Ruined by the Devil: A Motorcycle Club Romance (Storm’s Angels MC) (Satan’s Outlaw Sins Book 1)

by Sophia Gray

  “I’m going to give you what you want. Don’t you want to see me?” I playfully asked him.

  “No, not like…no.” He grabbed my pants and tried to hold them closed with one hand while I pulled the other around me.

  This time, I grabbed his wrist and forced his hand against my cotton panties. I tilted my head back and pulled in a deep, sharp breath through my nose as I made his solid, masculine hand rub against me through the fabric.

  “Dammit, Clara,” he said against my neck, pulling his hand back from me slowly, almost reluctantly.

  I let him go and backed away with a smile on my face, trying not to laugh at how I was torturing him.

  “Keep your pants on,” he said with a kind of resolve in his voice.

  “Can I stay?” I asked him as I zipped and buttoned.

  He looked at me for a few long, silent moments. I could see in his mesmerizing, deep green eyes that he was weighing his options with me. He wasn’t completely sure what to do with me, and I liked being able to see that in him.

  “You’re going to be the death of me if I keep you here as anything but a prisoner,” he told me.

  “Probably,” I teased, “but at least you’ll enjoy it.”

  “All right, get your shoes,” he said abruptly.

  “What about the rest of my things, like my pack?” I asked.

  “Here.” He stepped over to the work bench and tossed my backpack to me.

  “Where am I going?” I asked. While Plan B seemed to be working so far, I still wasn’t sure what each step in the plan was going to be.

  “You need a shower, and I’m sure you’d appreciate a little privacy, maybe a change of clothes,” he answered.

  “Yeah, of course I would,” I said with a baffled laugh. I grabbed my shoes from the floor and shoved them in my pack.

  “You’re going barefoot?” he asked when he saw me.

  “Don’t pretend I’m some fragile little flower just because I’m a woman,” I said with a sigh. “I think I’ve proven myself to you by now.”

  “Sorry.” He raised his hands. “I just mean, you know, I wouldn’t walk around here barefoot,” he explained.

  “Well, I’ll be careful,” I told him flatly.

  “Okay, let’s go.” He slid the door open and allowed me to walk up the stairs ahead of him. I expected to find all of the other members of the MC waiting for me upstairs, ready to pounce on me. I was waiting for this plan of mine to implode at any moment, but I knew in order for it to work, I had to remain calm about the whole thing.

  I heard the door close behind me, and soon Mason was walking behind me with a hand on my lower back. I grinned. I should have come in here with Plan B to begin with. It was much easier to get in good with him than to find his drugs.

  Chapter 6

  Mason

  I didn’t expect her to actually take my offer of freedom. I knew she would choose to stay. She couldn’t go back to her boss empty-handed, but there was another reason she didn’t want to leave just yet, and it became pretty obvious as soon as I untied her. She wanted me.

  I wanted her, too. I couldn’t deny it. She’d noticed it when I shoved myself against her. I’d pressed myself against her and felt her body pressing against mine at the same time. She wanted me just as badly.

  I tried to hold it together while I listened to the shower running in my bathroom, knowing she was in there, naked behind my shower door. All I had to do was open the bathroom door and I would be in there with her.

  I closed my eyes and imagined her in there, standing naked under the hot water rushing over her tan body. I imagined every curve catching water and letting it roll off. I leaned my head back and let the image linger in my head while I listened to the running water. I imagined those beautiful blue eyes staring at me through the steam, the wet hair clinging to the back of her neck while her serpentine curves almost danced in front of me.

  I imagined pinning her thin wrists against the hard tile wall and pressing my naked, hot manhood between her legs. I wondered what she looked like down there. Did she shave, giving herself a submissive look, ready to please anyone man enough to take charge? Or was she the type of woman who kept meticulously trimmed hair to show off her dominant nature?

  “There’s just one way to find out,” I said to myself, but I stayed on the couch. If things worked out the way I wanted them to, I’d have plenty of time to find out and explore her body.

  It was all part of my new plan with her. I figured if I couldn’t get her to give in with regular tactics, and I wasn’t about to damage her, I would have to seduce her to get information from her. I would do whatever I needed to in order to make her talk, and once I found out who her boss was, I was going to take him down and leave her in the dust.

  I wasn’t completely sold on the last part of the plan, though. The jury was still out on whether or not to leave the end open for interpretation.

  The water stopped. So did my heart. I didn’t want her to find me in the living room, kicked back on my white leather couch, listening to her shower. I reached over to the glass coffee table and grabbed the remote control for the large flat screen I had mounted on the white wall in my living room and turned on the news. I figured it was good background noise. There was always someone running their mouth, or there were commercials keeping the sound going.

  I realized I didn’t have a drink or anything. Nothing about what I was doing looked natural. It was pretty obvious I’d just been sitting here listening to her in the shower. I got up and walked across my hardwood floor to my open kitchen, which faced the bathroom door. I grabbed a rocks glass from the cupboard, dropped a few pieces of ice in it, and poured myself a glass of whiskey.

  I smiled down at the smoky brown liquor in my hand, knowing it would help take the edge off and make me look a little more natural. I was at home. I didn’t know why I was having so much trouble looking less awkward.

  “I, uh, don’t have anything to wear,” Clara’s voice came from behind as I raised the glass to my lips.

  I paused for just a moment and tilted my head. I downed my whiskey in one gulp, as if it had been a single shot. The smooth burn melted off my anxiety. I expected—and hoped—to see her standing naked just inside the dining room.

  She wasn’t far from naked, though, with just a towel wrapped around her breasts and reaching down just far enough to hide the prize waiting for me between her legs. I poured another glass before walking around to her.

  Her skin looked so much softer, smoother after her shower. Her hair, not quite dry yet, was still clinging to her neck and the back of her shoulders. I ran a hand up one of her slender arms. She was so much thinner out of those clothes! Her skin was silky smooth.

  “I guess you can’t walk around naked, can you?” I asked her.

  I grabbed one of her hands and put the whiskey glass in it. She took a sip from it and stared at me with those intense blue eyes. She didn’t even wince as she swallowed a pretty thirsty gulp of the amber liquor. She handed the glass back to me as I ran a hand down along her wet hair.

  We were almost the same height. She was just a few inches shorter, enough difference that we didn’t quite see eye to eye standing next to each other. My shoulders engulfed her. I wanted to take her in my arms and hold her against me, to protect her, but I also knew she didn’t need or want protecting. This woman could stand on her own and carry her own weight.

  “You wouldn’t happen to have anything that would fit me, would you?” she asked shyly.

  “Right, clothes. Come on, we’ll find something.” I walked into my closet and looked through my hanging shirts. I had a few dress shirts that would look perfect on her. I grabbed one and pulled it off the hanger to hand it to her.

  “Any shorts or anything I can borrow? I’m sorry to be so needy,” she apologized, “but I wasn’t planning on getting caught.”

  I laughed as I pulled out some boxers, searching for a pair that was tight on me.

  “Something told me not to get rid of th
ese,” I said, tossing an older pair of boxer shorts over to her.

  “Are you going to stand around and watch me? Or can I have a little privacy?” she asked.

  “Yeah, sorry. I’ll be in the living room,” I told her, stepping out of the bedroom and pulling the door closed behind me. I stood with my back against the door for a moment, hoping to hear some sign that she was getting dressed, but all was silent behind the door. Plus, the TV in the living room was loud enough to drown out anything I might have heard anyway.

  “Soon enough,” I said under my breath as I walked away from my bedroom door back to my spot on the couch.

  A few moments later, she walked out in my shirt and boxers. My shirt swallowed her, but I could see her tan skin through the white fabric, stirring the same desire I felt for her back in the basement at HQ.

  “Do you have any more of that whiskey?” she asked as she walked into the living room.

  “Sure. Let me fix you a glass.” I took a drink from mine and got up for a refill and a glass for her.

  She sat down on the couch across from where I’d been sitting. When I came back into the living room, I walked up behind her and passed the glass over her shoulder. I watched as her gentle, thin fingers wrapped around the glass and took it from me.

  “So, tell me a little about yourself, Clara Burton,” I said as I sat back down across from her.

  “I’ve already told you everything there is to know,” she said, crossing her long, thin, tanned and toned legs. Every inch of her body, from the tips of her toes to the top of her head, was delicious. I wanted a taste.

  “No, tell me how you got into the business,” I told her, sitting back.

  “That’s a long story, Mason, and I don’t think we’re at that point yet,” she said. She stared at her glass with a contemplative look in her eye. The playful humor was gone from her voice now.

  “I’m sorry. I guess we need to play by the same rules we had back in the basement. I ask, and you answer only if you feel comfortable. How does that sound?” I asked with a chuckle, trying to lighten the mood again.

  “I don’t know that I want to play,” she said, getting up from the couch and walking around to the back of the living room to look up at the abstract painting I had hanging on the wall opposite the TV.

  I watched her body as she walked, appreciating the slope of her back, the curve of her tight little ass. I needed an excuse to get up and follow her, to stand behind her with my hardening desire, to press it against her and work our bodies out of our clothes.

  “Who’s the artist?” she asked absently, her attention taken by the lines and shapes, the smudges and sprinkles of paint spread over the mostly white canvas that took up most of the wall. That was my cue to pursue her.

  “It’s a local artist,” I told her as I got up from the couch to follow her. “I had it commissioned when I moved in.”

  “You don’t strike me as the artsy type,” she said, amused, looking back at me as I walked up to her.

  “I don’t know.” I shrugged. “I just like her work,” I told her. I wrapped my arms around her waist and pulled her back to me. She leaned her head back on my shoulder, still looking at the painting, still laughing at me.

  “Oh, it’s a she now? I bet you did like her work,” Clara teased.

  “I did,” I said as I turned my attention away from the painting and to the lovely tanned neck presenting itself to me. I couldn’t hold back anymore. I leaned in and gently placed my lips against her warm, smooth skin.

  She moaned and grabbed the back of my head, holding me in place on her neck as I kissed her. She melted against me.

  I could feel the shape of her body perfectly underneath the clothes I gave her. I pressed myself between the curves of her ass.

  She turned her face to me, and our lips met, sending electricity through my body. The pleasure of the touch of her soft lips against mine surged through me, hardening my shaft against her. Our mouths opened, and our tongues met in the middle, twisting around each other, stroking each other.

  Clara turned around and pressed her breasts against me. They were full and round, though perky and petite. I put my free hand on the small of her back and pulled her smooth, flat stomach against me while my lips pressed against her mouth and my tongue probed deep into her.

  At that moment, I knew I could have had her. I knew if one of us didn’t pull away soon, we were going to end up on the couch, the floor, the bed, somewhere, naked, joined at the hip with my cock deep inside her. I didn’t want to give it to her too quickly, though. I wanted to build up her desire for me, her longing, her need for me, so once we did come together, I would have more control over the situation.

  I pulled slowly away, and our eyes opened to greet each other.

  “Forget the whiskey, I could use more of that,” Clara said to me, pressing a hungry hand against my chest while she took another sip from her glass.

  “Well, play time’s over for now,” I told her. “We’ve got to get back to HQ.”

  “I thought we were through with you trying to get secrets out of me,” she said, her voice heavy with warmth and desire.

  “Yeah, but that’s not what I want out of you now,” I told her, letting the obvious suggestion hang in the air between us.

  “Really,” she said with a sexy little grin. “What about my clothes?”

  “We’ll handle that.”

  Chapter 7

  Clara

  My mind was reeling from how quickly everything was moving all of a sudden. When we got back to HQ, Mason called a meeting. I quickly excused myself, not wanting to infringe on anything too private, though I knew I was missing important information that Skull would have wanted by dipping out of the meeting. I was on the verge of panic. I needed to get in touch with Skull to ground myself again.

  I had charged my phone while I was at Mason’s apartment. Carrying my backpack into the bathroom with me, I had plugged it in under his counter. When I fished it back out at HQ, it had just enough battery life for me to try to call my boss. I couldn’t risk trying to listen to all the voicemails he’d left me and killing my phone in the process.

  I hurried downstairs to the basement, sure I would be alone to talk freely away from everyone’s prying eyes and ears. It went to voicemail after a few rings. I checked over my shoulder to see if anyone was around before leaving a message in a hushed voice.

  “Hey, it’s me. I don’t have long. My phone’s about to die. I wanted to let you know I’m okay. I haven’t listened to your messages, but I’m okay. I’ll get back in touch as soon as I can,” I said quickly.

  I disconnected the call and put the phone away in the pocket of the jeans Mason had bought me on the way in from his apartment. All of the clothes I was wearing were new, all purchased with the sizes I told him, but bought with his tastes in mind. I thought I looked damn good with the flowing, low cut black top, the tight jeans that loved my ass, and the perfect bra and panties that told me exactly what he had in mind for later. Having these clothes on was like having his hands on me. It was a delicious feeling.

  Then, I heard footsteps coming down the concrete steps behind me. I turned around, hoping to see Mason, but it wasn’t him. It was an older member of Storm’s Angels in a worn leather vest, an old ragged t-shirt, and tired jeans that seemed to wear every single year he’d been riding. He wore sunglasses and had his salt and pepper—mostly salt—hair pulled back in a long ponytail reaching down his back. His vest had more patches on it than anyone else I’d seen so far. He’d been with them a while.

  “What’s going on down here?” he taunted as he reached the bottom of the stairs and started walking towards me.

  “Nothing, just needed to get away for a minute.” I backed away nervously. “I had to make a phone call,” I told him.

  “Oh, a phone call. I see. You wouldn’t happen to be calling your boss to let him know you were in with Mason, would you?” He moved like a snake as he approached me, backing me into a corner. He wasn’t built the
way the rest of the guys were. He was thin and ratty, covered in old, faded tattoos. His breath smelled of cigars and whiskey with a hint of pot hanging over him.

  I wasn’t sure what the protocol was now. Normally in this type of situation, I wouldn’t have had any trouble handling him, but as a guest, I wasn’t sure Mason wanted to come downstairs and find one of his members face down in his own blood, especially someone who’d probably been with the MC longer than he had been.

  “What’s your game, old timer?” I asked him with a tough edge in my voice, trying to let him know I wasn’t one to fuck with.

  “No game, princess. I just don’t like spies and thieves hanging around my MC. That’s all. I know what you’re up to. You may have Mason fooled, but you won’t get by Liam, baby doll.” He ran a hand through my hair, and it was all I could take.