by Maisey Yates
She was done with brunch. She wanted Micah. And she was going to have him.
Chapter 9
Sarah walked into the mansion, hoping that she would find Micah there. And if she didn’t, she would shake down Bourbon Street until she did. She was a woman on a mission, and she would not be stopped.
She tugged on the index finger of her pristine white glove, yanking it off and casting it to the floor, followed by the second glove. “Micah?” she shouted, the word echoing in the antechamber.
She reached for the pearls, those pearls she had counted on to restore civility, and tore them from her neck, the precious objects scattering over the marble floor. She didn’t want civility. She didn’t want fake smiles carefully concealing insults. Didn’t want to spend another moment trying to please people who didn’t know the first thing about living.
She’d spent so much time, too much, living for other people. Even the things she’d done in secret had been designed to support that public image. Even that relationship that had been meant to be the most intimate, the most honest, had been nothing but lies. Micah might be a stranger, but he was the only man to reach deep inside her and find the truth. He was the only person she’d ever truly been herself with.
She wanted to erase the makeup from her face, wanted her perfectly coiffed, Aquanet-do completely destroyed by his hands, his fingers buried deep, pulling hard. Hurting her, pleasuring her. Because it was real. Because she felt it all.
She was so hungry for sensation that she craved it all.
She heard heavy footsteps and looked up and saw Micah standing at the head of the stairs.
“What are you doing here, princess?”
“I’m here to beg.”
He put his hand on the banister, his eyes never leaving hers. “Are you really?”
“Yes,” she said, her voice trembling slightly now.
She reached behind her back and grabbed hold of the zipper tab on her dress, pulling it down gently, letting the bodice fall loose, shrugging her shoulders, and letting the garment pool on the floor at her feet.
“Go ahead,” he said, not moving, not giving any quarter. He could see that she was vulnerable, she was sure of that. Could see that this was costing her. And he was intent on making sure it cost just that much more.
But then, he wouldn’t be Micah if he didn’t. He wouldn’t be half as sexy to her if he didn’t.
She lowered herself to her knees, her limbs shaking as she did. “Please.”
“Please what?”
“Fuck me,” she said, the words loud in the empty space. “Hard.”
“So,” he said, starting down the stairs, “you want me now. What changed your mind?”
“I didn’t change my mind,” she said, forcing each word to come out strong, steady. “I just decided to tell the truth.”
He finished his descent and walked across the room toward her. “You lied to me?”
“Yes. I lied to you.”
“You lied to me,” he said, approaching her slowly, reaching back and grabbing a fistful of her hair, tilting her face up sharply. “And now you think I should give you what you want?”
Pain pricked her scalp, spread outward, along with the heat that was blooming in her stomach and bleeding through her body, pooling low, deep inside of her. “Yes.”
He pulled harder and she gasped as the pain sent an arrow of pleasure down straight between her thighs. “You think you deserve for me to fuck you?” he growled.
She didn’t know what to say. Didn’t understand what he was doing, if this was part of the game. Maybe women were supposed to have a natural instinct for how to respond in these scenarios. She only knew that she wanted. So much that she ached with it. In a commitment straight down to her bones that transcended simple sexual desire. She was in a fight. A fight with herself, a fight to find herself.
And her response here would determine what happened next. If she answered wrong, he might walk away.
She couldn’t have him walk away.
“I know I don’t deserve it,” she said, the words coming out in a rush. “But I need it. I need you.”
He angled closer, his denim-covered erection clearly visible through the fabric of his jeans. She leaned in, ignoring the slight resistance she met as she did so, and rested her head on his thigh, looking up at him. She raised her hand, palming his arousal, squeezing him gently, then more firmly, until a harsh gust of air hissed through his teeth, until she could sense some of his control fraying around the edges.
“Please,” she repeated, continuing to stroke him.
She found herself being hauled to her feet, one arm wrapped around her waist, the other firmly buried in her hair. He pulled her up against his body, her breasts pressed hard against the muscular wall of his chest. Before she could say anything else, before she could even breathe, his lips had crashed down on hers, taking her, claiming her.
This was what she wanted. This was exactly what she wanted.
“Please,” she said again as he removed his mouth from hers and set about kissing her neck, biting her gently as he did.
He reached into his back pocket, releasing his hold on her for a moment, producing his wallet and taking a condom out of it. He opened his belt, the front of his jeans, and freed himself. “You want it hard?”
“Yes,” she said.
“You want this now.” He wrapped his hand around his cock, stroking himself as he rolled on the condom, his eyes burning into hers.
“Yes.”
He reached between her thighs and swept her panties to the side, closing the distance between their bodies, dragging the head of his arousal through her slick folds. She gasped, the sensation nearly making her knees buckle. He flexed his hips, the near-penetration a tease that verged on pain.
He moved his hands down to cup her ass, squeezing her tight, before slapping her hard. Then he slid his hand down her side, pulling her leg up over his hip as he thrust deep inside of her. Only his strength kept them both upright. She would have fallen into a heap on the floor if he wasn’t clinging so tightly to her.
He propelled them both backward against the wall, an echo of the first time they’d come together. But this time he was buried deep inside of her. And once the wall was behind her, offering support, he withdrew before thrusting in hard.
She gripped his shoulders, her fingernails digging into his skin. If it bothered him, he didn’t show it. Instead, he turned his head and bit her neck harder, a feral growl on his lips as he established a rhythm that was blinding in its intensity. The wall was hard at her back, her shoulder blades, her hip bones aching as each movement of his body threatened to crack the plaster that held them both up.
He reached down, taking hold of her other leg and draping it over his hip. She locked her feet together behind him, weightless now, dependent solely on him for support as he pushed them both higher and higher, closer and closer to the edge.
She was tempted to close her eyes, but she forced herself to leave them open. To stare at the chandelier overhead, and then at the square cut of his jaw, clenched tight, the focus in his dark gaze. She could see that he was fighting to maintain control. Fighting to keep himself from finishing before she did. The fact that she could read that, the fact she knew that, sent a sharp pang of satisfaction through her.
Because Sarah Delacroix, who wore gloves and pearls to luncheons, did not make men fight to maintain their control. She certainly didn’t find herself pinned against a wall getting screwed so hard she could barely breathe.
Sarah Delacroix, who told everyone just what she thought about them, who tore off those pearls and let them scatter, not caring where they landed, did. She knew for a fact which Sarah she wanted to be.
She closed her eyes, let her head fall back, gave herself over to the moment completely. She let her mind go blank, no thoughts at all. Only feeling. His body, hot and hard in front of her, the wall smooth and cool behind her. The tension deepened low inside of her that was winding tighter and tighter w
ith each and every thrust of his body into hers. His breath, hot on her neck, the rough, harsh sound of his breathing.
He pushed into her harder, grinding his hips, intensifying the pressure on her clit. She froze, arching her back, pleasure crashing into her like a freight train, leaving her spent, breathless. Suddenly, he withdrew from her, setting her feet firmly back on the ground before dropping to his knees in front of her. He took hold of her legs again, draping each over his shoulders, using the wall to continue to support her back as he buried his face between her thighs, launching into a shocking assault on her pleasure-sensitized body with his lips and tongue.
She grabbed hold of the back of his neck, barely able to breathe, barely able to speak. “Micah. Please. No, I can’t. Not again.”
He didn’t say anything, didn’t respond, and he didn’t stop. He devoured her, each hot pass of his tongue over her body sending a sharp, hot sting of pleasure through her. It was too much. She was going to break apart. She wasn’t going to survive. The first climax had nearly broken her. This one would undo her completely.
Isn’t that what you want? Isn’t that what you need?
Yes. Yes. She needed this. Needed him. Needed him to break her entirely so that she could rebuild herself into something different. So that she would be scattered like that pearl necklace, so that she could never be rebuilt in the same fashion she’d once been.
She held tightly to him, moving her hips in time with his mouth, pushing herself harder, farther, even though it brought her to the brink of pain. Her orgasm left her shaking, a hoarse cry escaping her lips, bright lights flickering behind her eyelids. She’d never experienced anything like this, something that took her so far beyond herself. He lifted his head, relaxing his hold on her, letting her slide down to the floor. He parted her thighs aggressively, taking hold of her hands, raising her wrists above her head as he brought his cock up against the entrance to her body and pushed inside of her again.
Color exploded behind her eyes as a mini aftershock hit her, building another climax on the back of the one that had just torn through her as he chased his own. There was no way she would survive this. No way she would survive him. But she was at his mercy, under his control. She had no choice but to submit.
That thought brought with it a wild, giddy feeling of complete and total freedom. And when he froze above her, shuddering out his release, she gave herself up to another of her own.
She couldn’t move. She didn’t know if she would ever move again. Her limbs felt liquid. Her muscles weak, her bones completely dissolved. And so she lay there on her back, on the cold marble floor, staring at the ceiling, trying to catch her breath. She turned her head to the side and saw a stray pearl from the necklace she’d demolished upon her entry to the house.
Now she was perfectly demolished too.
She looked up at Micah, and she had the stark, deep desire to know what he might be thinking. She raised her hand, the motion involuntary, since she had no control over her body at this point, and brushed a lock of dark hair from his forehead. He flinched against the gentle touch, and she realized she had probably overstepped. Realized that at any moment he was going to ask her to leave. As he had done before. That he would leave her here, cold and bereft on the floor, because he didn’t like to talk. Because he didn’t cuddle.
“Come on,” he said, his voice rough as he moved away from her, as he bent and scooped her up, drawing her close to his chest. “Let’s get you to bed.”
She was shocked, confused, but didn’t want to argue. So she just wrapped her arms around his neck and allowed him to carry her up the stairs, heading toward the bedroom he was staying in.
He reached behind her and unhooked her bra, casting it to the floor. Then he set her on the soft mattress, tugging her panties down her legs and tossing them to the side.
“I can’t take any more,” she said, her voice thin.
“Not even I’m that cruel,” Micah said. “Also, I’m human.”
She turned over onto her side, burying her face in a pillow. “How disappointing.”
“Were you still hoping I was a ghost?” He wrapped his arms around her, drew her into the curve of his naked body.
“No. Because then none of this would be real.”
He brushed a stray strand of hair from her cheek. “It’s not real, baby. Don’t get used to it. I’ve got shit to finish up here and then I’m gone.”
“But we can do this while you’re here?”
“I think it’s pretty clear I’m into that.”
She took a deep breath, ignoring the flutter of nerves in her chest. “And you won’t do it with anyone else?”
He paused. “I’m not really a monogamy kind of guy.”
“Well, I’m not really a wild-sex-against-the-wall kind of girl. People change.”
“While you’re here. While we’re doing this. No one else,” he said. “I promise you that. And I’m a lot of things, a lot of bad things. But I’m also a man of my word.”
She didn’t know why, but that admission from her big rough biker man made her want to cry. And on the heels of that, that thought of him as being her man intensified the desire to weep like a baby.
This wasn’t about emotion. This was about herself. Her self breaking free from constraints, from expectations. She couldn’t afford to let it be anything else. Micah was no more and no less than what he had told her from the beginning.
Any other expectations she might have were spun out of a fantasy created inside herself. She had to get a handle on those.
But it was difficult to do while she was lying here, wrapped in his strong arms, feeling things that were somewhere beyond simple pleasure and wild rebellion.
She closed her eyes tight and willed away all those dramatic feelings that were screaming at her beneath the surface. She didn’t have time for them. She wasn’t going to make an obvious virgin mistake and start developing feelings for her first lover.
He didn’t want to be here. And even if he did, she was the last woman alive he would want. He was the last man on earth she could ever find a place for in her life. She might be on a path of temporary rebellion, but it wasn’t as though she wanted to burn everything down and start over. The very idea of taking a man like Micah to a society event was laughable.
This would only ever be here. In this mansion. In this bed.
She would have to be content with that.
Chapter 10
Micah woke sometime after the sun set. He didn’t usually fall asleep with his lovers. In fact, he never did. But, no matter how much he might like to, he couldn’t deny that Sarah was different. Maybe because she’d been a virgin? Maybe because she was younger, sweeter than most of the women he typically associated with.
Then again, maybe all of this was New Orleans’s fault. It was comfortable to blame the city. Like it had black magic that reached inside of him and controlled his actions. Possessed him. Made him someone different.
It was a hell of a lot more comfortable than admitting that it might just be him. That all the darkness he thought he’d left behind here in this godforsaken city had been deep inside of him the whole time.
He looked at Sarah who was still sleeping, slid his palm over her bare curves, letting his hand rest on her hip. She shifted, but her eyes remained closed. He was about ready to wake her up and get things started again when his phone, which was sitting on the nightstand, buzzed.
He looked and saw that it was Ajax. He really missed the days when no self-respecting biker carried a smartphone. But then, he considered himself more businessman than biker, so he would probably have one anyway. He didn’t know what the fuck Ajax’s excuse was.
His clothes were still downstairs, so he grabbed his phone and walked out of the bedroom silently, naked. Hopefully, there were no workmen in residence. If there were, they were about to get a little better acquainted with him. Which didn’t bother him any, but would probably bother them.
He walked down the stairs, quickly accepti
ng the call and lifting the phone to his ear. “What?”
“We have a situation,” Ajax said, none of the usual humor in his voice.
Micah walked across the empty room, grabbed his jeans from off the floor, and tugged them on. Then he reached down and picked up his shirt, holding it in his hand. “What’s the situation?”
“Just get your ass down to the Priory. We are not talking about this on the phone.”
Micah looked over his shoulder, back at the stairs. Toward the bedroom where Sarah was still sleeping. “I’m not sure if I can leave right now.”
“Nothing is more important than this,” Ajax bit out. “This is about Priest.”
“I’ll be there in five minutes.” Micah pulled his shirt over his head and looked back at the stairs one more time. He wasn’t going to leave her a note. He wasn’t a sixteen-year-old boy. But for some reason he felt bad leaving her there without waking her. It was that thing again. Whatever that thing was that made Sarah feel different. It was a nuisance.
He had things to take care of, and she was a grown woman. She would be fine. This was her family mansion after all. The Deacons might own it, but Sarah certainly didn’t seem to acknowledge that. He chuckled and walked out the door. Sarah didn’t seem to acknowledge much of anything where the Deacons were concerned. She wasn’t afraid of him like she should be. Wasn’t looking over her shoulder for the rest of the club like she should be.
Sweet, debutante virgins should not screw around with bikers at all. But Sarah seemed bound and determined to take him on at every opportunity. Not that he could complain. The sex was mind-blowing. No, she wasn’t classically skilled in the art of handling a man’s cock. But she took direction well. More than that, she seemed to get off on it. She liked it rough, she liked it hard. She brought out the beast in him in a way no woman had in the past ten years. If ever.
The Priory came into view and he felt tension gathering at the base of his skull. Whatever Ajax had to tell him, it wasn’t going to make his life easier.
But, it might mean getting back to San Francisco soon.
