by V. Theia
He smirked. “Since now, apparently. Are you really gonna turn me down on my maiden voyage? Have a heart, beautiful.”
“Sorry. I don’t want to date you.”
Her standards were fair; no fuckwads with tiny dicks, freeloaders or mansluts. While she didn’t think, Preacher had a tiny penis, more than likely he was smuggling a tree trunk down there, not that she wanted to think of what he had hanging between his thick thighs, and she didn’t guess he was a fuckwad per say, in fact, he was always nice to the bar staff, he seemed to be popular with his boys, and he always paid for drinks, so that took care of the gold-digger, but she shouted bingo with his manwhoreness. The guy fucked anything that moved. She’d seen him with some of the temporary waitresses who shared a brain cell between them, so his tastes there let him down. Sorry, pal. Standards were in place for a reason.
“Why not?” Really? Even after that, the fucking man was unfazed looking at her like he was already licking her skin with that small smile edging his mouth. Jesus.
At that moment the other bartender Tom, a college kid, came on shift, she moved pressing her belly to the bar, putting her closer to Preacher for a second, so Tom could get by to the other cash register. Preacher used that one fucking second to smile almost nose to nose, to let her smell his cologne and say. “I’ve sat here ten minutes and watched you sneak glances at me eight times. Say yes, Ruby.” His stare was direct. Every glance she’d ever had from him was borderline inappropriate, but there was something else going on.
The commanding way he used his voice did something physical to her insides, they began to boil and pulse, growing wet and needy where places shouldn’t be wet and needy, dammit. She could not catch the tingles for Asher Priest of all men for fucks sake. She scowled and turned a vicious tongue on him, embarrassed by her body’s reaction, she naturally fired first, verbal bullets flying randomly.
For someone who worked in a bar, casual socializing was not her forte when people were drunk, but this sober directness had her jumbled inside.
“I don’t want to date you, Preacher, now or ever, you’re not my type. Go hook up with a bar-bunny, hey look, there’s a shit ton of women with their tits out over there, knock yourself out.”
“Damn. Jugular, beautiful.” Preacher laughed, straight even white teeth on display. “I fucking like that. I’ll wear you down. But I gotta head back to my boys, they missed me, even if you didn’t.” Sliding off the stool in a lithe move, he stood tall and winked before striding back to where the rest of the Renegade Souls sat drinking and laughing.
Over the next hour more of the biker men joined the two tables, they never caused any hassles, they spent a lot and flirted a lot with the waitresses gravitating to their station.
Ruby slyly watched it all, and goddammit, every time she looked over, Preacher was staring at her. Smiling. Knowingly.
She did not want to date that man.
Just my vagina does.
CHAPTER THREE
“Sometimes all it takes is an eggplant." - Preacher.
“I don’t think I’ve seen a motherfucker crash and burn so hard so fast. Until now. My boy has a new record. I mean for a second there we all thought she was gonna drop kick you over the bar, brutal shit.” Laughed Grinder, jostling Preacher by the shoulder. The rejected in question only smiled as his boys laughed their fucking asses off at his expense. Because he knew something they didn’t, he saw how Ruby had sucked in a breath when they were inches apart, the way her pupils dilated to cover all that chocolate brown of her irises, her tits heaved to keep up with her shallow breathing, not to mention she eye-fucked him on the sly so often he got dick ache from not vaulting the bar and rutting her right there.
He got it.
He had a reputation, one he didn’t give a crap about. He liked sex on the regular, it was one of his stabilizers for the fucking PTSD the military doctors diagnosed him with a few years ago, if he was orgasming he wasn’t having sweat inducing night terrors, if he was so sex exhausted he could forget he watched his big brother blown the fuck apart right in front of his eyes.
So, Preacher didn’t apologize for his sexual habits, not when it was that and his club keeping him sane. His reputation preceded him and it had never bothered him.
Until it did.
And he was one of those men that if you said he couldn’t have something all he wanted was the thing he couldn’t have. He licked around his teeth, eyeballing Ruby as she went about her job pretending to ignore him sitting here.
I see you, baby, yeah that’s right, you look your fill.
In any case, now he wanted her he wouldn’t quit until he had her taste in his mouth, down his throat, coating his fucking belly as she came and came screaming out his name. He had the urge to do her nasty ways, spurting his come over her cocoa skin, marking her. The fucking boulder of need burning in his belly only grew bigger.
Only for Ruby, it wouldn’t be a fast hook up in a bathroom stall or alleyway.
She was a bed and sheets lady. When he got the chance to go down on her he promised himself he’d wipe his beard afterward.
“Plenty of pussy for you back at the club, bro.”
“Hm.” He chimed half-heartedly back to Grinder.
She should never have said no like that, not when her darling little body contradicted her. Preacher would have accepted her no and walked on. No harm no foul. His dick would have recovered the rejection in time.
Pointy little nipples did not lie.
He sat around the table for most of the night, drinking, passing the time with his boys, friends dropping by. “Where the fuck is Rider, anyway?” One asked.
“He said Zara was feeling flu’y. I'm telling ya, man-cards can be revoked. He actually said just like that. Flu'y. Florence Nightendick stayed home to take care of her.”
The boys sniggered knowing their prez had caught the feels bad for his queen. “Translation they’re probably going at it like wild boar again. I can think of no better medicine, am I right?”
Preacher could understand why Rider would be at home. He’d got the good pussy; his old lady was nuts for him. His own dick twitched watching Ruby glide up and down the bar serving, chatting, laughing with people.
Another hour, being tortured by a tease, he slapped hands with his boys who left to head to their homes. “Let me guess, you’re sticking around to strike out again?” Nothing but amusement laced his best buddy's voice. Only a few stragglers were left at the bar now, almost closing time. He neither denied nor confirmed. “You know you can get laid back at the club, hell, click your fingers, Preach, and five bitches will fall at your feet with their mouths open.”
Preacher’s tongue wanted a particular flavor. And if he didn’t try again he’d always wonder.
He slid out of the booth, cuffed Grinder around the shoulder. “Get out to the truck, bro.“ The designated driver prospect waited outside to taxi everyone home.
Grinder, a tall man, with a thick dark beard and a straight slash of darker hair on top of his head swayed in his biker boots, his breath ripe with alcohol flashed a wide grin Preacher’s way and grabbed him in a bear hug. His voice slurred a little. “Really fucking glad you’re back, man. You’re doing good, yeah?” Preacher knew what he was asking. He nodded briefly. “Good, bro. Really fucking glad. Listen, you and me we’ll make a night of it at the party, yeah? Got some nice new groupies been coming around. Missed you, bro. Club wasn’t the same without you,” another headlock hug, Preacher detangled and laughed shoving Grinder towards the door. “Get the fuck home before you wanna start kissing me.”
He went to take a piss. When he came back the bar was empty and Ruby was clearing off a table singing along to Elton John’s Tiny Dancer. Hips going in all enticing directions. He didn’t know what hypnotic vibe she was putting out, but his dick wanted to reply. For a good minute, he watched her dance as she took away glasses, using the vantage point of the small hallway near the bathrooms to get a good eye on her.
Man, even casually sh
e could move.
His thoughts were downright disgusting at this point.
She came to a startled halt seeing him. “What the hell. You scared me. We’re closed, Preacher.”
“I was in the head. But I couldn’t miss the floor show, tiny dancer. Real nice.” He winked and had the pleasure of seeing her embarrassed.
He pushed off the wall, boots, and wallet-chain clanking as he walked, he hooked up his leather jacket sliding it on. It was now or never, and Preacher wasn’t a man to give up.
“What about that party next weekend, Ruby? It’ll be fun.”
“Thanks, but no. I’m probably working. I need to get more shifts here while I look for a new job.”
His brows folded in. “You’re leaving the bar?”
“Not if I can help it,” she dumped a tray of empties on the bar. “But Otis can’t pay me more and I need the money.”
Well damn. Otis’ bar and grill without Ruby. That was Steak without A1.
“Come to the party, all the more reason for it, let loose for a while.”
Was that temptation on her face as she glanced over? He smiled trying a charm attack.
Working for pussy. This was new.
And before he could stop himself he was standing directly in front of her, making her crane her neck to look up. “Come to the party, Ruby. I want you there.”
Before she could give him an answer the door at the front crashed open, three of his boys barrelled in laughing and swaying as they advanced in, without thinking he moved her behind him.
“Forgot my damn wallet,” announced Snake in a loud boom, he trudged his feet over to where they’d been most of the night and found what he was looking for, giving Preacher two thumbs up gesture. Fucking subtle, brother.
For a second he’d been protective, of what? His boys seeing him about to lock lips with a woman? They’d seen him do worse.
His shoulders crept up with tension. His jaw taut.
Losing his shit over a woman. Had the world spun too fast on its axis and he'd lost his damn mind?
“What in the hell was that? I don’t need to hide behind you, dude.” She tried to shove Preacher out of the way, he just held an arm around her slim waist.
He wasn’t pleased about that shit, either. This was just about a hook-up, not marking his territory from his friends of all people. Not like any of them showed signs in sniffing around her.
He might have had to punch them.
Those randy boneheads he loved could sniff elsewhere.
******
She scowled at him. What in the hell had that been, shoving her behind him like he expected the big bad ogres to gobble her up? The man was crazy. She’d seen worse than a few drunks before. "I have perfectly good working legs, Preacher man. You all but threw me over your shoulder, frightened I might smile at your buddies? god, forbid. You can relax, I don't go with bikers."
His entire body swerved. A mass of muscle towering over her, keeping her locked into the side of the bar. "Is that so, beautiful?" His voice said he was about to prove her wrong. She blew out a gusty sigh and waited for it, the glint of his green eyes backed up his unspoken claim.
Why did she keep saying these things, she already pegged he was competitive?
"No, I take it back. I want to do them all. Line them all for me." she clapped like he was her manservant. Preacher laughed, the noise had the desired effect and tingled between her legs. "I'll start with the handsome blonde one in the blue T-shirt, he looked like a Hollywood movie star researching a role; When bikers go rogue. A smash hit for 2018."
He brought his stare to hers. His mouth curved with the hint of a grin. "Pretty-boy will like that if I ever told him, which I'm not."
"You’re saying he’s a forbidden bad boy? don't you know what that means to a woman? you did it now, he's looking damn good suddenly, move out of my way, let me go work my feminine wiles on mister Hollywood." she joked but he towered in her path stopping her from moving.
His head came down so they were eye-to-eye.
How could he look like a straight up axe-murderer and an underwear model at the same time? by rights he shouldn't appeal to her, he wasn't classically beautiful, his face had white scars, skin tanned from too much sun and he had lines under his eyes like he wasn't sleeping much, but, Jesus in heaven, he appealed on that primary most obvious level of she was so attracted to this man.
And that pissed her off.
Bikers were off limits.
Dangerous men were a no-go.
And Preacher, the notorious thinks with his dick man, he was all the bad decisions a woman could ever make and a lifetime of regret all wrapped up in a six foot six rock hard package.
He didn’t get the earlier message, not from the way he moved staring hungrily at her mouth, eyes glinting. One finger reached out, he gave her enough time to reject the touch, he really did. Ruby, stunned, braced to be touched by him. And when it came, a stroke down her cheekbone, subtle, barely there and over in a second she let go of the air trapped in her nervous lungs.
"Don't you feel it, beautiful, when we touch, doesn't it shift something in you?"
Woah.
He stepped further into her space sucking all the oxygen out of the atmosphere.
"Dammit, Preacher. You can't say that."
"You don't know how badly I want to fuck your mouth with mine."
"I don't even like you..." Weak. Lame. Lies. It was all she had to offer because she feared if given the choice right then and there she’d spend her rent money on one kiss. Just to see how good it would be.
"Then, you better throw out a protest while you can, because I'm three seconds away and you're reaching up on your toes..."
Was she?
Fuck. She was. Too late. His mouth crashed down on hers, swallowing her gasp, taking the moment of her surprise to slip his tongue inside.
After that, any feeble attempt at a protest died with his amazing taste filling her mouth, corralling her in its web and enticing her to fuck his mouth back.
She did. Oh, god, she did.
Hot grabby kisses. Kisses to stain her soul.
Preacher was a good foot taller than her, Ruby was encased by him, helped along by the grip on the top of her arms pulling her higher on her toes so he could take more of her lips, she helped sucking on his lower one until he grunted, arms wound around his shoulders doing some of her own dragging.
Just this.
Just a little more.
Allowing herself to ride the intoxicated sensation until her blood fizzled threatening to explode like a volcano. She was crazy assuming he wouldn't be good at kissing.
The man was a kissing master.
Making her crave like never before. It was a throb.
A desperate ache began in her belly, blooming outwards, reaching all corners and god, he pushed her into the bar and if it was possible he kissed her deeper, all tongue and teeth working in tandem until her body was a ball of hormones controlled solely by him.
"Preacher. Wait … wait. Hold it."
"No. Kiss me." He groaned licking over her tongue.
Oh god. Yes. That.
She loved French kissing. Ooh la fucking la. If it was done right and some men needed to go back to square one, what with the thrusting and the slurping. Preacher was a damn tongue maestro.
Hard. Slow. Going in and out just how she guessed he wanted to fuck her.
When they parted, it was only because air had become a necessary need. His hands bracketed her neck, holding her steady, his mouth taking nips. He was a ravenous male, pouring all that abundant energy through his lips for her.
He invaded her mouth with a forcefulness that was completely out of line and yet she leaned into him, opened her lips and moaned the second his tongue was in contact with hers. It was an odd sensation, a stirring in her belly, like excitement and dread all mashed into one amalgamation of lust. He didn't give her time to think before he swooped and plundered and how sexy was that, the tiny part of her that is submissiv
e and wants to be dominated takes over, grabs his shirt and she enjoyed the kiss of the century.
It suggested forbidden.
It should be wrong.
He's everything she'd avoided and should continue to swerve. She'd seen him casually screw countless women for god's sake, recognizes clearly, he's trying to make her number nine billion in that list.
She couldn't stop kissing him. His mouth was skilled, moving this way, that way, dipping to deepen, backing off to nibble, but always keeping strong contact. Her lips were swollen.
Kiss swelled by Preacher. Now there's a poster slogan.
There was a trip wire connected to the pulsing erogenous zones on her body and they grew hotter, more insistent, clamoring for sex. Her tongue stroked deep.
Ruby went on kissing him, her fingers clutched the front of his shirt, he was so damn tall her neck was almost broken with the awkward angle, his taste; explosive, strong, masculine with a hint of mint in the background, he tasted so damn good she practically purred for more of his tongue stroking her teeth, he laughed against her lips. It wasn’t only her mouth that felt the impact, it hit her square in the chest, her midsection closing in, feeling too tight, too hot, too everything.
He grunted and took her mouth like he owned it.
The sound, sexy as hell.
Her core clenched hard enough she nearly orgasmed right there. His fingers trailed to the base of her spine where she was sensitive, not many men knew that about her, but he seemed to hone in on that spot, drawing circles, making her melt into a feline purr against his tongue.
She'd thought kissing a man with a beard would be unappealing.
It was the complete opposite. He kept his goatee part of his facial hair trimmed close to the skin, and it was silky soft as though he tended to it like a garden.
The man was sexy as the devil himself.
The devil.
Devil. Kyle.
Fuck. A dreaded boulder blasted her chest.
A bucket of figurative water over her head she wrenched away, making a gurgled disgusted noise, her hand going to her mouth to wash him away.
