DEVOUR ME: A Dark Bad Boy Romance (The Wicked Angels MC)

by Sophia Gray

  But Hank was sitting alone at the back of the tavern, chasing shots of whiskey with beer and staring down at the tabletop morosely. The sounds of happiness and triumph were drowned out by the grief that clanged in his ears, ugly and insistent, like a fire alarm.

  A year since they'd died. Did it feel like more time had passed? Less? Both?

  When he closed his eyes, he could still see the tiny crinkles at the edges of Elena's gray eyes, and the way her curly blonde hair would gently bounce back and forth as she shook her head and laughed at him. He could still hear her soft, mellow voice as she cooed and played with Jason, their infant son. He could still taste her breath on his lips, sweet and warm, like a summer wind.

  The rain pattered relentlessly on the roof of the bar, intruding on his memories. It had been raining the night she died, too. How long had she clung to life as the raindrops fell on the pavement around her? How long had she waited for the ambulance, holding Jason's broken little body and watching her blood mingle with the puddles in the road? The cops and paramedics who came to give Hank the news had said that they both died instantly and without pain.

  Hank wanted to believe that. But he couldn't.

  He opened his eyes again, and for a split-second, he thought he was still seeing an afterimage of Elena. It caught him off guard before he realized he was looking at Beth instead.

  And she was looking at him.

  Since Beth was related to Bib and he was fiercely protective of her, all the men in the club made a point of treating her like she was “just one of the guys.” No one dared to look at her or talk about her in any sexual context, and this had always applied to Hank too, since long before he'd met and married Elena.

  But the way Beth was looking at him now, it was hard not to notice how beautiful and sexy she was. He could see the short nubs of her nipples under her tight t-shirt, and her cutoff jeans revealed her long, tan, toned legs. Her thick, wavy hair was the same shade of blonde that Elena's had been. Her eyes were blue instead of gray, but their shape was still similar to Elena's eyes. She even bit her lower lip in the same hesitant, sensual way, like a little girl who knew she was about to do something bad but couldn't help herself.

  And she was staring at Hank as though he was the “something bad” she was about to do. There was seduction in those eyes—but there was tenderness, too, and compassion.

  He shot a glance at Bib, but the president was leaning over the bar to flirt with the barmaid and order another round. In fact, it seemed like he was making a concerted effort to look in every direction but Hank's.

  Hank looked away and shook his head, trying to clear it. He told himself that this was silly. He was overcome with grief, he'd lost count of how many shots he'd swallowed, and if his brain was telling him that Beth reminded him of Elena and that she was giving him the eye now, well, it just meant he was so drunk he was seeing things that weren't there. He decided to have one more drink, get up, go home, and pass out before he did something he'd regret.

  But when he looked in her direction again, he saw that she was walking toward him, holding a fresh bottle and two more beers.

  “May I join you?” she asked.

  Chapter 2

  Beth

  Beth adopted a ridiculous French accent as she recited the punchline. “'Oh, monsieur,' the guide says to him, 'you dare not miss! For if you do...ze moose will fuck my brother Georges!'”

  The bikers around her burst out into loud guffaws. Even Bib chuckled heartily, despite the fact that he'd heard the joke dozens of times—from Beth, and from her father before that.

  Beth smiled, taking a sip of her beer. This was always the best part of her day, when she could forget her boring, low-paying job at the deli counter of the local grocery store and have fun with her uncle and his Warriors. She loved their crude humor, and the way they sang and danced badly whenever the right song would come on the radio. She loved the way they talked about their bikes, the way they always smelled of leather and motor oil, the way they drank until dawn while trading stories of the outlaw life.

  But even though the Warriors were having their usual raucous good time, Beth couldn't help but notice that one of them—her favorite one—wasn't partying with them. She briefly scanned the room and saw Hank sitting in the corner, looking like a man who was slowly succumbing to a state of deep shock.

  Beth had been hanging out with the MC since she was in high school, and from the very beginning, she'd had a crush on Hank. Back then, he'd just graduated from prospect to fully-patched member, and in the years since, she'd watched his meteoric rise within the club. He'd always been Bib's favorite, a surrogate son to him, and everyone knew that one day he was destined to take over for him as president.

  When Hank announced that he was going to marry Elena, Beth congratulated him warmly, despite the guilty stab of jealousy in her heart. When Elena had a baby, Beth fussed over it and gushed about how cute it was, trying not to let herself picture a life in which she and Elena had traded places.

  Then the accident happened, and ever since then, Hank hadn't been himself and Beth had struggled to find the right words to say to him—until enough time passed that it wouldn't be appropriate to say anything at all about it anymore.

  And now here he was, drinking shots of whiskey like they were water and looking like the loneliest person on earth.

  Beth glanced at Bib and saw that he'd been watching her with a bemused expression.

  “It's the one-year anniversary, isn't it?” she asked quietly.

  “Yep.”

  “I feel so bad for him.”

  Bib raised one of his bushy eyebrows, giving her a conspiratorial smile from behind his shaggy white beard. With that playful expression, he looked like some kind of biker Santa Claus about to disappear up a chimney. “From the look in your eyes, I'd say that's not all you're feeling about him.”

  Beth blushed. “Oh, come on, that's...I mean, I'm not...”

  Bib laughed. “Don't bother. It's obvious that you've been carrying a torch for Hank since you were still wearing braces.”

  “Obvious?” Beth groaned. “Really? So you've known about it the whole time?”

  “Yes.”

  “Do the other Warriors know?”

  “Yes.”

  Beth blushed an even deeper shade of crimson, until her ears felt like they were on fire. “Does Hank know?”

  Bib shrugged. “Right now, I don't think Hank knows much about anything except the ghosts fucking around in his head. You could help him with that, though, I think.”

  Now it was Beth's turn to raise her eyebrows. “Are you saying you'd really be okay with...that?”

  Bib put a hand on Beth's shoulder. “Look, I'm not gonna pretend it ain't weird having this talk with my niece, okay? But you ain't a kid no more. I love you, and I love Hank, and all I want is for both of you to be happy. Watching him sink deeper and deeper into the mud over the past year has damn near broken my heart, and if you think you've got an honest chance at yanking him back out, then you owe it to yourself—and to him—to head on over there and take your shot.”

  Beth took a step toward Hank's table, then wavered. “But he's drunk, and he's grieving, and... what if it's the wrong time? What if it just confuses things?”

  Bib shook his head. “Drunk or sober, grief or no, trust me—these things can always be confusing. But they can be worked out later. And anyway, he looks like he's drowning, and you look like someone who wants to throw him a lifeline. Seems like the perfect time to me.”

  She grabbed a bottle of whiskey and two beers from the bar. “Okay. Here I go, then.”

  Bib smiled. “Just breathe, hon. You'll do fine.”

  Beth walked over to Hank's table. As she got close, Hank looked up at her with bleary eyes.

  “Mind if I join you?” she asked.

  He stared up at her for a long moment as though she'd just arrived on a UFO. Finally, he nodded, gesturing to the seat across from him. She took it, setting the whiskey and beers down
between them.

  “You looked like you could use a refill,” she said. “And maybe some company.”

  Hank laughed bitterly. “I'm afraid I'm not gonna be very good company tonight, Beth.”

  “Just because you're feeling sad doesn't mean I won't enjoy your company. I know this is a rough night for you, but you can talk to me about it if you want.”

  “Trust me, you don't want to hear it.”

  “Maybe I do want to hear it.” Beth put her hand over his, looking into his eyes. She saw aching loss there, but there was something deeper, too—something primal and undeniable.

  Attraction, she thought. He finally sees me as someone he can want, instead of just the club's little sister. But what if it's just because of the booze? What if he sobers up and goes back to looking at me like I'm just Bib's niece? Could I handle that?

  To her surprise, she found that she was willing to take that chance. Her need to kiss him, to touch him, to feel his arms around her—she suddenly knew that she'd risk anything to make that happen.

  Hank pulled his hand away, and when he spoke, she heard his self-loathing quivering in his voice. “Well, maybe I don't want to hear it. Maybe I'm fucking tired and bored and sick of my own goddamn grief, and saying it all out loud will only make it worse. Did you ever think of that?”

  Beth considered getting up and leaving Hank alone, since it seemed like he might prefer that. But then she realized that he was lashing out at himself, not her. She couldn't bring herself to desert him and let him tear himself to pieces inside. She reached out, taking his hand in hers again and gently pulling it back to the table.

  “We don't have to talk,” she assured him. “And if you're sick of your grief, maybe I can help you feel something else tonight instead.”

  Hank rubbed his red eyes, looking at her like he'd never seen her before. “Beth, I'm warning you. You're better off staying away from me. I'm a fucking mess.”

  Beth leaned across the table, brushing a strand of Hank's brown hair out of his face and touching his cheek softly. “You don't look like a mess to me. And I don't want to stay away from you. I want to be right here with you. I want to be whatever you need me to be, whatever will make you feel strong and good and happy again.”

  Hank shook his head. “But what about tomorrow?”

  “Tomorrow will be tomorrow, no matter what we do. So tonight, we may as well do what we want.” Before Hank could open his mouth to protest, Beth leaned in even closer, her lips inches away from his. “By the way, the stalls in the ladies' room are big. And there's a lock on the door.”

  Hank thought for a moment and nodded slowly. He took her hand and they stood, heading for the bathroom at the back of the bar.

  Once the door closed behind them, Hank pushed Beth up against it, his hands and mouth all over her before she even had a chance to reach behind her and turn the lock. He was everywhere at once, surrounding her like a living whirlwind, and the scent of his sweat and aftershave and whiskey combined into a perfume that made her dizzy with desire.

  She felt an ember of triumph burning fiercely within her chest as she wrapped her arms around his body, giving in to him completely. He did want her. In this moment, he was as hungry for her as she was for him. The rational part of her mind worried about whether he'd feel the same afterward, but she shoved it away impatiently. This was no time for doubts or expectations, no time for anything except lust and surrender.

  He was finally hers. There was only here, now, the two of them in this bathroom, and if the whole world ended afterward, she wouldn't care.

  Beth slid her hands under Hank's t-shirt, her palms exploring the taut muscles of his back and shoulders. He kissed her lips roughly, his tongue reaching out for hers until they touched with a sweetness that was both smooth and sandpapery at once.

  “I've wanted you for so long,” she whispered.

  His warm breath tingled on her lips. “I know.”

  Hank's calloused hands pushed Beth's shirt up, and he fondled her breasts as he kept kissing her, his thumbs rubbing her nipples until they were so hard they hurt. She pressed her pelvis against his as tightly as she could until the sharp edges of her belt buckle dug into her belly.

  A moment later he was undoing the buckle and unzipping her cutoffs, and then his fingers slid down the front of her panties, massaging her clit. The sudden sensation traveled straight to the pit of her stomach, igniting it like a lightning bolt hitting a tree.

  “Oh my God,” she moaned, her breath catching in her throat. “That feels...”

  “Tell me how it feels,” Hank murmured, his lips caressing the side of her neck.

  Beth inhaled, trying to snatch words from the jumble of images and sensations inside her. But they slid through her fingers, leaving her with nothing but raw passion that defied description.

  Hank's fingertips pressed harder, more insistently, slipping inside of Beth and pushing against her G-spot until she felt like she might faint. God, it seemed like he knew just how she needed to be touched.

  “Tell me,” he hissed, “or I'll stop.”

  “Please don't stop,” she begged between gasps.

  “Then tell me. Now.”

  “It... feels...” She swallowed hard, desperately trying to put how she felt into words. “It's like...a volcano inside me, erupting...like lava's about to come spilling out of me...”

  “Good,” Hank growled, his teeth gently nipping at her earlobe. He pressed inside of her more insistently, and her body felt like it was turning to water from the waist down. “Let it spill out. I want to feel it.”

  Beth let out a cry as she climaxed, her juices pouring out into Hank's hand as she spasmed helplessly against the bathroom door.

  Before she knew what she was doing, she sank to her knees in front of him, gasping and trembling as she fumbled with his belt. She saw the bulge in the front of his jeans and kissed it, letting her hot breath soak through the denim. Then she unzipped his fly and reached in, freeing his stiff, quivering cock. She stroked it, looking at it longingly. She'd imagined what it might look like a hundred times, and now that her mouth was inches away from it, it was even more beautiful than she'd pictured.

  She felt Hank's hand on the back of her head and looked up at him. His eyes blazed down at her with desire, and he nodded once, almost imperceptibly.

  Beth parted her lips and took Hank in her mouth, relishing his pulsing warmth against her tongue. He let out a long moan, his fingers gently pulling her hair. She enveloped his cock as deeply as she could until it pressed against the back of her throat. Her hands wrapped around the base of his shaft, working it, squeezing it. She breathed through her nose, his musk filling her nostrils.

  His cock continued to grow inside her mouth, and just when she felt like she couldn't take any more, his hand released the back of her head and she heard him say, “Get up.”

  Beth stood, her knees shaking slightly. Part of her still couldn't believe that after all this time—after years of repressed wanting and private fantasies—she was finally here with him, feeling him, tasting him. She knew she should feel guilty for coaxing him into the bathroom with her while he was mourning. But instead, all she could feel was the quenching of a long thirst, as though she'd finally found an oasis after wandering a parched and pitiless desert.

  Before she had a chance to embrace Hank again, he said, “Turn around and put your hands on the door.”

  Beth turned, laying her palms against the uneven white paint of the door. Hank's hands closed over hers tightly, holding them in place as his chest pressed against her back. She barely had a chance to savor the firmness of his pecs and abs against her body before he plunged inside her, taking her from behind. Hard.

  Her warm cheek pressed against the cool surface of the door as she let a long, loud, ragged moan escape her lips. He kept her pinned to the door as he thrust into her, his shaft sliding against the wet, tender strip of skin just behind her pussy. From this angle, his cock slammed against her G-spot with each new p
ush forward, making her delirious with ecstasy. She could feel his breath on her shoulders and the back of her neck.

  They were locked together like animals in heat, grunting and growling and gasping as their hips moved in rhythm with each other. Her wrists ached as his hands clamped around them, and then his voice filled her ear, crying out sharply as he filled her up with a hot gush. He twitched and thrust against her for a few more delicious seconds before releasing her hands and withdrawing.

  Beth turned around to face him, sighing happily. She was pleased to find a sheepish grin tugging at his lips.

  “Feel better?” she asked.

  “Yeah, actually. Thanks.”