Down & Dirty: Books 1-3: Dirty Angels MC Series Box Set

by St. James, Jeanne

  Ah, fuck. “Nope.”

  “Liar.”

  “Whatever, Ivy. Seriously, I’m beat an’ don’t feel like dealin’ with your shit right now. You wanna crash here, go ahead. If you’re gonna puke, hit the head. Don’t want to come back to chunks in my bed. Got me?”

  Without waiting for her to answer, he spun on his heel and headed toward the door.

  “Where you goin’?”

  He could have sworn that was an actual whine. Without looking back, he threw over his shoulder, “Somewhere else.”

  “But—”

  He jerked the bolt lock open, pushed the lock button on the knob so no one else would wander in while she was passed out—because he was sure she’d pass out real soon—and stepped out into the hallway, slamming the door shut behind him.

  It would serve her right if he went and crashed at her apartment.

  Chapter Three

  Ivy eyeballed the Harley parked at the foot of her stairs. She glanced around first and then up the steps. No one was in the pawn shop lot but her and no one waited for her at her apartment door.

  No one meaning Jag. She recognized his bike since it was custom and there could be no mistaking it since it was one of the nicest bikes in the club. But then Jag was the Road Captain, so he took pride in his baby more than most.

  And that was the man’s specialty... customizing bikes. He was well known in the industry for doing some damn good work. Customers came from all over for him to trick out their bikes.

  Not that she cared.

  Right? Right.

  Maybe he was meeting Ace in the pawn shop for whatever reason. Most likely bitching about her actions last night. Like her uncle would care.

  However, neither Ace’s bike nor his truck were anywhere to be seen.

  She climbed the steps slowly, her hangover still raging.

  She admitted it, she had done a stupid thing.

  Okay, a few stupid things.

  The first being that she sucked down too many of Bella’s easy-to-drink Long Island Iced Teas and getting shit-faced. The second was breaking into Jag’s room while being shit-faced. The third was waking up alone in Jag’s bed, no longer shit-faced but feeling the effects of being shit-faced instead.

  Right now, she needed a date with the coffee pot in her kitchen and a jug of water.

  Even though she hadn’t slept with anyone last night—and apparently, not for lack of trying with Jag—she still felt like she was taking a walk of shame up to her own place.

  She pressed the heel of her palm into her throbbing eyeball as she dug out her keys. Just the jingle of them made her wince.

  Damn it.

  After unlocking the door, she shoved it open, but closed it gently, trying to make the least amount of noise possible.

  She dropped her keys and wallet on the kitchen counter and dragged the coffee maker out, set it up, and turned it on to brew.

  Snagging a bottle of water out of the fridge, she cracked the lid and guzzled half of it down, then headed toward her bedroom as the soothing smell of coffee started to fill her small apartment.

  A cup of coffee, a couple bottles of water, some aspirin and she’d soon be feeling some relief. And maybe more like herself.

  She was never drinking again in her lifetime.

  Though, before the coffee, she needed a shower desperately. She still smelled like the bonfire, booze, and sweat from all the dancing she did with the girls.

  She rounded her couch to head down the hallway and then almost fell flat on her face as she tripped over something on the floor.

  Flinging out a hand, she caught herself on the couch and stared at not only something but two somethings. Boots. Not just any boots. Fucking biker boots.

  In her apartment. In her living room. On her floor.

  Fucking Jag.

  She kicked them out of her way and beelined to her spare bedroom. The door was cracked open, but the room was empty. She moved to the next door, which was her bedroom, and the door was closed.

  Oh. No.

  No.

  No. No. No.

  She turned the knob quietly and shoved it open.

  That fucker was asleep in her bed.

  Her bed.

  She looked down at the plastic water bottle in her hand, then at his head which looked way too comfy on two stacked pillows. And before she could control it—not that she wanted to—her hand whipped forward automatically.

  Surprisingly, even with a lack of practice and a horrible hangover, she hit her target.

  Jag yelled and rolled up to a seated position, holding his head. Now they both needed aspirin.

  “What the fuck!”

  She decided to state the obvious. “You’re in my bed.”

  He glanced at the bottle lying next to him, then up at her. “What the fuck, Ivy?”

  “You’re in my bed,” she repeated.

  “Yep.” He grabbed the water, unscrewed the lid, then downed the remainder as if being in her bed was nothing out of the ordinary.

  “Yep? How did you get in?”

  He grinned. “Picked the lock.”

  She opened her mouth then snapped it shut. She deserved that. “Why here?”

  “Why my bed?” he threw back at her.

  She opened her mouth then snapped it shut. Again.

  Damn it.

  She certainly wasn’t going to tell him the truth about why she ended up in his bed. That would make him crow with victory. And all it really was was a moment of weakness.

  Or so she kept telling herself.

  “You need to get gone, Jag.”

  His eyes flicked to the clock radio on her nightstand. “It’s only eight.”

  She planted her hands on her hips. “Yeah? And?”

  “It’s Sunday.”

  “Yeah? And?”

  “Always sleep in on Sundays.” With that he plumped both pillows, slid back into a reclining position, settled his head on her pillows and closed his eyes.

  No. He. Didn’t.

  Maybe he needed a taste of his own medicine.

  She stalked to the bed, took a fistful of the top sheet and whipped it down.

  Fuck.

  The man was only wearing his tattoos. Even though there were plenty of them, there weren’t enough to cover all his male goodness.

  And by male goodness, she meant male goodness.

  If she was a cat, she’d be licking her whiskers.

  She stepped back from the bed as he opened only one of his eyes. “Don’t need sheets to sleep, just so you know.” Then he closed that one eye, a smile curving his lips.

  “You’re not sleeping in my bed, Jag.”

  “Already did,” he answered matter-of-factly, not opening his eyes.

  “Well, you can stop now.”

  “When I wake up, I’ll stop sleepin’.”

  Ivy groaned and pressed both heels of her palms into her eyes, grinding them hard. When she stopped, she saw spots. But they weren’t big enough to block out his freaking awesome naked body in her bed.

  And she hadn’t seen that many tattoos since...

  Since the last time she had been with Jag.

  Damn. She forgot how well he wore them. “You gotta go. I have to shower.”

  “Yeah, I can smell you from here.”

  Her spine snapped straight. “What?”

  “You stink, Ivy,” he mumbled into the pillow, his eyes still closed.

  Her mouth dropped open.

  “You want me to do you before I leave today, you need to shower.”

  You want me to do you before I leave...

  You want me to do you...

  “Don’t hear the water runnin’,” he muttered.

  She snapped her mouth shut.

  “Don’t forget the soap. Wash good. ‘Specially if you want me to go down on you.”

  What...

  The...

  Fuck...

  He did not just...

  Nope.

  “You think I want you to go down on
me?”

  Both steel-blue eyes popped open, he rolled to his side and propped a hand under his head to look at her. “Yeah, why wouldn’t you?”

  Goddamn, he looked good in that pose. She could... He could... No. “Because you’re leaving, that’s why.”

  “Ain’t leavin’. So, go take a shower, get naked, then get in bed. Don’t got all day. Need to catch up on some sleep.”

  He “don’t got all day.”

  “Your bed is now empty back at church, you can go there to sleep.”

  “Not if it smells like you right now. Gonna hafta wash the sheets first.”

  Damn.

  “Look, you were in my bed last night for a reason. But I’m not doin’ you when you’re drunk like that. Not again. This time when we bump uglies, you’re gonna be wide awake an’ you’re gonna remember everything.”

  “You think I was in your bed because I wanted to sleep with you?”

  One side of his mouth pulled up. All cocky-like. “Not sleep.”

  She blew out a breath. “Okay, then... Fuck you?”

  “Yep. Why else?”

  “Maybe because it was an empty room and I needed to crash.”

  “Bullshit, Ivy.”

  Yes, it was bullshit. Damn it.

  “Baby, get in the shower. Time’s a tickin’.”

  Jeez. Like he had an important appointment or something. The only thing he had to do was put his head back on her pillows and go back to sleep in her bed.

  Fucking Jag.

  With a frown and a curse under her breath, she kicked off her shoes and headed to the bathroom. She’d deal with him after she freshened up and felt a little more put together.

  “Brush your teeth, too.”

  Ivy flipped him the bird over her head, then slammed the bathroom door.

  * * *

  Ivy dug her heels into Jag’s tattooed back as her hips shot off the bed. And not for the first time, either. The man was certainly a master with his tongue. She also couldn’t ignore his fingers, which were deep inside her, curved perfectly to make sure he hit the right spot.

  No complaints there, he was definitely hitting all the right spots. The tip of his tongue flicked at her clit, his fingers worked in and out and his thumb pressed hard against her anus, teasing but not taking.

  Fuuuuuck.

  Had he been this good the first time around? Not that it mattered, because if he hadn’t been, he was sure making up for it now.

  She curled herself forward and dug her hands into his hair, grabbing a handful in each, holding him tightly against her as she cried out nonsense.

  “That’s it, baby,” he murmured against her pussy. “Feel you comin’.”

  She felt herself coming, too. And it was a good one. Her body clenched tight around his fingers as she bucked against his face, an orgasm ripping through her. A moment later, she collapsed back onto the mattress with a long sigh, her chest rising and falling at a rapid pace.

  She stared at the ceiling and thought, I’m so screwed.

  No one previously in her bed had done what he just did so well.

  Though, again, she kept that to herself.

  On his hands and knees, he moved up until his face was directly above hers. He dropped his shiny lips to her mouth and dragged his tongue against hers so she tasted herself.

  She moaned and cupped his cheek, but he pulled away to dip his head down, capturing one of her nipples. His tongue stroked the tip as he sucked it deep.

  She closed her eyes when he rolled her other nipple between his thumb and forefinger.

  Damn, why didn’t he suck in bed? It would make it easier for her to avoid him. She didn’t want a biker. Mostly because she didn’t want to be some man’s property. Or be treated like a second-class citizen.

  She wasn’t going to be caught dead wearing a “Property of Jag” cut. No fucking way.

  She shook herself mentally. As far as she knew, he wasn’t trying to claim her. So, hopefully after they got done “bumpin’ uglies,” he’d just leave and they’d both go on about their lives.

  She snorted. Yeah, right.

  Jag’s head lifted, his grey-blue eyes narrowed. “Somethin’ funny?”

  “Nope. Are you going to fuck me or what?”

  His eyes darkened and his lips curled in that delicious way they did. “Yep.”

  “Then get going.”

  He arched a brow. “You in a rush?”

  “You said you need to catch up on your beauty rest.”

  “Yeah, an’ this will help me do that. But no need to rush.”

  “Want my bed to myself.”

  “Told you I ain’t leavin’.”

  “Oh, that’s right. You told me.” She rolled her eyes. “Sorry, I forgot.”

  He stared at her for a moment, his smile long gone. “I’m assumin’ with all the dick you got comin’ an’ goin’ in this joint, you got wraps.”

  All the breath left her suddenly and she felt the sting of tears. And she was not a crier. She blinked them away as she whispered, “Seriously, Jag?”

  He went practically nose to nose with her, his face dead serious. “Yeah, seriously. That shit’s gonna stop. Got me?”

  Ivy’s body went solid underneath him, the threat of tears instantly gone. “Why’s that?”

  “’Cause from now on, it’s just me in here. An’ I’m not talkin’ about your apartment.”

  “Really.”

  “Really,” he echoed with a sharp nod of his head.

  Guess she was wrong about him trying to claim her. It wasn’t going to happen, but with both of them being naked in bed, now was not the time to make it clear to him. “Are you going to finish what you started?”

  “Yep.”

  “The condoms are in the top drawer.”

  He turned his head, looked at the nightstand, then leaned over to rip open the drawer, pulling out a large box. Which happened to be already opened.

  And only half full.

  He peered into it.

  “Goddamn,” he muttered. “This box is half empty an’ it’s warehouse sized. What the fuck, Ivy?”

  “My sex life isn’t your business, Jag.”

  “Is now.”

  She rolled her eyes again. “You trying to make me feel like a... a... sweet butt?”

  His lips thinned as he pulled a condom out of the box. “If the shoe fits.”

  Her jaw tightened and she slammed both palms into his chest. He grunted from the impact but hardly moved. She struggled beneath him, but his hips pinned her tightly to the bed.

  “Knock it off, baby, before you knee me in the dick.”

  “Don’t tell me to knock it off. Get off me.”

  “No.”

  She slapped her palm on the mattress. “Jag.”

  “No.”

  “Jag...”

  “No, baby. I’m gonna fuck you good, then we’re gonna sleep.”

  “Well, maybe now I don’t want to fuck you. And I definitely had no plans to sleep with you afterward.”

  “Okay.”

  Her brows shot up. “Okay?” Couldn’t be that easy.

  “I hear you but don’t agree with you.”

  Ivy groaned and slammed her head back on the pillow. “Jag.”

  “Yeah, baby?”

  Damn. Every time he called her baby, it tightened her nipples even more and made her break out in goosebumps. “Please don’t call me that.”

  “Okay, baby.”

  Ivy blew out a breath. “Now you’re just being an asshole.”

  “Yep.” And then he had the nerve to smile. Smile. “Can I fuck you now?”

  “And if I say no?”

  “You sayin’ no?”

  “Goddamn it,” she muttered.

  “Thought so.” He ripped open the wrapper and rolled the condom over his cock. He went nose to nose with her again. “You want the bottom or you wanna ride me like the wild woman you are?”

  Ivy blinked up at him, but considered her options. “Start at the bottom then finis
h on top.”

  “Fuck,” he breathed. “That’s my girl.”

  Nope. “Just today.”

  “What?”

  She needed to lay down some ground rules. “Just your girl this moment, right now. That’s it.”

  He studied her for a second, then smiled his cocky smile. “Okay, baby, whatever you say.”

  Right.

  Then the thick crown of his cock bumped her slick folds and Ivy figured she’d worry about all that other stuff at another time. Like after she tossed him out on his ass later.

  When he pushed inside her, everything melted away between the two of them. He moved slow and gentle, his hips finding a rhythm that made her want him even more. He pressed his forehead to hers and their gazes locked.

  When he whispered, “Baby,” her toes curled and lightning shot down her spine.

  Damn. She wasn’t expecting it like this. Not from him.

  Tender. Gentle. Loving.

  Her heart seized.

  He had to be screwing with her. Faking her out. Playing a game. Something.

  He leaned on his elbows and took her cheeks in his large hands, pressing his lips to hers, brushing against them softly.

  What the hell was going on?

  They were supposed to be fucking. That’s it. Fucking. This wasn’t fucking.

  Ivy found it difficult to swallow as she stared at the man above her. Where was this biker pulling out finesse like this to actually make love to her?

  Never in her life had she been made love to. It had only ever been sex, a mutual physical satisfaction. Even with Adam, who stuck around longer than most guys, she wouldn’t allow emotions to get tangled up between them.

  But this tattooed, badass biker knew just how to move his hips. He wasn’t just slamming her hard. No. He was drawing out her responses gently. He was forcing her to keep eye contact, to keep a connection.

  He wasn’t playing fair.

  Not at all.

  “Nobody else in here, baby. Nobody but me. Got me?” he said softly.

  She opened her mouth, however, nothing but a gasp escaped as he thrust and held it, grinding deep, making her squirm.

  “Got me, Ivy?”

  No. No. He was not going to claim her. He was not going to own her. She was not going to end up an ol’ lady. Jag’s or anyone else’s.