Riding Dirty

by Abriella Blake

  It was actually a bit further. Waiting for them would be a little hacienda near the beach, a vintage 1959 Triumph Bonneville, fresh guacamole, peace, anonymity. Bronson had been planning this for himself for ages, but there was room for improvising, room for a woman with a porcelain face and fantastic spirit. Eventually maybe some curly-haired kids would come along, one with mom’s eyes and dad’s street smarts, maybe another with mom’s brains and dad’s coordination. They could open a family business. Have a life, freedom, quiet.

  They weren’t disappearing into the sunset, vague and general. Bronson had a very specific vision: Merida, Mexico.

  And love.

  EPILOGUE

  “Say it again.” She begged.

  “I love you.”

  “The rest of it too.”

  “Come on, isn’t it getting a little corny now?” Bronson looked embarrassed as he ran his fingers through his hair.

  “I don’t get tired of it, are you tired of it?”

  “No, but, I mean, it’s been like six months and there are other ways I can say it. Why do you need to hear it all the time, woman?”

  “This way is good. This way is fine. I like this way. Say it again.”

  “I’d rather show you.” He grinned his heart-slaying grin.

  “Come on, tell me again.”

  “Come here.”

  “Ah!” She yelped, as his huge arm wrapped around her.

  Bronson dove under the sparkling turquoise waves, taking a laughing Rowan with him. Underwater he playfully wrestled her, biting her nipple and wrapping her legs around his waist. When they re-emerged from the perfect Caribbean water, droplets glittered on her skin and her sun-bleached hair was wrapped tightly along the nape of her neck. Bronson had captured her in his arms, his bronzed mermaid prize. His sinewy, tattooed forearm claimed the swelling rise of Rowan’s hips, pulling her to him. He was already hard from the sight of her lean, glistening body, and both were naked.

  Rowan smiled into his kiss, reciprocating his hunger, letting her tanned wet skin slide along his torso. His hand cupped her breast urgently, their tongues searching each other and tasting the salt spray and fragrant air. With masterful force, Bronson pushed his cock to its rightful place inside Rowan’s pussy, laughing at her gasp of surprise.

  She accepted his cock eagerly and gyrated into him, moaning, thrilling in the depth of the penetration and the tingling it caused in her legs and teeth. Her belly felt full of him, the pressure intense and heavy with pleasure. She strained closer, intensifying the angle, making them both shudder.

  “See,” said Bronson, thrusting and delighting at the sight of Rowan pressing back into him. “I’m saying it now. Feel it? I love you...” His mouth worked around her neck back to her mouth, his tongue mirroring the thrusts of his cock. “I’m saying it now, too.”

  Rowan shivered and rocked, letting him carry her toward the shore until they rolled together in the clean surf, their bodies roaring and surging with the sea. “I love you...”

  Their secret white-sand beach escape near Sisal was deserted for miles on any side, giving them the sensation that they were the only two people in the entire world. The sound of the waves breaking and the palm leaves rustling was the only music accompanying their ragged breathing and groaning. Bronson’s hands found their way to Rowan’s ass, his thumb plugging her from behind. She bit his ear in response, and their play grew roughly erotic.

  Bronson sucked in his breath as Rowan’s hands came down in a stinging slap on his ass, then bounced to push violently away at his chest. However hard she strained against him, Bronson could always overpower her, and her feigned struggle against his possession ended quickly in glorious submission. He clutched on to her writhing body, maintaining control, keeping her pressed against him, driving his dick into her quim hard and slow, deliberately sending her over the edge.

  “Oh fuck,” she moaned, overwhelmed by feeling him everywhere, inside, on top. “Oh, Bronson.”

  “Yeah baby,” he answered, driving his cock deeper and faster, pushing his other hand’s fingers into her mouth so she could suck them while he fucked her senseless. He couldn’t get enough of her. He watched her shuddering with each thrust, the soft flesh of her breasts quivering against him, her unfathomable blue eyes boldly meeting his. He felt complete, relieved. He belonged. “I love you.”

  Rowan shivered and her warm ejaculation squirted onto him. She convulsed and panted, and Bronson desperately needed to join her in ecstasy. He sat up, bringing her with him, their thighs rubbing as he whipped her around and came into her doggy style, ramming her with his cock and reaching around and stroking her clit with his hand until they both screamed and jerked together in climax, Bronson pulling out at the last second and shooting his load on Rowan’s back. Rowan rolled over and drew him down into her arms, letting the saltwater wash over them and calm the raging electricity in their bodies. Too soon, Bronson roused himself and kissed Rowan slowly, wetly, his tongue and mouth promising a sequel soon.

  “We should probably get going,” he said. “You’ve got a class to teach and I’ve got a sister-in-law to pick up at MID airport.”

  Reluctantly, Rowan pecked Bronson on the cheek and forced herself to stand. “You’re such a harsh task-master,” she muttered, extending a hand for leverage for Bronson to stand.

  He grinned, taking her hand, but instead pulled her back down to his lap and kissed her again, grunting with articulate desire. This was only intermission.

  “Hey,” he said, “You’re the one who wanted to open the studio miss boss. I’m just trying to be a good employee. Mixed martial arts classes by day, substance abuse support groups by night. Hell of a niche market. Who knew we’d be so popular?”

  “Look at you,” she murmured, stroking his chest and shoulder muscles with open admiration and pride. “Of course we’re popular.”

  “Nah babe, it’s all you.” He kissed her. “You’re the brains of the outfit. Helping people and shit, changing the world one reformed mess at a time. You’re rocking my world, that’s for sure. Come on, let’s go.”

  With reluctant, silent agreement they rose and with some difficulty scavenged their discarded bathing suits from their various hiding spots around the beach. The sun baked them dry in a few minutes, and by the time Rowan climbed on the back of Bronson’s shiny 1959 Triumph Bonneville she found her man’s skin warm and steaming with the pleasant smell of summer.

  “By the way, check this out,” said Bronson, passing a yellowed Western Union telegram over his shoulder. “News from the front.”

  Rowan snatched it, hungrily inspecting the message. It was from Rex Derian who, along with his father, had kept them up to date on Ruiners club business. She knew Bronson felt a little guilty for not being there, but also recognized the tactical wisdom in staying away.

  “War on stop,” she read. “RMC up stop stay dead nomads stop like JA stop.” Rowan considered. “Ruiners Motorcycle Club up, so they’re on top so far. JA…Joey Auditore’s dead. Goodness. Well, I can’t say I’m very sorry, but Cosmo sure won’t forgive that. No word of Dolce, I guess?”

  Bronson didn’t have to glance at his wife to see the stab of guilt and fear that made her lip tremble. Every time. He knew that Lola’s death weighed heavily on her and that healing would take time, but he was willing to go on that ride with her. They’d begun the baby steps together, but he had to work hard not to push her too fast. He was realizing more and more that there was only so much he could do to lighten the burden of guilt she carried. Ultimately, she’d have to be the one to forgive herself. He badly wanted Rowan to understand that it wasn’t her fault—it was self-defense, and he wouldn’t have had it any other way. No one would ever hold it against her.

  Except Dolce of course…but he was a world away, ignorant of their whereabouts and the exact truth of what had happened to Lola. Axle had sworn to keep it that way, additionally motivated by Voski’s fierce support of Bronson’s marriage to Rowan. Voski liked the gentle girl with the gold
en hair; she was a good balance for Bronson. When the telegram had arrived with the news that they had finally tied the knot, Voski actually jumped up and danced on her dining room table before demanding her winnings from her bewildered husband. She and Axle had kept a pool going on Bronson’s bachelorhood for over a decade.

  “Don’t cry Axle-jan,” Voski had hooted victoriously, kissing and pocketing the crisp hundred-dollar bill he handed her. “I knew it! You haven't lost a son but gained a daughter, ha! These nomads, they always come back. We’ll see him again at church someday.”

  Bronson Ramsey was the marrying kind. Voski had known it all along! A woman’s intuition never failed, especially not a matriarch’s. Voski was rooting for Rowan and Bronson to last, and whatever Voski wanted, Axle wanted by default.

  You don’t stay in leadership by being dumb.

  “Well,” said Bronson, “No news about Dolce is good news.”

  “Bronson, we may never be able to go back stateside will we? Unless the whole Auditore clan falls and Dolce never finds out, it’s suicidal. Which, wow. I wonder if the Ruiners will manage it. The coup.”

  Bronson shrugged his shoulders, strapping on his helmet. “I sure didn’t leave anything behind. Did you?”

  Rowan followed his lead and shook off the worry she always felt when she thought about the past. With her helmet snapped in place, she reached forward and hugged Bronson happily. Sometimes when she touched or looked at him she still couldn’t believe he was hers; that he wanted her at all and picked her to settle down. It was almost too much for a girl from Lockala Pines Mobile Home Park, beyond her wildest dreams.

  “Let me think, did I leave anything behind…” Rowan chuckled. Poverty? Struggle? Abuse? Loneliness? “Nope! Not as of today! Professor Weller gave our studio the green light as a practical thesis—Clinical Mental Health in Indigenous Communities: Addiction and Self-Defense Rehabilitation—and my degree should be on its way. So, masters’ degree, check! Soon I’ll be able to teach at the university or open a private clinic. You’re here, so, husband…check! And now Lacy is actually moving in with us! So, family, check! I can’t wait, Bronson. We’ll be complete.”

  “I know,” he smiled, proud that he’d worked his way to a level of confidence that privileged him to Rowan’s excited, talkative side. It didn’t happen often, so it was always enjoyable.

  “She’s going to love it here,” sighed Rowan, content. “The early start program at the Universidad is perfect for Lacy once she finishes her GED. She’s so focused, and God knows she’ll get more out of life here than back home.”

  “This is home now princess. And hey, if she’s at the college now that’s all the more reason to take Spanish with me on Thursdays,” teased Bronson. “‘Caffe con leche por favor’ will only get you so far, blondie. Those blue eyes won’t buy you patience forever, and I don’t want you batting them at every Mayan hombre trying to sell you something. Sooner or later, they’ll think you’re saying yes to having their babies and then what will I do? I want the blonde babies. Later, anyway. They can’t have them. Mine!”

  Rowan laughed, tucking the telegram in a pocket. “Fine, I’ll sign up.”

  “I knew I’d wear you down, softie. Let’s vamanos mi cielo.” Bronson ignited the engine, startling a nearby flock of pink flamingoes into flight. As the pink wings beat in a symphony around them, Bronson craned his neck back to plant one more kiss on his bride’s lips. Under the buzz of the engine he mouthed the words she craved again: “I love you.”

  An easy hour’s ride through rich green Yucatan landscape of palm trees, jungle, and shrubs brought them inland to the heart of the limestone peninsula, the caw of jungle birds occasionally piercing the hum of the bike. The cosmopolitan palaces of The White City, Merida, folded them in its vibrant embrace as the Triumph and it’s passengers merged with the twilight cacophony of street vendors, colors, and human din. Rowan breathed in the cleansing air, the distant mariachi music and smell of chocolate. Lacy will love it here. So many cultures, so many stories yet to imagine, so many possibilities.

  Home sweet home.

  THE END

  About the Author

  Abriella Blake, 25 years old, got her start writing Twilight fan-fic while finishing up her undergrad at USC. She has an unhealthy obsession with chocolate, Cinnabons, and Sushi. Writing interesting, intriguing, complex characters is her passion and she’s excited to share her first published novels with readers! Abriella is the latest edition to the Hearts Collective team.

  Connect with Abriella Blake and other Hearts Collective authors online at

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  Prologue

  My surroundings come into focus at last. I realize that I am floating—but not through space. Warm water, scented with lavender and sage, suspends my naked body, comforting me. It laps against my skin, caressing every curve and limb of me. At first, I think I must be treading water in some hot spring, or sunbaked ocean—the body of water is that vast. But as the rest of the scene comes into focus, I find that I’m not in a sea at all. I’m in a marble and golden bathtub, sunken into the floor of some elegant, unknown room. I gaze up and see that the ceiling is made of curved glass, and the moon shines down from above. The moon, and some other very vibrant lights...perhaps of the neon variety?

  “What are you doing all the way over there?” asks a rich, rasping voice.

  I look around sharply, sending little splashes of water everywhere as I try to cover my naked breasts. Warm, amused laughter rings out from the far side of the enormous tub. I peer through the steamy air and see that I’m not alone in this place. There, across the way, glow two piercing blue eyes. Heart battering against my ribs, I inch closer. Up out of the mist rises a broad, cut torso, covered in inky lines. Two thick, muscled arms drape over the edge of the tub. A face unlike any other, itself like something carved out of marble, watches me approach. And a full, irresistible smile bursts open there as I approach.

  “There’s my girl,” Declan Tiberi growls, holding out his strong hand to me.

  I place my hand in his, marveling at the sudden spread of heat that rushes through me at his slightest touch. Declan pulls me toward him, guiding me through the steamy water. His brown curls are wet, slicked back from his gorgeous face. Slowly, tentatively, I come to standing before him, letting my eyes trail all along every defined muscle of his chest, his web of intricate tattoos. I spot a scar or two on his chest, rising up from the bulky, firm panes of his pecs.

  “Won’t you come closer?” he breathes, running his hands down my bare arms. A cascade of goose bumps stand up wherever his fingertips trail.

  I sink down into the water, hiding my naked body from view. I’m suddenly bashful, feeling young and inexperienced. My long blonde hair twists and waves in the water, fanning out all around me. My cheeks are burning with excitement and self-consciousness.

  “I’m a little nervous,” I admit to him, averting my eyes.

  “It’s just me,” he says softly, “You know me, Kassie.”

  My familiar name rolling off his tongue sends a shiver of joy down my spine. I dare to meet his gaze, feeling like I could get lost in those sapphire eyes.

  “I’ve never...been with a man before,” I tell him honestly, “Not really. I’ve messed around and all, but never...you know.”

  “Is that so?” he asks, unwaveringly, “Well...do you want to know what it’s like? To be with a man—to be with me?”

  “More than anything,” I breath, inching closer.

  “I want to show you, Kassie,” he says, coming toward me in the water. “I want to show you what it’s like. How good it can be.”

  His torso rises up out of the pool, his perfect rack of abs glistening and slick. He t
owers over me, even as I stand, letting my breasts meet the warm air. He groans as he takes me in, his eyes drinking in my every inch, my every curve.

  This is it, I think to myself as he closes the space between us. Declan cups my chin in his strong hand, titling my face up toward his. He looks sure and serious, but elated. Happy. And all at once, I realize that I’m not afraid anymore. I want this. I want him.

  “Just let me show you,” he says, his voice rasping lustily, “Let me make you feel amazing, Kassenia. I’ll show you...”

  He lowers his full, firm lips to mine. I close my eyes open myself to him, full of trust and longing. His tongue glides deliciously against mine. He pulls me against him, and I feel the rock hard length of him pressing against my belly. Just feeling him there, knowing that he’s hard for me, is almost more than I can handle. I throw my arms around his broad shoulders, desperate to feel him inside of me, where I’ve never felt any man before. I want him to be the first one to know me that way. He’s the first man I’ve ever met who’s man enough to handle me. Take me. Show me what this is all about.

  Declan catches me up in his arms, spinning me around in the warm, steamy air. He sets me down on the edge of the tub, my legs snaked around his tapered waist. I lay back against the cool tile as his fingers trail over my collarbone, ribs, thighs. His thumbs brush over the pink peaks of my nipples, sending shockwaves of pleasure dancing along my nerves. He cups my sex in a sure hand, running his fingers all along my slick slit. He pulls his hands away and a new, unnamable, amazing pressure makes itself known against that throbbing place between my legs. A low, aching need goes off like a bomb in my belly as I suck in a huge breath, waiting to be filled up by this incredible man.