ROUGHNECK: A DARK MOTORCYCLE CLUB ROMANCE
Page 47
“Your business,” I said, unsure where this sudden willingness to abandon her carefully constructed life had come from.
“My business will survive, Tristan, don’t worry,” she said, smiling up at me calmly as her hands caressed my hip. “And Tina can step into my place as CEO. She’s handled the company better than I could have through this whole thing. She’s ready and I have every confidence in her.”
“But what about everything you said?” I asked, still trying to process the fact that we were even having this conversation after the last few days’ events. A rollercoaster had fewer hills and valleys than this relationship had, and things had certainly been said that would be hard to take back. “I thought that I was an asshole and that you never wanted to see me again.”
“You still are an asshole,” she giggled, biting on her lip as she looked. “But you did something that no one has ever done for me, you gave up what you wanted—everything you wanted—so that I wouldn’t be hurt by our mistake.”
“So we’re still a mistake then,” I said, shaking my head in frustration. “I don’t understand why you’re here, Gwen. What is it you want?”
“You, Tristan,” she said, “I want you.”
“How can you after everything that’s happened? You reputation will—”
“I was wrong,” she whispered. “And so long as we’re still in London we’ll be getting looks for the way that we feel for one another. I want to go away—with you.”
“What? Where could we possibly go? Everything we have is here in London,” I said, looking all around. “Your whole entire business is here.”
“Tina can handle everything,” she assured me again, caressing my cheek. “And as far as location… I was thinking that France would be fun.”
“We’re moving very fast,” I said, eyebrows raised, wary of the sudden speed that we were moving. I loved her, but this eagerness to bind ourselves together was hard for me to handle. I was never used to women actually wanting to tie themselves down to a guy like me. “Moving to some foreign country together? Living together?”
“We have a few years of lost time to make up,” she whispered before pressing her lips to mine. “Why take it slow?”
I closed my eyes as our lips met, my shoulders relaxing into the sensation of her body pressing against my own. For the briefest of moments I fretted about who might see the two of us together, but the longer her lips pressed to mine the less I seemed to care. All of my insecurities began to ebb away as I felt my Gwennie’s arms wrapping around the back of my neck.
Epilogue
Months after Tristan and I absconded to France, my youngest brother was born, a pretty-looking baby whom my mother named George… Not that my mother ever told us about the birth. We’d heard about it months after that from some tabloid. There were rumors that the child was never Lord Wolfe’s and how the two of them were sleeping in separate rooms.
“Glad to be far from any of that nonsense,” Tristan whispered as the two of us lounged across a comfortable lawn chair side by side. The mid-day sun was in the sky as we basked in its warmth together.
We’d moved into a flat in Paris, the Eiffel tower in view on the horizon. It was everything a girl could have wanted when she imagined herself living in one of the most romantic cities in the world.
“Think any of it’s true?” I asked, gently running my fingers along his bicep as we lay with one another.
“I couldn’t care any less,” he said, laughing as he turned to press his lips to mine tenderly. “I have you, and that’s all that I have to worry about.”
“You’re right,” I whispered soothingly. “They’ve taken up enough of our lives.”
I’d been left in relative peace ever since I’d left London in favor of Paris. Our absconding across the channel had raised a few headlines at first, but before we knew it we were old news by London’s standards. Everyone was looking for the next big scandal, and ours had had its fifteen seconds of the spotlight. We were slowly drifting into obscurity, and I wouldn’t have had it any other way.
Once I’d left I put Tina in charge of the day-to-day activities at the company, promoting her to CEO as I stepped back into a silent ownership role from my new home. After the dust had settled concerning Tristan and I’s affair we found that my client list had not been nearly as decimated as I had expected, with a good number of members of the upper class still happily accepting my company’s services. With business back home still booming, I felt that it was high time that I let myself relax.
I breathed a sigh of contentment as I let my hands begin to wander over Tristan’s body, allowing my fingers to gently caress the minute curves of his abs and down along his side. I followed those Adonis lines all the way down between his hips, caressing the soft mass of his cock, just barely running my fingers along its length, entertaining the idea of rousing it from its sleep to feel it filling me in the most intimate of ways.
Tristan moaned out ever so softly, his eyes fluttering shut as he enjoyed the slow, deliberate attention I paid to his slowly awakening dick. I couldn’t help but smile as he began to grow as I took him into my hand, wrapping it around his base and slowly starting to stroke him.
“Weren’t you just taken care of?” he asked, a wide grin splitting his face. It was true, only a few hours earlier Tristan had held me down as he plowed that massive cock inside of me, slamming in as hard as he could until my knees buckled. I bit down on my lip, already feeling my womanhood start to slicken with lust.
“Maybe I want more,” I purred, squeezing softly on his considerable girth as I continued to stroke his massive cock. “I’m always so hungry for it, lately… I can’t help it.”
Tristan laughed, a slow, melting laugh that made a shiver run up my spine and then back down between my thighs. I bit down harder on my bottom lip and whimpered, my nails ever-so-gently raking along the underside of his arm as I began to brush my lips over his skin.
“Who knew being pregnant would turn my prudish Gwennie into such a horny little minx,” he growled playfully, running his fingers in my hair as my lips turned south toward his groin. “It suits you.”
“Does it?’ I asked, lapping my tongue over his tip ever so slightly. “I wasn’t sure you’d really like dealing with your needy stepsister trying to sit on the cock every second of the day.”
Tristan let out another laugh as he pulled me into a deep, passionate kiss. “Clearly you don’t know me at all.”
I smiled, pressing myself into his warm body as I straddled his waist, my back arched as I slowly lowered myself down onto his stiff rod.
“I love you,” he whispered softly to me as I took him slowly deeper inside of myself, gasping out as that piercing slid right against my spot as I worked him in all the way to his base.
“I love you too,” I moaned out, looking down into his eyes.
As I began to move my hips at a torturous pace on top of his cock, I realized that my entire life had lead up to this moment, a moment of pure happiness with the one person I truly loved. I threw my head back, letting out a soft moan of pleasure as I felt his shaft twitch as I worked my hips against him.
I had spent so much time trying to match others with their perfect soulmate that the person I was always trying to set up was myself. All I needed was the right place at the right time and the will to grab what I’d always wanted.
My stepbrother, Tristan Wolfe—and his royal prick.
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Novels by Nikki Wild
Bad Boy Fighters:
KNOCKOUT (A Bad Boy MMA Romance)
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Bad Boy Bikers:
Saving Landon (A Bad Boy Biker Romance)
Saved by the Bad Boy (A Devil’s Dragons Biker Romance)
Rough Rider (Outlaw Kings Motorcycle Club)
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Royal Prick (A Bad Boy British Romance)
Arrogant Brit (A Bad Boy British Sports Romance)
Rock Hard (A Bad Boy British Rockstar Romance)
Played (A Bad Boy British Romance)
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Bad Boy Rockstars:
Illicit Behavior (A Bad Boy Rockstar Romance)
Rock Hard (A Bad Boy British Rockstar Romance)
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Bad Boy Stepbrothers:
Lust (A Bad Boy Stepbrother Romance)
Richard (A Bad Boy Stepbrother Romance)
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Protect And Serve (A Bad Boy Billionaire Romance)
Illicit Behavior
A BAD BOY ROCKSTAR ROMANCE
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1
ILLICIT BEHAVIOR
Trent
“Dude! These groupies are totally ready to go!” My dreadlocked bastard of a bohemian guitarist laughed, splashing his bottle of beer in an arc.
The two hot young girls wrapped around him cooed a chorus of flirtatious giggles. They must have been just barely eighteen, clad in tight, low-cut shirts that made their silky, angelic breasts practically burst out of the seams.
Despite my lack of interest, I wasn’t about to rain on his parade. I lightly raised my own bottle of music festival beer to him, shaking my head.
“You go on ahead, man. Not feelin’ it tonight.”
No matter where we went, fans were throwing themselves at us – and my band-mates were always eager to take the free, willing pussy back to the bus for a fresh bang.
In fact, my bassist and drummer were already back there now, getting their freak on with a few nameless groupies now.
“Serious?” Waylon asked drunkenly.
His limber playing hand slid under a skirt and along a tanned, tender ass, drawing a blush from the groupie’s cheeks. The sight made my cock almost twitch.
Almost.
“You sure you don’t want to try a piece of this Alabama ‘tang?” He pressed on. “Plenty to go around. I’m not greedy.”
The groupie twosome puffed their chests and wiggled provocatively for me, giving me the deepest pair of sultry, lustful looks that they could muster.
They looked cute.
Cute, and too young to be acting like this.
“Think I’m just gonna relax and ride the vibe,” I reaffirmed. “Go get your dick wet.”
“If you say so!”
“And ladies,” I continued, turning towards the girls, who settled down and looked at me almost fearfully. “Don’t keep him up all night. This guy needs to be shredding licks same time tomorrow.”
They nodded respectfully, but Waylon jumped up to his feet, his dreads scattering around his face briefly.
“Ain’t gonna happen. This train rides ‘til sunrise! Ain’t that right, ladies?”
They chuckled with big, goofy hero-worshipping grins on their faces. He scooped them up against his sides, and soon they stumbled off towards the back of the after-party, heading for our bus.
Joke’s on them, I thought to myself. Waylon’s a two-pump chump on a GOOD day.
Truth of the matter was that I’d been in a funk. For the last few weeks, I had turned down sex left, right, and center from even the most flexible little minxes.
A constant stream of the hottest goddamn chicks around went fucking wild for us on the regular.
And why shouldn’t they?
We weren’t just anybody.
We were Trent Masters and the Whiplash, the hottest fucking rock band in America.
On national radiowaves dominated by DJs making music off of laptops, mainstream child stars glammed up and given backing bands, and egotistical personalities lacking substance and spitting shit…we brought something better.
Something harder.
Something real.
Something apparently sorely missed.
Our latest album, Twelve Machines, was flying off the shelves across the country. The last two singles went platinum. Hell, talks of a Grammy nomination were already in the pipeline.
I was on top of the fucking world.
Or I should have felt like I was.
But all I felt was empty inside, and even the quick fix of endless sex didn’t quell the tension.
It was hard to think I was taking advantage of these girls when they grinded up against me at after-parties like this, always seeming so desperate to give my cock the old spit-shine.
It just didn’t feel right.
But… I couldn’t tell what I wanted instead.
What I needed.
I drank another swig from my bottle of beer, watching the other bands delight in the attention. We were in town for this badass music festival called the RipFest, and we’d shared the stage with some serious rock legends and decent upcoming talent.
They were having fun. Even the older, crustier guys looked like they were having a blast, likely filled with enough drugs to bring down a Bull Rhino in its prime.
It’s not like I wasn’t grateful… I was just… Lost.
The constant attention was overwhelming – too much of a great fucking thing. I had to be careful about the shit I said, because rock stars were even closer to scandal in this day and age.
Everything constantly recorded, rumors spread with the speed of a tweet and the snap of a camera on some girl’s iPhone.
It was all about being careful and avoiding the wrong kind of spotlight. Blogs are eager for clicks, and the whole world is ready to tear you down to build an audience.
I’d paid my dues.
No more practicing in oily garages and filthy bars. No more struggling in hard labor and backbreaking jobs to make ends meet. I wasn’t going to let some little misstep tear me down.
Despite the bullshit, the throne on this rising fucking star felt grand.
But as the light grew brighter…the shadows only grew filthier. Despite all the fame, all the success, all the money and women and the fancy toys. I knew the truth.
The world is a filthy place.
And I am the reigning king of the filth.
2
Angel
Summoning every drop of charisma that I could find, I smiled and plunked down the glasses at the four-top bar table for the graying, slovenly bikers. I rattled off the orders as I sloshed the drinks in front of them in turn, each of them smiling grotesquely.
“Four drafts: Bud, Bud, Miller Lite, and Abita. And four shots of Fireball, because why not,” I added mirthlessly.
“Thanks, darlin’,” the closest biker chuckled, lifting his
shot and suddenly grabbing a nice handful of my ass.
I flinched and drew back from him, preserving my pride – and my job – by not responding poorly to the harassment.
“Can I get you guys anything else?”
It was less a question, and more a growl.
“One other thing.”
He dropped his menu on the ground, and looked at me expectantly.
“Step onto that.”
I was used to this by now, and I suppressed a heavy sigh and a filthy look. Instead, I stepped meaningfully onto the discarded menu.
“We’ll take one of you,” he grinned.
“You can’t have one of me.”
“But darlin’, you’re on the menu!”
They broke into riotous laughter, as if this was the cleverest fucking joke ever.
It was pretty funny the first time someone did it to me. Months ago… People are less original than they think. I heard this one twice a week.
“Looks like we’re fresh out,” I responded, scooping the menu off the floor and strolling away.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw their laughter die down, and they were looking at me with annoyance for not playing along.
To hell with ‘em.
To hell with everything about this stupid goddamn job.
I hated working this ancient, decrepit dive bar. The money was just good enough to keep myself afloat, and bartending was fun enough, but not somewhere like this.
If it wasn’t bikers, it was rednecks.