Road Warriors (Motorcycle Club Romance Collection) (Bad Boy Collections Book 4)

by Faye, Amy

  Lara waited off the side and he drew his arm around her as Robbie, per Paul's instructions, handed the stack of papers, stuffed into a thick manila envelope, over to Helen.

  "What is this?"

  She had an incredulous look on her face. Apparently none of what he had said had quite dawned on her yet.

  "Helen, I'm sorry to spring this on you, but I think we both know it's been a long time coming."

  "You can't leave," she said. The idea seemed to be going through her mind for the first time. As if it had been well and truly impossible up to that instant.

  "You can't stop me," Paul answered.

  "I need you." There were hints, however faint, of desperation and even real feeling in her voice, and for a moment Paul sympathy, strong enough that he started to reconsider. Her voice fell lower. "I need you campaigning for me. If you don't…"

  He frowned and turned again. Part of him had waited for her to tell him that she was going to miss him. That had been a mistake.

  Helen wouldn't miss him; he'd never been there in the first place, not really.

  She was going to miss what he could do for her. And that wasn't enough for him, not any more. There were more important things than politics. He had to meet with a doctor to talk about a very serious and very expensive surgery.

  Epilogue

  Lara eyed her boys with the same bemused expression that seemed to characterize everything that she felt about them. She listened for the sound of wheezing coming from Tim, watched his movements as he twisted and writhed on the ground in a vain attempt to out wrestle his father.

  If he hurt, if he came close to pulling something, then she would stop them without a second thought. He always seemed to forget that it hadn't been so many years ago that he'd been sitting there with his stomach open wide enough for a grown man to stick both hands in and pull out large chunks of his insides.

  If he remembered it, then he made no sign of it. He had barely spoken about being sick at all since he'd recovered from surgery; if he thought of it as any different than any other time he'd had the flue, or a cold, then he made no sign of that, either.

  Her hand rested on her belly; it seemed to fall there naturally, regardless of what she did. Something inside her felt like it was twisting up again. This time, at least, she knew what it was, and she knew why she was so tired all the time.

  It was nice to know that it wasn't just anemia, that she ten hours of sleep was probably enough and she wasn't tired for no reason. It wasn't that she was sick, though the possibility was always there on some level. That was a very serious risk, when you were pregnant. Any illness that would be unpleasant for you, was liable to kill the child.

  Twelve years ago, she'd been young. Too young for a child, by today's standards. Now, she was a little old for it. Somewhere in the past century, the window for having children had shrunk until you only had barely enough space and time to have one child, maybe two if you had them back to back.

  Now she was older. Paul seemed to notice her watching and slacked his grip on their son. Tim wasted no time scrambling out of his grip and wrapping his arms around, trying to find a grip. Paul smiled at her and for a moment she thought he wasn't going to notice the boy who was at that very moment twisting Paul's arm behind his back by the wrist.

  Then, as if totally by surprise he twisted the arm back and slipped it free, dived in and his fingers found the sensitive area under Tim's arm and teased him until he was a writhing and gasping mess.

  Paul left Tim there, breathing hard. "Is everything alright? You need to go to the hospital?"

  She shook her head. "I'm fine. You're fine. Go on, Romeo, before Tim decides to start playing dirty."

  "I wouldn't do that," Tim protested. She winked at him.

  "Of course you wouldn't, sweetheart. But I have to make sure that your father plays fair, too."

  The words felt strange, even now. Even after two years and nearly six months. Tim stalked over as well, seeming to have lost interest for the moment in continuing their roughhousing.

  "Can I feel her?"

  "Sure," Lara answered. Tim put his hand on her belly. He seemed tentative, even nervous, and it gave her a warm feeling in her belly that made her glow with delight.

  "I think I felt something," he said.

  "She's kicking," Lara answered. She put her hand over Tim's. "Sweetheart? Can you go get me a glass of water? I need to talk to your father for a minute."

  Tim looked up at Paul uncertainly, as if he might suddenly run off again. It wasn't as if Lara didn't have the same fear, deep down, but she managed to convince herself it was irrational; at least, most of the time, she did.

  "You did this to me, mister."

  He leaned down and pressed a kiss against her neck. "I suppose I did. Is that going to be a problem?"

  "That depends," she answered. She moved her head and allowed him better access to the sensitive flesh of her throat.

  "On what?"

  "You better not run off again."

  He pressed another kiss against her neck, one that made her shiver as the beginnings of arousal started to light deep down in her belly. He pulled away at the sound of the back door sliding open.

  "I won't," he assured her in a voice that she found it hard to disbelieve. "Not ever again."

  His Captive

  Historical Viking Romance

  Amy Faye

  Published by Heartthrob Publishing

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  Here’s a preview of the sexy love story you’re about to read…

  The emotions that surged through Deirdre shouldn't have surprised her, but they did. She was going to get away. Going to be free. He'd promised it, all that time ago. Weeks. And then that had turned out to be wrong.

  Now here he was again, telling her that he would take her away. She should have been so many other things. Happy, or angry that he hadn't let her go sooner. Or excited. She felt… numb. Tired.

  She could already feel tears welling up in her eyes, and she wanted nothing more than to curl up into a little ball, but she had worked to break herself of that when she was still little. She'd thought that she was done crying after she'd been given to the witch.

  But that hadn't been the end of it. Then she'd cried over so many different things, but she could understand them, at least. So why was she crying now? She got what she wanted, and she just—

  She found herself leaning into Gunnar without realizing that she'd started to, her head pressed into the oddly comforting space between his shoulder and neck, sobs racking her body and tears streaming down her face.

  She needed to get ahold of herself—needed to figure out what to do. Needed to figure the route back home. They needed to get moving. But instead she just stood there and cried. The only thing that broke her out of her reverie was the feeling of Gunnar's arm, wrapping around her.

  She almost didn't realize what she was doing until her lips were already on his. When she pulled away for breath and then pulled him in for a deeper kiss, she had already decided what she was going to do next.

  Gunnar let her kiss him. He wasn't sure what was going on in her mind, but clearly it was upsetting her a lot. Then she kissed him again. This time he kissed her back, the worries of what he was going to do next slowly retreating.

  He replaced them with the feel of her warm body pressed against him, contrasted against the cold of the night. He felt himself stirring in his pants, but he held himself off. She needed whatever she was going to need, but he'd let her take the pace.

  Her lips left his, both of them breathless, and then she pulled his head into the crook of her neck. He planted a firm kiss, letting his teeth scrape lightly across her skin and enjoying the soft mewling sound she made at the sensation.

  He wrapped his arms tighter, pulling her into him, wanting to feel every inch of her pressed up against him. Wanting to explore with his hands. The tiny whispers of doubt and
uncertainty kept his hands from cupping her ass and testing its firmness.

  She seemed to be under no such compunction, running her hands across his body and up his shirt, her fingers dancing across his muscles, tracing a light, tickling line. She pinched his nipple softly, sending a spark of mixed pain and pleasure.

  Gunnar bit down on her throat, his teeth digging just enough into her soft flesh to draw out a moan. He wanted her badly. It was pure agony to remind himself that no matter how much he wanted her, he wasn't going to do anything that she didn't push first.

  That said, her roaming hands gave him tacit permission—he let one hand drop, cupping her firm round ass cheek in one large, powerful hand and giving it a squeeze. She didn't pull away, didn't protest, so he had to guess that she didn't mind too much.

  He used his other hand to test the softness of her chest, enjoying the fullness and weight of them in his hand—and then he stopped. Pulled away and tried to catch his breath. The cold night air burned his lungs and brought him back to reality.

  "Are you sure?"

  His own voice sounded strange to his ears. Hoarse, almost needy. Nothing like the confident man that he usually felt, this was unfamiliar territory with a woman who he had everything but a good reason to do this with.

  She pressed in against him, not answering, her lips tracing the line of his collar bone, and it took every ounce of self control not to take her right then. If she wanted him, then she'd have him—but he wasn't going to let it go this way, at least.

  He needed it to happen right. He pulled her body back in close, pressing her back against the side of the cart, forcing her to feel his hardness and his presence until they overwhelmed her.

  His hands explored the soft curves of her body, the long lines of her legs. They were exposed below the knee, and he broke from the kissing to expose more, his hands tracing the inside of her thigh, teasing dangerously close before backing away.

  Something in his mind snapped. Before he knew what he was doing Gunnar had Deirdre pressed back against the cart. Deirdre's eyes were wide, and for a moment he thought that she might try to stop him, but she didn't push him away and he didn't wait for her to.

  One of his knees pressed forward, separating Deirdre's trembling legs. She rocked forward, her body betraying her arousal in its pursuit of pleasure. A button popped off of her blouse, opening it further from enticingly low-cut to downright scandalous.

  One of Gunnar's powerful hands reached inside, pulling a plump breast free. He took a moment to enjoy the large, bronze nipples before he took one between his lips.

  Deirdre's fingers laced into his long hair, wrapping themselves in tangles and pulling him in closer. She continued to rock her mound up and down his powerfully muscled thigh, shuddering and mewling in the pleasure that both of them hadn't been able to deny wanting since they'd started this.

  He switched to the other nipple, his fingers coming up to pinch and tease the already-hardened nipple that he'd just abandoned. The cold made it pucker and between the feeling of his hot mouth on one breast and the cold air on the other she pressed into him with abandon.

  He took her hand into his and moved it to the hardness at the front of his trousers, moving it for her for a moment before returning his attention to her free breast.

  When he pulled away, Deirdre tried to keep him pressed in, tried to keep the delicious feeling on her breasts, but he wouldn't be distracted.

  With an easy motion he unlaced the belt that held his trousers up. Deirdre's attention automatically fell onto his hardness, standing proud of his body. She took it in her hand, rubbing up and down. Gunnar wasn't going to have any of it.

  "Use your mouth."

  She went down to her knees, his hardness still in her hand. Uncertain. He could feel the tension building, feel the need inside him. Deirdre gave the head an experimental kiss, looking up to Gunnar for guidance. He took her head in his hands and gently guided her, showing what she wanted.

  She could barely take an inch at first, but as she started to take more and more control she found space in her mouth, allowing him deeper and deeper in her throat, each bob of her head seeming to add a little bit more. He could feel release building with each passing moment, his hand tightening on her head, pressing with increasing urgency into her throat.

  With a cry he felt himself shoot once, twice into her waiting mouth. Gunnar struggled to calm his breathing as the need inside him continued to burn. He dropped to the ground beside her, pressing Deirdre onto her back.

  For a moment Deirdre looked down at him quizzically as he dipped his head between her thighs, and then with the first experimental lick her head shot back to the soft earth, and the question was answered.

  His tongue found the hardened bud at the top of her lips, his fingers testing her folds. Slick with arousal, he was able to enter her easily, wiggling his fingers, stretching and exploring her velvety cunt. He enjoyed the way that it seemed to suck onto him, her body trying to get as much pleasure as it could from his ministrations.

  Deirdre writhed above him, her body overcome at the new sensations, trying to grasp for something, anything that would help her to withstand the onslaught of pleasure that racked her body. His tongue lapped up the sweet nectar that moistened the way for him.

  Gunnar felt his hardness stirring, felt himself readying, but he held himself back, continuing to explore the folds of her pussy with his fingers and tongue. Deirdre's body stiffened, her hands finally finding purchase in Gunnar's hair again and pulling his face into her, her legs wrapping around his head.

  The little nub of her clit looked so enticing—he pulled it between his lips and sucked lightly and she let out a howl of pleasure that he had to believe someone must have heard, grinding his face harder into her mound as she rocked herself against him. He let her ride out the pleasure, his fingers continuing to explore her. Preparing her for what was to come.

  As she relaxed, letting him free, he spread her legs. Now it was time. Her hips came up off the ground just a bit, settled onto his thighs and lining him up with her. Gunnar's sensitive cock rubbed up and down her entrance, getting the head slick with her arousal. Deirdre purred out her pleasure when he lined up the head with her opening.

  He started to press into her, slowly at first. Feeling every surface inside her clinging to every line of his cock. Savoring the heat and pleasure. He needed her every bit as much as she needed him. Finally, they were completely joined, his hardness pressed all the way into her to the hilt.

  Her breasts heaved with each deep breath, creating a hypnotic show for the Dane, who waited. His hands were ready at her hips, and after a moment to enjoy the feeling of being completely sheathed inside her he pulled back out, then rocked forward again.

  Another thrust. Harder. Gunnar used her hips as a way to get a grip on her, using the grip as leverage to powerfully thrust into her. She was his, and his alone. With each thrust he tried to carve out the shape of his cock inside her, making her remember his shape.

  The noises she was making didn't matter any more. Let them hear, let them come and see them. It didn't matter. All that mattered was right there, in his arms, moving her hips to meet his. He could feel her tightening down, the makings of a second orgasm starting to clench all of the muscles in her body tight.

  Gunnar picked up his pace, fucking her with abandon as she moved below him.

  "Don't stop," she said. Her voice was low and breathy, as sexual as he'd ever heard a woman. He plowed into her, each thrust meeting them, it seemed, deeper than the last. Gunnar could feel his second release approaching, could feel the pull of need. One of his hands moved to her throat, pressing down. Asserting his dominance.

  She was his, and he would make her his. He pushed inside again. Harder. Stronger. He could see the pleasure written across her face, feel her pushing back against him as he fucked her. Then, with a last hard push, he exploded inside her.

  A moment of deep, harsh breathing, and then he bent down to kiss her. His.


  She was finally his.

  One

  It was a wet morning when Deirdre met him. The rain had been coming down, light but unceasing, for nearly twelve hours. The village had finally come to her, willing to accept her usefulness when things got bad, something they would never have done if they weren't desperate.

  Deirdre had felt the urge to deny them in their time of need, to remind them of how poorly they treated her. Of how she had to pay little'uns to go do her running for her, with promises of sweets and pastries. Just to go get simple things from the town.

  But at the same time, desperation was desperation. She couldn't deny them, any more than they could have accepted her. It wasn't in their nature. Brigid hadn't taught her all of this so that she could let her kin die because they didn't know what to do.

  So she had come, and as she burned her herbs and sat in a closed room breathing in the smoke and the heady smell started to go to her head, she had to admit that they were right to be desperate. Perhaps they should have been more desperate, because Deirdre had gotten there far too late.

  She had the chicken, and that was good. She wouldn't need to go out of this room, and it had been bolted tight. She would live, and she might be able to get some information to the next ones, along with the few that hid, huddled in with her.

  She took a deep breath, the burning herbs making her head foggy. The fog was important for what she had to do. It let her see things from a higher perspective, as if she were looking down from above. But it made it that much harder to think. If her teacher hadn't forced her to practice every motion until she could do it in her sleep, she might have struggled to recall what to do next.

  Popping the chicken's neck was quick, easy, and above all painless. That was important. She needed what it could give her, but punishing defenseless animals for petty human needs was something that Brigid had warned her against more than once. She hadn't needed the reminder; she knew that she couldn't let animals suffer.