lifting them up until all of five had released – letting her in easily.
The dumbasses had a regular lock and breaking in took a matter of seconds. She quietly shut the door behind her and stuffed the kit back in her corset.
Snoop time.
The place had seen better days. The room had dingy cream paint on the walls, yellowed with age and discolored by stale cigarette smoke, a threadbare gray carpet covered the floor, dotted with mystery stains. She had no idea what had caused them and given this establishment? She was pretty sure she didn’t want to know.
No computer in sight. Strange.
She searched the rusty old desk first, but didn’t find anything other than staplers and pens, and some blank pads of paper in the center drawer. In the bottom drawer, she came across a box full of receipts, mostly liquor purchases, so nothing of interest. Then, she found a leather-bound ledger, but it only had the payroll and some random expenses in it. She wondered why the club used something so antiquated instead of modern software, but she had no doubt it related to their illegal activity. Easier to cook the book without an electronic record.
In the very bottom of another locked drawer, which she’d easily been able to coax open, she found a stash of ecstasy -- hundreds of pills. Earlier that evening, Junior, the club manager, had offered up X to anyone who wanted it before the doors opened tonight.
The drug reportedly induced euphoria and a desire to be touched, so she bet the club thought it would help their bottom line by making the girls more pliable. All the dancers had willingly swallowed it down like candy, except for Daisy, who had only pretended to take a dose.
While the club used drugs to coerce the dancers, it only took Daisy a couple of hours to determine the women here had not been trafficked. They came and went as they pleased; they got paid for their work, too, even if the club took half of their tips. Daisy stared at the brightly colored pills, and wished she could flush the X down the toilet, but she couldn’t let on that she’d been in here.
Besides, the club would only buy more junk to drug them with. She’d shut them down soon enough. Permanently. Daisy relocked the drawer and then headed over to the filing cabinet.
As she turned, the he door flew open and she reached for her gun, which she’d also stuffed into her corset, but managed to stop herself at the last second. No point in blowing her cover if she didn’t need to.
“What the fuck are you doing in here?” Junior bellowed, staring at her from the doorway, arms crossed over his barrel chest. He was a short man with a long graying beard and rusty red hair that nearly brushed his shirt collar. “Your ass is supposed to be shaking on stage.”
She pasted on a dazed look.
Daisy had her fair share of male attention in the Marines and she’d learned how to flirt and tease.
There seemed to be two routes women in the military took. One, embrace your sexuality and risk being labeled a whore. In fact, some of the men referred to “easy” women as “mattresses”. How disgusting was that? The other route involved, rejecting your sexuality and being considered a prude—a classic no win situation.
Straight out of basic, she used sex as a crutch her first few months in the desert. In the middle of a war zone, when she could have died any minute, sex had a calming effect on her jangled ne
rves. She viewed it as a treat in the beginning, something pleasurable which made her feel better, like ice cream or a good book.
“Sorry. The door was open, and I couldn’t help but wonder,” she whispered to Junior, “if you had any more of those happy pills.”
He cocked his head to the side, studying her, and then grunted in response, but he seemed to have bought her act. “I told those idiot prospects to keep this fucking door locked.” He walked to the desk and rummaged around until he retrieved another pink pill with a butterfly embossed on the top.
“Open up wide,” he said, holding it out to her.
She obediently opened her mouth for it and he got close, crowding her. She tensed as he ‘accidently’ grazed her breast when he raised his hand and then placed it on her tongue.
Daisy licked her lips, pretending to savor the pill, but quickly tucked it in her cheek and only pretended to swallow. “Mmm,” she said and added an intoxicated giggle. “That’s what I needed. Thank you.”
Junior’s eyes drifted to her breasts, which were pushed up by the corset. “Damn, you got some big titties.” He ran one stubby finger along the satin edge of her corset, fingertips grazing her skin.
She fought the urge sock him in the jaw.
“I don’t pay you to keep ‘em hidden though.” He started to undo the hooks and eyes, his meaty hands fumbling with the clasps.
Her brain raced, trying to come with a way to keep him from discovering the lock kit and gun tucked in her lingerie. She eased away from him and his brow furrowed as he watched her. Then turned and bent over, wiggling her butt. “And what do you think of my ass?”
He laughed, obviously taking the gesture as a flirtation rather than the evasion it really was.
“It’s pretty fucking fine, too.” He gave it a hard smack. Junior rubbed his palm over the bared half-moon of her left cheek revealed by her panties. “I don’t have time for a fuck now, but we’ll play soon enough. Now get your backside out on stage.”
Hot as Hades (Four Horsemen MC Book 2) Page 2
