DAMON: A Bad Boy MC Romance Novel

by Meg Jackson

  Again, Tricia felt a nervousness, a redness in her cheeks that had nothing to do with sun exposure. It was a date, wasn’t it? Everything about what she and Damon did seemed backwards. Usually, you went on a date before you hopped in a car with a guy, before he gave you an orgasm that rocked your whole world, before you felt comfortable sharing a hotel room with him; even one with two beds.

  “I think I'm going to swim,” she said, lifting herself off the bed. “Come with?”

  He shook his head.

  “Didn't bring my trunks,” he said. She bit back a smile. Damon would look exceptionally good in a pair of swim trunks. “I can't believe you brought your bikini.”

  “Bikini?” Tricia scoffed. “No, I'm a strictly one-piece sort of girl. And of course I brought it. I'm a girl. We always bring everything.”

  “Shame,” Damon said, glancing up at her. For a moment, she wasn't sure what he meant; why would it be a shame that she over packed? Then she realized, and she couldn't bite back the smile any longer. She was enjoying this prolonged flirtation a lot more than she should have. Damon offered a very particular sort of sweet torture, and she loved it. He offered tastes, just nibbles, and each one melted in her mouth, left her wanting more.

  Tricia dug through her bag, finding the modest black swimsuit she'd thrown in during her whirlwind packing. Passing by the beds again, she felt Damon's eyes following her to the bathroom; they followed her again as she emerged, wrapped in the far-too-tiny towel provided by the hotel.

  “Have fun,” Damon said, laying on the bed with his hands behind his head.

  “You know, you can see the pool from the window,” she said, nodding towards the big window that covered one wall of the hotel room. “Just in case you get bored of looking at the ceiling.”

  Damon lifted himself onto his elbows, gave her a level stare.

  “Do you want me to watch you? Make sure everything is okay?”

  Tricia's brow furrowed. That's not really what she'd meant at all. She just thought he might appreciate the view of her without the towel around her waist.

  “Uh,” she said. “No, I'm alright. It was just an idea.”

  Damon nodded, but his expression remained firmly determined. Tricia left wondering if she'd somehow messed up, if Damon's mixed signals weren't mixed at all, but she was just reading them all wrong. She decided to put it out of her head while she swam; perhaps the kinks in her back from a long day of driving were clouding her senses.

  20

  The few men she’d seen loitering around the pool hadn’t seemed to move much in the time it took her to get changed and walk down to join them. She lay her towel out on a lounging chair, aware of but unbothered by the looks she attracted. A look was just a look. It couldn’t hurt her.

  Slipping into the pool, she sighed from the reprieve it gave from the heat, the immediate sensation of weightlessness afforded by the water. She’d been on the swim team when she was younger, before nature gave her a body that didn’t cut through water as easily as her flat-chested, rail-thin teammates.

  Now, as she pushed off the wall, she just enjoyed the natural rhythm of her body, acting off long-instilled instinct, her arms turning into knives that sliced the still, blue surface, her legs propellers. She did a few laps back and forth, wishing the pool was larger, then settled herself along the far edge, where it was deepest.

  She let her legs drift below her, scrunching and releasing her toes. She gave a friendly wave to two of the men as they left the pool area, their voices seeming muted in the thick air. They’d been talking about a fishing trip. Tricia closed her eyes and thought about going fishing with her father when she was younger, her mind drifting along just like her legs, easy and free. This was a nice moment.

  Until she felt a blast of chlorinated water against her face. Shocked, she opened her eyes and blew hard from her nose to clear it of the intruding water. The third man, the one with the cooler, had jumped in right beside her, splashing her with the wave he created. His laugh hit her just as hard, and she bit back her irritation to return his grin.

  “Nice day for a swim, huh?” he asked. He couldn’t have been more than 22, with a bright red head of hair and a spray of freckles across his nose. Cute enough that Tricia would have flirted with him – four years ago, if she wasn’t already interested in another man. A man, not a boy.

  “Sure is,” she answered as he paddled away, swimming backwards. She closed her eyes, hoping it would tell him she wasn’t in the mood for making friends. But when she opened her eyes again, she saw that he hadn’t paddled away very far. He was swimming in a line a few feet away from her, his blue eyes fixed on hers.

  “You from around here?” he asked, keeping his chin above the ripples.

  “No,” she said. “Delaware. If I was from around here, I wouldn’t be at a hotel, right?”

  “Oh,” he said. “Well, kids sneak in here all the time. I don’t have to, my mom is the housekeeping supervisor.”

  “Cool,” Tricia said, pressing herself back as far as she could against the wall. She was a little annoyed about the interruption of her Zen moment.

  “I’ve never been to Delaware,” the kid said, stopping his mini-laps and floating in place.

  “Yeah,” she said. “Well, it’s not exactly the place to be. If you’re driving through, you blink once and it’s gone.”

  “You go to school there?”

  Damn, the kid was persistent. Still, she had to admit to being a little flattered. At 26, she rarely got taken for a college girl anymore.

  “No,” she said. “I graduated years ago.”

  “Aw, shit,” he said, splashing a bit of water around. “What, did you skip some grades in school?”

  Tricia shook her head. This had gone past the realm of friendly conversation. She should have known.

  “I go to school over at Trident Technical. Graphic design,” he said.

  “Cool,” Tricia said, looking away now and wondering if she should just get out. She wanted to swim a bit more, but not if it meant she had to endure much more of this.

  “You want a beer?” he asked and swam over to her side, mimicking her posture against the wall.

  “No, thanks,” she said, and pushed off, leaving him behind as she swam towards the opposite side of the pool. To her consternation, she saw him following her when she turned her head during her stroke, his own swimming sloppy and splashy. He followed her to the far end and back, was panting by the time they had made a full round. When she pushed off the end again, meaning to outswim him until he gave up, she felt his hand on her arm, stopping her mid-stroke.

  “Hey, you’re a good swimmer,” he said through labored breaths. “Wanna show me a few tricks?”

  She yanked her arm free, glaring at him.

  “Not really,” she said. “Sorry, but I’m just trying to relax.”

  “Oh, I get it,” he said. “You’d relax more with a beer.”

  “I don’t think so,” she said and dove underwater, swimming away from him again and hoping that her kicking legs sent a good dose of chlorine his way. When she got to the shallow end and turned around, he saw he was still waiting for her at the deep end. Now, he looked a lot less friendly.

  Tricia groaned and stood up. So much for getting the kinks out, she thought, splashing her way towards the stairs. The noise she made covered the sound of the kid lifting himself out of the pool, but she heard the slapping of his feet as he trotted towards her across the wet cement. She didn’t look back, though, making straight for her towel.

  “Hey, I’m sorry if I ruined your swim,” his voice came from behind her as she wiped the towel across her face. “Just don’t usually get pretty girls around the pool. Usually it’s all old ladies who wanna do water aerobics or whatever. And parrotheads asking where the Tiki Bar is.”

  “It’s alright,” Tricia said, running the towel over her hair to get the worst of the wet out.

  “C’mon, let me make it up to you, have a drink, it’s a good day for a cold be
er,” the kid said. “I’m Ron, by the way.”

  “It’s really okay, Ron,” Tricia said. “I’m just going to go back to my room and…”

  “Hey,” Ron said, and the tone in his voice forced Tricia to look at him. He reached out once more, taking hold of her arm. Firmer now. “Don’t be a bitch. I’m trying to be a nice guy here.”

  “I’m not being a bitch, kid,” she hissed, trying to shake free but finding his grip tight. “I’m just not interested in…”

  “Fuck off,” a voice said from just outside the gate. A voice Tricia recognized in an instant. For a moment, she forgot about the boy’s hold on her arm and turned to look at Damon, striding towards them. “Can’t you see she’s not fucking interested?”

  Before Ron or Tricia could react, Damon was on them, pushing the kid away so hard that he stumbled backward, nearly falling into the pool.

  “What the fuck, man? Who the fuck are you?” Ron’s face reddened, anger contorting his features. “You her fuckin’ bodyguard or something? I think the lady can decide for herself if…”

  “Keep talking, dilo,” Damon growled, advancing until he was nearly on top of the kid, leaning in so far that Ron’s heels dangled over the side of the pool. “You really wanna know who I fuckin’ am? I don’t think you do.”

  “Where the fuck did you even come from, man? I’m gonna tell the fuckin’ manager and he’ll kick you out of here so fast…”

  Tricia stifled a cry as Damon pushed again. This time, there was nowhere for the kid to go but down. His back hit the water with a splash, a splash that was followed by the sound of Damon jumping in after him. Tricia rushed to the side of the pool, worried that the kid had hit his head; it was the shallow end. When Ron didn’t surface immediately, she began to panic, her heart kicking up into double time.

  “Damon! Damon! You have to…”

  But then she saw why he hadn’t come back up for air. Damon was holding the kid by his red, red hair. Bubbles floated upward to the surface and Ron’s hands slapped at the surface of the water, the shivering image of his legs under the water frantic as they kicked. Damon was soaked up to his chest, still wearing his clothes, as he held the boy’s head underwater.

  “Jesus Christ, Damon, let him go!” Tricia cried, slipping into the water and trying to push Damon until he released Ron’s head. “For fuck’s sake…”

  Damon’s fingers uncurled and his hands lifted, a grunt escaping his throat. Ron exploded out of the water, gasping for air and coughing. Tricia went to him, helped him get his footing in the waist-deep water, and walked him to the side of the pool where he could cough out whatever was left in his lungs onto the concrete. Then she turned back to Damon, disbelief and anger in her eyes.

  “Take this as a lesson,” Damon said, avoiding Tricia’s gaze. Still coughing but no longer wracked with the pain of suffocation, the kid turned to face the older man. “Don’t bother women who don’t want to be bothered.”

  With that, Damon made his labored, soggy way towards the stairs, his movements slowed by the wet denim covering his legs. When he slogged out, Tricia quick at his heels, he didn’t look back.

  Jesus, Damon, Tricia thought, trying to figure out what she could possibly say to him now. You really know how to make a girl feel safe…

  21

  “What the hell was that?” Tricia said, closing the hotel room door behind them. Damon had dripped water all the way up, and now it pooled on the carpet as he stood undoing his belt.

  “He was bothering you,” Damon growled, keeping his back to Tricia. She was furious with him, but that didn’t stop the slight quickening of her heart as his drenched jeans fell to his ankles, his boxers equally soaked and contoured around his thick thighs.

  “I was handling it,” she hissed. “I didn’t need you to…”

  “He needed to learn a lesson,” Damon barked, interrupting her. He pulled his shirt up over his head and Tricia willed herself not to admire the strong muscles of his back, the tightness of his biceps covered in ink.

  “And what, you’re G.I. Joe? You reserve the right to run around teaching ‘lessons’? You nearly drowned him, Damon!”

  Now, Damon leaned down, gathering his clothes into a bundle and walked them towards the bathroom. Tricia followed close behind, the conversation far from over.

  “Stop walking away from me,” she demanded, knowing how shrill her voice sounded but not caring. She was growing cold, her own skin still wet, her bathing suit turning icy in the air conditioned room. Goosebumps rose over the flesh of her arms and legs. She followed him into the bathroom, stood with her arms crossed as he tossed the wet clothes into the bathtub. When he turned to her, naked except for the boxers that hugged every inch of his lower torso, she fought back the urge to glance down.

  “He had his hands on you,” Damon growled, eyes like a green and verdant wall of ivy, impenetrable and solid.

  “So what? No one asked you to be some gypsy vigilante. I was handling it, Damon. I don’t need you to protect me from half-pint little ginger kids,” she snapped. Her body was cold on the outside, but inside she felt a slow heat building, unwanted. She couldn’t help it. He stood there basically naked in front of her, every muscle tight and glistening.

  “I can’t see another man with his hands on you,” he growled.

  “Well, maybe you should learn to stand it, because…” she said, not really thinking about what she was saying anymore, her mind torn viciously between rising desire and roaring anger.

  “Because why, Tricia?” he barked, stepping in closer. Finally, she let her gaze drop.

  “Because…because…” she felt her mind spinning away from her like a ballerina. The barely-there cover of his boxers did nothing to hide the hardness between his legs. Long and thick and…

  “Stop trying to answer that,” he growled, and reached out with one hand, yanking her to him in a single tug. Her face flushed as the hardness pressed against her upper thigh, her hands automatically coming to grip his biceps. “I’m the only man who’s going to have his hands on you. And you know it. Don’t you, Tricia?”

  Her words caught in her throat. He reached up, his body relaxing slightly, his eyes going tender. He ran his fingers through her damp hair, the tangles and curls catching them at her scalp.

  “Don’t you?” he whispered, leaning down so that his lips were close enough for her to feel the breeze of the words slip between her own.

  “Yes,” she said back, her body feeling like a slow curling line, two points reaching toward each other. “Yes, Damon.”

  And then he kissed her, and the lines met, completing the circle. Her heart swelled behind her ribs. He ran his tongue across her lips until she opened her mouth, their tongues meeting in lusty abandon, her arms around his neck. The kiss darkened, deepened, their passion meeting, peaking, breaking. Damon slipped a hand around one breast, his palm warm against the cold, wet fabric of her bathing suit. Her nipples had been erect from the cold, and now they stood painfully hard, his thumb making her stiffen as he rubbed across it.

  “Get out of this,” he growled, pulling away to whisper in her ear. His words were a hot swirl of wind on her flesh. “And then come to me.”

  He backed away then went to the door, leaving her trembling behind him. Tricia stole a look in the mirror, saw how he’d left her flushed, her eyes smoky and lidded with lust. She peeled off the swimsuit, leaving it in a black puddle on the floor. Her body was all goosebumps, cold, needy.

  She followed him out into the room, saw him waiting for her, sitting on the bed, naked. His cock was impressive, thick and long and hard as a diamond between his legs. Tricia moved to meet him, but he held his arm out, stopping her progress.

  “Let me look at you first,” he growled, starting at her eyes. His dark gaze followed the curve of her cheeks, down her long, slender neck, to the frame of her collarbone. She let her head roll back slightly, feeling his eyes like hands moving down her body, across her rounded breasts and down the curve of her stomach, over and a
round her wide hips, to her trimmed delta, the glistening triangle where her thighs met.

  He growled, turned the hand that held her at bay into a hook pulling her in close. He grabbed her ass in both hands, leaning forward to take first one nipple and then the other into his mouth, gently swirling the hard buds with his tongue, giving her warmth where she was cold, making her moan and arch her back for more.

  Damon watched her squirm in his grip. He drew one hand around to her torso, palm on her stomach, thumb pressing between her lips. He found her wet, hot and ready. Growling, he dipped his thumb into her center then drew it upwards, pressing against her clit. Her whole being jumped at his touch, the demanding pressure. Pulling on her ass, he backed up slightly onto the bed; she lay her hands on his shoulders as he forced her to straddle him, his cock pressing against her slit while his thumb played and teased her clit.

  “Damon,” she breathed. “You’re so…”

  Her voice trailed off into a throaty moan as he pulled her down further while thrusting his hips upward. She took him in, inch by inch, feeling him stretch and fill her aching pussy. Her knees sunk into the mattress, his hand firm on her backside, his thumb torturing her clit with small circles. She closed her eyes, threw her head back, and sank down until she hit bottom, until his whole cock was buried in her warm center. The size and heat of him throbbed inside her.

  “Look at me,” he demanded, his tone forcing her to obey. She spread her knees slightly and looked down. Slowly, she tried to rise, but found him holding her tightly in place. His thumb sped up around her clit, adding to the network of pleasure that was building in her womb. “Don’t fucking move.”

  “How am I…” she started to say, but was silenced again when he began to thrust upwards from below, his thumb on her clit ripping up her resistance. He was strong enough to move her how he wanted to move her, one hand pulling her up and down in time with his own thrusts. His thumb never stopped circling, flicking, pleasuring her clit.