by Isabel Wroth
Her spine straightened out and it was then Ripley noticed the entire ceiling above them was lined with mirrors. She saw his body stretched out over her, his muscles straining and bulging underneath the smooth spill of his tan skin.
She saw the contrast of her paler skin when she reached up and curled her arms around his shoulders to pull him down to her. She watched how his tattooed muscles contracted as he moved, his hips and ass bunching with the movement of his withdraw. The flex that came just before the breathtaking shove that seated his cock as deep as he could get.
The pleasure was indescribable, and seeing herself wrap her legs around his churning hips…she’d never been so turned on in her life.
“Hey,” he growled, his fingers curling around her throat, “You look at me while I’m inside of you.”
Ripley smiled slowly, undulating into his punishing thrust, “I am.” She looked up and he did too, their eyes meeting in the mirror.
He looked back to her, his expression softening with his arrogant smile. He raked his teeth over his bottom lip, his one hand curled carefully around her throat, his other planted right beside her ear. He kissed her softly, softer than Ripley could ever recall their kisses being.
“I’m never gonna forget this,” he murmured, making her melt into the desk beneath him, “I’ll sit here doing club shit and never be able to look at this desk the same way again. I love you, Ripley.”
*****
It wasn’t the hours Saint wanted to spend pleasuring Ripley senseless after having been forced to go without her for so long. It wasn’t the hedonistic debauchery he wanted to indulge in, but his guts still hurt like hell from the little bit of rough he’d already given her, leaving him with no other option than to take her gentle.
It gave him the opportunity to make her feel every second, dying with every push of his naked cock inside her. It was unbelievably selfish of him to take her without a condom, but she wasn’t stopping him. She hadn’t said no. He was sure it made him a bastard, but he couldn’t stop, burned alive by the tight, wet grip of her pussy.
She came hard, neck tipping back as her orgasm wrenched through her. Ripley cried out his name to the room loud enough the strippers could probably hear her over their trashy music. Saint was sure nothing in his life had ever felt so good as pumping Ripley full of his come, feeling her pussy flexing around him like it was trying to suck out every drop he had to give.
He could feel the little shakes ripple through her as she came down off the last of her always spectacular orgasms, loving the softness of her thigh under his hand while he stroked her. Loving how she moaned softly into his kiss when he pulled out, her hips lifting like she didn’t want to let him go.
Fuckin perfect.
So was looking down at her soft, flushed body with his come dripping out from the swollen lips of her pussy. His knees were quivering, the strength having left him in the wake of his orgasm, but somehow he managed to stand up. Ripley kept her eyes on him, splayed out on top of the desk unmoving. She stayed just in the position he’d left her, knowing how he liked to look at her.
Some weird, primal part of him wanted to scoop up the come leaking out of her and shove it back inside, push it deep so it took root. A reaction that shocked him, and one he’d take out and examine later.
Much later.
With a lingering look, Saint ducked into the bathroom carefully concealed by a clever wall panel and got a warm washcloth. Susan had liked the privacy of the luxurious bath and had kept it a careful secret. She apparently thought if the strippers knew there was a big ass garden tub and a steam shower, they’d have killed to get back here. It was the only place in the whole club that did not reek of stale beer and the ungodly concoction of every cheap body spray known to man.
Saint smiled as he cleaned himself up, then went back and did the same for Ripley. She was still in the exact same position he’d left her in. So fuckin sexy. It sort of surprised him, the thrill of watching her face go soft, how her cheeks turned pink when he ran the warm cloth between her legs.
“You like that.” he rumbled when she sighed softly. Giving her one last gentle swipe with the cloth before he tossed it back towards the bathroom.
Ripley gave a little stretch. “Feels nice.”
“Doin it every time. Rubber or not.”
She just smiled this soft, sweet smile and took the hand he held out to her. Following the tug he gave as he sat, carefully sitting herself back in his lap to cuddle up under his chin.
“Are you alright?” she murmured, carefully cupping her palm over the healing wound in his side.
Saint hummed and closed his eyes, palming the back of her head so he could rest his lips against the softness of her hair. It boggled his mind how the smell of gardenias, something he had always thought only old ladies wore, could be so arousing and subtle as it wafted from her pleasure warmed skin.
“I’m good, princess. Haven’t felt this good in a long damn time. You cold?”
Ripley was shivering slightly, a subtle tremor that made her shake every few seconds.
“Not yet. It’s just been a while.”
“We’ll just sit here a minute, hm?” he murmured into her hair. She nodded carefully, the sweep of her lashes on his throat letting him know she’d closed her eyes.
Saint stared sightlessly at the closed door across from them, listening to Ripley’s quiet breathing, the louder throb of the music trying to penetrate from the club just on the other side of the door.
Almost eight weeks was more than just a while. It wasn’t the longest Saint had gone without putting his hands on Ripley, but it was long enough. He shifted with her and reached down to wrap his arm around her legs to fold her up against him, pressing her as close as he could get. Letting the smell and feel of her soak into every pore.
God, he had missed her so much.
“Come back to me, Ripley.” Saint whispered the words into her hair, holding his breath when he felt her frown.
“Back? I’ve been with you every day.”
“I didn’t give you much of a choice, princess.” She grunted softly in what Saint assumed was agreement. “The danger hasn’t stopped being real. Chaps my ass that the collective club hasn’t been able to find Ghost yet, but the flip side is I get to spend more time with you. I’m not an easy guy to live with. You’ve seen that the last couple weeks. But I want you to come back, to choose me anyway.”
Ripley’s fingers quit rubbing circles on his chest. A second later her head fell back so he could see the little frown gathering between her brows, her pleasure hazed eyes clearing while she searched his face.
“I choose us, Saint.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
“So. Finally gave it up, huh?”
Ripley slanted Frankie a sideways glance, feeling the immediate flush that fired across her face. She had checked her hair and makeup before leaving The Velvet Box. Checked to make sure it wasn’t blatantly obvious she and Saint had just spent the last few hours having sex on his desk. And later in his chair. And then Ripley had done her little ice cream trick…
She gave herself a shake and cleared her throat, tucking a limp curl behind her ear, doing her best to steady her voice when she answered the salaciously grinning biker as he drove her home.
“Gave it up?” she questioned.
Frankie chortled, using his palm to twist the steering wheel to get out of traffic. He shot his hand out the window to flip someone off and she jumped a bit when that someone honked back in answer.
“Gave up treating Saint like he was too busted up to fuck.”
“Um…I don’t…ehm…” Ripley fumbled and stuttered for some kind of response.
Frankie took his hand from the wheel and gave it a dismissive little wiggle. “Don’t sweat it. I’m glad you two patched shit up. He’s a good guy. Better brother. And you? Dayum. Saint’s one lucky sonofabitch.”
Ripley ducked her head and rolled her lips together, fighting the goofy grin that threatened to bust free. It w
as dark, chances were Frankie wouldn’t see her smiling like a cat who’d caught herself a canary, but still.
“Thank you for taking me home, Frankie. Sorry about the chauffer and babysitting duty.”
Frankie snorted derisively and she could see the way his brows slammed down as a pair of headlights illuminated his blocky features. All teasing fled and Frankie’s tone turned rough with his sincerity.
“My brother is trusting me to protect his woman. Trusting with some seriously precious fuckin cargo. I ain’t sorry at all.”
Floored by his response, for a time Ripley just sat beside Frankie in the darkness. Milo was waiting with a prospect on her porch, both of them apparently trying to sneak a cigarette, but as soon as Frankie pulled in the driveway the two men rushed to put their cancer sticks out and flicked the butts into her front lawn.
She thought about demanding they retrieve their trash, but late as it was, it just seemed ludicrous. The taller of the two prospects rushed over to open her door before Frankie had put the truck into park, smiling at her when he extended his hand to help her out.
His cut clearly labeled him a Prospect, but he wasn’t young like Ruckus and Gee. If Ripley was pressed to put a number on him, she would have guessed he was in his thirties.
“Thank you.” she said as she stepped out, self-consciously wondering if he could tell what she had been doing for the last few hours.
“You’re welcome. We haven’t met yet. I’m Damon.”
He seemed friendly, though there was a hardness to his unusually colored eyes that made the fine hairs on Ripley’s nape give a twitch. Damon was six feet of lean muscle, heritage undetermined due to those eyes of his, a yellowish grey ringed in dark green.
She could just barely make them out in the light that shone from the interior of the truck. His thick dark hair and his olive skin tone had her leaning towards some exotic mix of ethnicities. His features weren’t overtly gorgeous, but there was just something about him that made her take notice.
“You check the house?” Frankie’s voice from the interior of the truck jolted her out of her study of Damon. He gave her hand a squeeze and shifted to take her elbow. Like he could tell she was off balance and uncertain of a new face.
“Yeah. It’s clear. Toad will be here in a minute to swap out.”
Fairly used to the drill by now, Ripley let Damon escort her inside, smiling at Milo on her way in and took a deep breath of the geranium and gardenia scent of her home. Tension she hadn’t realized she held melted away as soon as she was safely inside the walls of her home.
Ripley heard the front door lock, the alarm beep twice, and turned to find Damon standing in the entryway. His body blocked the light shining from the small window at the top of the door, casting his entire body in shadow. Damon just stood there and, though she couldn’t make out his features, Ripley could feel the weight of his stare.
Uncertainty flickered through her, uncertainty because this was the first time meeting Damon. Having him in her home.
“Tell me where it’s going to make you most comfortable for me to wait.”
Despite the reason and calm of Damon’s voice, Ripley was uncomfortable with his presence in general. She couldn’t put her finger on why. Damon hadn’t done anything to make her feel threatened. He was actually asking how he could put her at ease, clearly aware she was not. Damon’s presence was just…huge. She was exhausted, but she knew if she went to bed now, she wasn’t going to sleep a wink. It was only a few hours until Saint got home.
“I was going to make some stuff for the hog roast tomorrow. Come sit at the bar, you can be my guinea pig.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Damon said with an eager grin.
Funny, how all the Perdition men were so eager to be fed something cooked by a woman. As she pulled down bowls and ingredients for her cream cheese brownie recipe, Ripley wondered if it was because all the guys were single and either did take-out or microwavable meals. Or if they all just had major sweet tooths.
“So, how long have you been a prospect with the club, Damon?”
“Six months next week.” he answered easily.
Ripley fought the sudden prickle of apprehension, wondering why a prospect with only six months invested in the club was alone with her.
“Do you mind my curiosity?” she ventured.
“Not at all. What are you making?”
“Cream cheese brownies. I have Saint’s brand of beer in the fridge if you’d like one.”
“No thanks. I don’t drink. Recovering alcoholic.”
Ripley glanced up from the beginnings of her batter, setting the bowl aside to tie her apron on before she forgot, and noticed Damon’s eyebrow tick up a bit.
“Good for you. Tea then? I’ve got a million different kinds and they all taste good iced.”
Damon smiled an easy smile and shrugged, “I’m good with whatever you’re making.”
Huh. Did potential hitmen go along with whatever their victims wanted? Ripley opted for an energy boost, just in case she had to run for her life or something.She trusted that Saint wouldn’t let anyone near her who hadn’t been thoroughly vetted. Putting her baking stuff aside, Ripley got down a couple of glasses, some ice, mint leaves, agave, a lime, her matcha tea, and some sparkling water.
“What in the hell is all that?” Damon grunted in amusement.
Ripley cast a smile his way as she ground up the mint leaves inside the glasses, poured the agave in and squeezed some lime into the mix. “It’s called a MoTEAto. The matcha is super powerful green tea, good for all kinds of things. Athena got me hooked on it.”
Ripley gave it a stir and popped a straw in the glass before setting it in front of Damon. He examined it first before taking a cautious sip, delight chasing across his features when the sweetness of the agave and the tartness of the lime cut through the alfalfa-like flavor of the matcha.
“I can’t tell you this is awesome because I’d lose my Prospect status.”
Ripley laughed and sipped her own while she went back to mixing up her brownies. When Damon asked her for the Moteato recipe so his girl could make it at home, Ripley lifted her head in surprise.
“You’ve got a girl waiting for you right now? She’s alone?”
Damon’s smile went soft and easy, warm even, as Ripley’s voice conveyed her shock that Top would pull one of his people away from protecting his own woman.
“She’s not alone. Me, my best friend, and Dani are a ménage. Stone isn’t into the club life, he’s gone artsy fartsy these days and enjoys the freedom. Dani bakes shit, opened up a cake shop a couple of weeks ago.”
After getting over the initial news that the man in her kitchen apparently was in a relationship with his best friend and a woman, Ripley asked for Dani’s contact. She was always on the lookout for a good baker who could cater sweet treats to Ripley’s shop for events so Ripley didn’t have to. Damon lost some of the warmth in his expression and smiled a little tightly.
“Don’t take this personal, but you’re radioactive right now, so am I by association. I’m doing everything I can to keep Dani and Stone out of the way until this shit with the Leviathan’s is finished.”
Though it did hurt, of course Ripley understood. She told Damon so, and then frowned as something tickled her memory banks. “Stone? As in the guy who built those amazing sex lounge things for Athena and Ever?”
Damon snorted his drink and coughed to clear the bubbles from his nose. Ripley passed him a napkin and finally was able to relax when he started laughing. “Yeah.”
“Small world. How’d you get involved with Perdition?”
Damon gave a shrug of his shoulders and sat back, looking around her kitchen. “I was doing PI work on my own and did something to tip Nasa off. Stepped on his toes or whatever. Turns out the club and I were running after the same guy so Nasa brought me in to meet with Top.
“I’d been riding a Harley since I was big enough to reach the pedals and handlebars at the same time. Stone too, but when he a
nd I got out of the military, he wasn’t interested in joining up with another team.
“I need it, my own issues with mortality and leaving my family unprotected. Shrink said it’s some kind of PTSD. S’why me and Stone share Dani the way we do. She’s my everything, and it settles me to know if I go down one day, she’ll have Stone. Now I know they’ll both have Perdition, too.”
Damon glanced at her, like he was waiting for Ripley to judge or laugh. All she did was smile in thanks that he felt some semblance of comfort to share something that personal with her.
“Gig pays better.” Damon went on gruffly, “Nice to not be running solo.”
“It is.” Ripley agreed.
The brownies had just come out of the oven when Saint got home. He walked in and found Damon still seated at the kitchen counter and Ripley just lifting the gooey brownies from the pan. Ripley saw something soften in the hardness of his expression, saw how his lips twitched to see her fingers covered in ganache.
He dumped his keys in the bowl by the door, kicked his boots off, and he came to her next. She lifted her face for his kiss, holding her hands out to the side to keep from getting chocolate on his cut, wrinkling her nose because he smelled like stale beer and cheap perfume.
“What the hell are you doing, up at three am making brownies, princess?”
“I told Ever I’d make them for the hog roast.”
Saint made a hungry sound of surprise, like he’d forgotten about the gathering. He lifted her hand and sucked the chocolate off her index finger, making her thighs clench as desire punched her hard in the belly.
After making another sound of delight, he licked his lips and reached across the counter to offer Damon his hand.
“Thanks, bro. Go home to your woman. Tell Stone I said, hey. Toad in the can?”
In the process of wiping her fingers off, Ripley realized Toad had never come in. A glance at Damon clued her in that he had noticed, but for some reason opted not to stress her out by making a big deal of it. He’d waited until Saint got home.
“No. Been texting him for the last hour, no answer. Shot Nasa a text at fifteen minutes over. Milo and Frankie are looking for him, Top told me to stay put till you got back.”
