Biker Outlaw's Princess: An MC Romance

by Bella Rose

  Her expression softened. In that moment I knew I had her. Then she readjusted the rag and her grip on the bridge of her nose. She was already walking back toward the kitchen sink. “I appreciate the apology. And I really appreciate you coming to check on me, but I’m fine.”

  “That doesn’t have to be the only reason I’m here, you know.” I kept my voice low—suggestive. I saw her pupils dilate as her nipples peaked beneath her sweater.

  I actually saw her flinch at my suggestion. Her body was betraying her. The way her shoulders went up and down told me that her breathing was ragged. She wanted me here. That much was obvious, but she was also fighting her own desires. The contrast was intriguing. There were so many things about this woman that were unexpected, and I liked the unexpected.

  I walked up behind her. She didn’t turn around. She was rinsing out the rag in the sink. The red water circled the drain and then went down. The methodical way she took care of the task told me she was near the edge of her resistance. She was taking refuge in mundane tasks, but I knew how to shake her up.

  Leaning forward, I let my breath whisper gently across the back of her neck. She trembled, shivering delicately at the contact. I said nothing. Instead I pressed my lips to the skin where her shoulder met her neck. The warmth of her was intoxicating to me. I inhaled her scent and reveled in the delicate femininity of it. This woman was mine. My own. No man would ever touch her again. The primal voice inside my head would not allow it. And when she gave a little sigh and tilted her head to one side so that I could have better access, I knew she felt what I did.

  The animalistic urge to mate was overwhelming. I had always been a bit of a beast in bed, but with Anya I was ravenous. I kissed her neck. Grabbing on to her upper arms, I held her tight enough to keep her from moving at all. She dropped the rag into the sink and let her head drop forward. The position of surrender was no accident. Her instincts had led her to that point, and I savored the sight of her waiting for my command.

  “Go to your room,” I growled. “Strip naked and kneel on the floor beside your bed. Wait for me.”

  I saw her arguing within herself, fighting perhaps. But it took no time at all for her primal self to overrule her logical mind. Without speaking one word, Anya turned and walked toward the bedroom.

  Chapter Eight

  Anya

  There was something wrong with me. There had to be. There was no other explanation for my behavior. I was not a slave. And I sure as hell didn’t want to be one. Yet I was acting the part, and I could not seem to help myself. This man did things to me. I could almost believe he was as supernatural as I’d fancied him to be last night.

  I felt myself pulling at my clothes without fully understanding why I was doing it. Why should I strip naked for this near stranger—for this man? Yet I wanted him to do those things to my body. I wanted the delicious sensation of his touch as his fingers slid through the hot flesh between my legs. My pussy was already wet just imagining it. When he finally came in here and touched me, I was going to go off like a rocket.

  My legs got twisted in my sensible school skirt. I must have changed my mind for just a moment. My logical mind kicked in, and I tried to pull my skirt back up my legs even as I was already trying to step out of it. What was wrong with me? It was wrong. All of this was wrong! I should not be taking orders that ended with me having sex with a near stranger.

  He’s not a stranger.

  Vasily didn’t feel like a stranger. That was true. My body knew him. Maybe even my soul. And as I sank to my knees—naked—on the floor beside my bed, I wondered if there was anything that would have stopped this moment from happening. I don’t think there was. It was inevitable somehow, which made my coming personal destruction all the more certain.

  “There you are.” The silken gravel of his voice whispered over my consciousness. “Such a beautiful picture waiting there for my pleasure.”

  I wanted to speak, but I wanted to hear what else he was going to say even more. So I kept silent when I should have been protesting this treatment! I was not his property. I was my own.

  Then he touched my head. The instant feeling of satisfaction was shocking. This was what I wanted—this contact. The way his fingers sifted through my loose hair and the feel of him gently rubbing the tension from my neck. This was what I needed so desperately in my life. How had he known?

  “So beautiful,” he whispered.

  I felt how near he was to me and savored the heat of his skin next to mine. Then he moved to stand in front of me, and I finally saw the glorious length of his cock so very close to my face. It was thick and long and so beautiful to look at. I had never seen anything like it. His testicles were perfectly shaped, hanging between his legs as though they were showing off. I felt my mouth water and wondered why.

  “I want you to take me in your mouth.”

  There was no naked command in Vasily’s voice. Yet I wanted so badly to obey that I began to salivate even more. I wasn’t the type of woman to give a blowjob, yet I wanted to do just that right here and now. My brain told me that it was going to be the most amazing experience. I was getting wet just thinking about the feel of his soft head against my lips.

  My mind was screaming no, and yet my mouth opened of its own volition. He gently pushed his cock past my lips and into my throat. I began to suck and lick, running my tongue in quick circles around and around his shaft. I found the puckered flange and began to flick the sensitive skin. Each time I felt him physically react, I felt a corresponding jolt of pleasure within me. It was as if my personal enjoyment was innately connected to his. I didn’t understand it, but I knew that’s what I felt.

  He put his hands on either side of my head and began pumping in and out of my mouth. He went faster and harder. Each stroke sent his cock deeper into my throat. I was holding my breath now, only getting air when he pulled out of my mouth. The rhythm was perfect. My nipples were swelling and plumping. Blood rushed to my groin, and I felt my thighs slide together as my own juices coated the insides of my legs. I was so turned-on by what was happening that soon I would be begging him to finish me too.

  His cock slid across my tongue. I tasted his musk and the salty essence of his precum. He was close. I sensed it in the way he moved. Gone was the fluidity. Those smooth thrusts had been replaced by the jerky movements of someone so very close to the ultimate goal.

  Kneeling there on my bedroom floor, I felt a dark sort of gratification in what was happening. The decadence of such a thing was foreign to me. I was at his mercy. In this moment I was all his. And even though I should have run screaming in the opposite direction, I could not make myself stir from my place.

  He came hard, convulsing and cursing as he poured semen into my mouth. I swallowed it down, lapping and licking to get every drop. The bitter flavor melted on my tongue. I wanted more. I wanted it all. I was hot and needy and so very desperate that he could have asked me to do anything and I would not have argued. I was beyond that now. I belonged to him.

  “I am so pleased,” he murmured in a rough voice. “Now get up on the bed so that I can take care of my girl.”

  Vasily

  I watched Anya climb onto the bed. She rose gracefully from the floor and moved to the mattress without showing a hint of reticence. The satisfaction that gave me was immense. When I was through with her, she would be changed. She would be better—darker perhaps—but better.

  I reached over for the scarf that I had brought with me into the bedroom. The sheer black fabric was whisper soft. I stepped closer to the bed, letting the scarf gently run like silken water over Anya’s skin as I walked around the foot of her bed. She had settled on her back with her beautiful breasts jutting into the air. I could not help but smile at the sight of her waiting for me.

  She gave a gasp and arched her back. Her eyes were closed. I hadn’t ordered her to keep them one way or the other, but it pleased me that she would feel settled enough to close them in my presence. It meant that deep down—despite her lo
gical misgivings—she was mine already.

  I caught her hands in mine and quickly slipped the noose end of the scarf around her wrists. Her eyes flew open in obvious surprise.

  “What are you doing?” she asked.

  I secured the scarf to the bedpost. “I’m tying you up.”

  “I don’t do that sort of thing.” There was a note of near panic in her tone. “Please undo it.”

  “No.” I gently smoothed my hand down her torso.

  She stilled at the touch. Her lips parted, but no words came out. She looked at me instead with her huge dark eyes. The fear in them was more aphrodisiac than deterrent. I could not wait to see that fear melt into desire.

  I cupped her breast with one hand while I slid her toward the center of the bed. The movement pulled her arms above her head and stretched her beautiful body out for my viewing enjoyment. She squirmed a little but stilled when I thumbed her nipple into a hard point.

  I was still naked, but that was insignificant at this point. It only made us equal in her unlearned mind. I climbed up onto the bed and settled next to her. I lay on my side so that I could rest my weight on one elbow. Soon she would realize that I did not need my clothes on to master her. I could take her and mold her exactly as I wanted without the faux safety of clothing.

  “What are you doing?” She whispered the words, still looking frightened.

  I leaned down and pressed a kiss to her belly. “I’m pleasing you.”

  “Pleasing me?”

  I gently brushed my fingers over her mound. She froze and I laughed. “Won’t it please you if I touch you and make you come?”

  “Yes.” She nodded her head. “Please?”

  I nuzzled her neck. “How can I resist when you say please?”

  “Please, please?”

  Her sass pleased me still. I did not want to break her spirit. I just wanted her tamed to my touch. And as I traced random patterns across her skin, letting my fingers get ever closer to their goal, I knew that I was well on my way to success.

  Finally, when I could wait no longer, I slipped two fingers between the swollen lips of her pussy. She was soft and wet and very warm. I circled her clit before dipping low to find the source of her cream. I gently penetrated her with one finger, withdrawing before her inner muscles could fully clamp down on me. She gave a tiny whimper and moved her hips as though she were begging for more.

  “Lift your knees and spread your legs,” I ordered.

  She obeyed immediately and I rewarded her by cupping her mound. “You will not come until I say. Do you understand?”

  She made another noise. This time she sounded disgruntled. I didn’t care. She would learn self-control, and I would make her like it. I framed her pussy with the fingers of one hand. I could feel the blood surging toward her groin. She would be feeling heavy and very turned-on. It was the perfect time to push her limits and see how far we could go.

  I adjusted my position, moving between her spread legs so that I could see every nuance of her body’s reaction to my attention. I gently penetrated her with two fingers and hooked them up around toward her pelvic bone. The thick pad of muscle was beneath my second and third fingers, and I knew I could make her scream anytime I wanted just by rubbing it.

  She was already trembling. I cocked my head, studying her. “Are you going to break your word already?” I let a harsh note creep into my voice. “I told you not to come.”

  She was poised on the edge of orgasm. I could feel it. Lifting one hand, I slapped her open pussy once—sharply. She cried out, the shocked sound echoing around her bedroom. Her eyes shot open, and she looked at me in obvious surprise.

  “I told you not to come until I allowed it,” I reminded her.

  She opened her mouth as though she were going to argue. Then she thought better of it and pressed her lips together instead. I rewarded her by circling her clit with my fingers. I plucked at the swollen nub and rubbed it until she was panting and whining with the strain of holding back. Finally. Finally, I knew she had had all she could take.

  “Come for me, sweet girl,” I crooned.

  And just like that she melted around my fingers. Her whole body was convulsing, her buttocks flexing as her inner muscles rolled and shuddered with the pleasure of her climax. Her lips parted and she panted as she came until her body simply shut down and her eyes slid shut.

  Moments later, she was dozing in a lethargy of endorphins, and I was ready to do some investigating.

  Chapter Nine

  Vasily

  Now. With Anya safely asleep in her bed, my next task was to take care of the unwanted visitors skulking around across the street. I was practically whistling by the time I exited the side door. I stepped into the alley behind her house and inhaled deeply of the night air. The scents of fuel, exhaust, and damp fall leaves sharpened my senses. I had never felt so awake or so alive.

  I paused at the mouth of the alley and gazed into the darkness surrounding an outbuilding directly across the narrow street from Anya’s driveway. Adrenaline surged through my veins, but I forced myself to wait. The exercise in control sharpened my senses. I heard tiny animals rustling in the leaves scattered about the lawns. I heard a car one street over. A dog barked. And then finally I caught the faint sound of something large moving in the bushes.

  I waited again, my gaze riveted to a point several feet away from the outbuilding’s ghostly white door. Then a tiny pinprick of light flared to life. I considered myself lucky. It was chilly tonight. Someone had finally lit a cigarette in the darkness. I had a position and a goal.

  Sinking down, I planned my route. From the trees to a car, the car to a clump of garbage cans, across the openness of the street, and then into the darkness so I could find a way to sneak up behind the uninvited guests.

  The wind puffed down the street. Leaves blew and tumbled, and the tree branches shivered. I moved out fast, letting the sounds of the night mask my movements. I took my path, executing a perfect plan and melting into the dark just feet away from the unknown stalkers.

  I could not help but wonder in the back of my mind who they might be. The Orlovs I understood. These men were something different. A tingle of awareness shot up my spine as I pitted myself against a threat I could not yet anticipate.

  I caught the scent of the cigarette on the air. I heard the man shift. I waited. There seemed to be only one. Last night there had been two. I was sure of it. Why the shift? What was their purpose? The questions plagued me, and still I waited until I could be certain I knew as much as I could.

  Moving quickly, I slunk in behind the stalker and wrapped my arm around his neck. I could smell his fear and feel surprise in every tense muscle of his body. He was a big man, taller than I. His height made it awkward to maintain control. With this in mind, I used the heel of my boot to take him out at his knees.

  He sank to the ground, and I twisted his neck at such an angle that I felt his life in my hands. One more twist and I would end his life. One less human in the world. One more life on my tab. It was so very tempting, and yet I stopped.

  “Why?” I hissed in his ear. “Why are you stalking her? What reason could you possibly have? Talk fast or die.”

  “Die.”

  To my shock, he whipped a gun out of his jacket. The small-caliber weapon had a silencer on the end of the barrel. I deflected the attempt automatically, tightening my bicep and wrenching my arm in order to twist the man’s neck sideways. I felt the crackle of bone on bone and the ripping of cartilage. Life seeped from the man’s body, dissipating until there was nothing left inside the corpse I now held against my body.

  “What. The. Hell?” I muttered.

  I hastily dropped the body, suddenly afraid there was a partner sneaking up behind me. I pressed my back to the wall of the outbuilding. Clinging vines scratched my neck, digging tiny thorns into my skin and sending chills down my spine. I felt the trickle of blood sliding down the outside of my throat. It pooled in the hollow beneath my Adam’s apple and soake
d into my dark T-shirt.

  I inhaled sharply, trying to find a scent. I listened for a sound. If there was an accomplice and this man was bait, surely I would have seen or heard the attacker by now. I felt the powerful battle reflexes kick in. My insides were coated in ice. I was ready.

  Nothing happened.

  The breeze blew, riffling through my short hair and making my eyes water. I listened, but the sounds of the neighborhood were the same. Nothing had changed. Nothing except the dead body at my feet, which was unfortunately going to make me improvise on my plans for tonight. I couldn’t very well leave it lying around and risk someone calling the police. In all my years of being an assassin, I had never been caught. There was no way in hell I was going to start now.

  With a grumble and a sigh, I stooped down to sling the man’s hefty body over my shoulder. I lugged him toward the alley in the back of Anya’s house. I’d have to store him there and hope nobody saw him. Since I couldn’t very well toss the corpse over the seat of my bike and ride him out of the neighborhood, I’d need to come back with a car—or perhaps a delivery van. I had a few of those hanging about. They came in handy more often than not.

  No matter how many times I had disposed of a body, it was always a surreal experience. The dead hand hanging down by my waist, and the head lolling about as though it were no longer fully attached. It was creepy. But this time even more so. Because when I went to throw this man down behind Anya’s garbage cans, I realized that he was wearing a gold medallion around his neck.

  Once he was on the ground, I pulled the medallion over his head and took a closer look in the automatic lights above Anya’s back gate. St. Nicholas of Myra. I rocked back on my heels and nearly dropped the medallion in shock. Nicholas was the patron saint of children. Each child in the orphanage where I had been raised had been given this medallion to wear. I still carried mine with me because old habits die very, very hard. But why would this man have one? Was it a coincidence?