Biker Rockstar Billionaire CEO Alpha (Hers to Keep Trilogy Book 1)

by Violet Blaze

  There was no need to rush.

  “But you …” I told her, fucking her with three fingers now, my cock so hard it was almost painful. In that moment, though, all I wanted to do was watch her come, soak me with the proof of her desire, watch her collapse to her knees in pleasure. I couldn't enjoy that properly if I was buried inside of her and grunting like a damn animal—although there was a good part of me that wanted to do that, too. “You trust me, don't you, Adelaide?”

  “I don't know why,” she whispered, her voice ragged and broken, her breathing coming in sharp pants. “I don't know why. It's stupid. It's so stupid.”

  I felt my mouth curve into a smile as I squatted down and replaced my fingers with my mouth. In this position, everything about Adelaide was open and exposed to me, the vulnerability she was showing as humbling as it was empowering.

  Taking hold of her hips, I slid my tongue along the length of her, tasting the sweetness of her body on my mouth as I brought her to orgasm as easily as I lived and breathed. Yeah, we were in sync, Adelaide Vaughn and me.

  I was the stupid asshole with a firm grasp on his sexuality, but no goddamn idea of how to take control of his own fucking life. She was the strong-willed heroine with all the right ideas but no clue as to who she was when it came to her own sensuality.

  The way I looked at it, we were both just waiting around for fate to throw us together again. We'd both matured in our ways, and yet we still had a lot of growing to do. It only made sense for us to try it together.

  I stood up as Adelaide collapsed to her knees, panting.

  “Come with me, honey pot. I want to show you something.”

  Holding out a hand, I helped Miss Vaughn get to her feet and took her through the kitchen and down the hall, the sound of her sister's one-sided conversation with the TV causing us to exchange bemused glances. She was certainly a character with her own script, that Layla Vaughn.

  Unlocking the door to the left of the bedroom, I stood aside and let Adelaide into my studio. I'd had this place redone to suit all my favorite pastimes—sex and rock 'n' roll. I didn't much care for drugs either way.

  “This is nice—I like it a hell of a lot better than that creepy dungeon room.”

  “Creepy, huh?” I asked as I grabbed an acoustic guitar from the wall, the surface a glossy navy blue that matched the décor in the room. Blue walls, black couches, a long curved desk with equipment both above and below it, acoustic panels and diffusors. Raelynn was an acoustical engineer-turns out that's a real thing—so even though this was a home studio, it was stylish, comfortable, and capable of creating commercial ready recordings.

  “I can't believe you're into the same weird shit as those … TSR people,” Adelaide said as she examined the other guitars on the wall, her hand floating just above them as she counted them silently, lips moving until she got to number fifteen, a black and white Edge Strat that was identical to the one I used onstage—minus the custom art.

  “Listen, Miss Vaughn,” I said as I sat on the couch and strummed my fingers across the strings. “Those TSR people that you're goin' on about and I have less in common than a whore does with a nun. I like sex, and I like BDSM, and hell, if I found the right sub …” I teased the guitar a little, catching Adelaide's attention and holding it, her gold-grey eyes focused on the hand I just used to fuck her. “Then I'd be willing to explore a different kind of relationship.”

  “So you built an entire room around your sex fetishes?”

  “Can I play you a song, Miss Vaughn?”

  “Is it going to be about girls in leather pants with red fingernails?” she asked and I threw my head back in laughter. Damn, this woman. I felt like I mighta just met my match in the stubbornness department. And trust me—I was a bull-headed motherfucker. When I wanted something, I damn well made sure that I got it.

  “How about one that I like to call Ignite, Smolder, and Ash?”

  “That sounds ominous,” Adelaide hazarded with a small smile, sitting down on the opposite side of the couch, her cheeks slightly flushed from her orgasm, the color of hair this glittering jewel tone that drew my gaze almost as much as that full mouth of hers. “But go ahead.”

  “Thank you kindly,” I drawled and she grinned at me.

  I strummed a few random notes and then started off on the song.

  “Back then, like now, we were holding hands. While you were kissing me, we both knew. One day, things changed. Your fuel for my fire ignited deep inside. My passion smolders and my heart's in flames. I miss the way we played.” My fingers teased my instrument like it was as valuable, as mysterious as the girl sitting across from me. That's how I always played, like every guitar I put my hands on was a woman that I wanted to get to know better. I imagined that if I screwed up, she'd take off and the burn between us would fizzle to ash. Guess that's what this song was about, too. “And we're still holding hands. But, honey, it's burned my bones. I walk on legs made of ash. Baby, as I crawl to you I fall apart. Scattered to the winds, all that's left is my breath on the breeze. Struggling along on legs made of ash. Our passion burnt to ash.”

  Adelaide took a deep breath and closed her eyes, relaxing into the music. That spurred me on and I found myself smiling as I continued to play, the bluesy cries of my guitar reverberating just right in the small space, a feat only my bassist Raelynn could pull off. Damn, I'd owe that girl a kiss if she ever wanted one from me.

  “Still holding hands, and I miss the burn. I miss the flame and the way it turned. You know one night was not enough. I hate the way it's gotta be. Yet another quiet scream of a lost opportunity. I miss the warmth, fingers wrapped around my hand, but it's why I've gotta leave.”

  I watched her face, her mouth, the cadence of her breath. Fuck. Dash Buchanan had just got his ass bit by this Vaughn girl. At least it looked like I might not have to worry about a cure. Might be able to chase this thing down and see where it took us. I only hoped that when I finally caught it, it burns. I wanted something fierce and bright and unexpected. Dating a girl that just tried to kill me, pretty sure that qualified.

  I was already into this girl and then, she started fucking singing along with me.

  “Feels like we're still holding hands,” Adelaide sang, harmonizing her voice with the music. Fuck she had a beautiful voice. The sound was rough and untrained but powerful, aching and wounded yet full of strength. She opened her eyes and belted out the next few lines. My ass was too stunned to do much beyond play the guitar and watch her. “But, honey, it's burned my bones. I walk on legs made of ash. Baby, as I crawl to you I fall apart. Scattered to the winds, all that's left is my breath on the breeze. Struggling along on legs made of ash. Our passion burnt to ash.”

  My grin stretched across my face as I joined back in and melded our voices together.

  “And we're still holding hands. But, honey, it's burned my bones. I walk on legs made of ash. Baby, as I crawl to you I fall apart. Scattered to the winds, all that's left is my breath on the breeze. Struggling along on legs made of ash. Our passion burnt to ash.”

  Adelaide tapped her hand on her knee and moved with the music, biting her lower lip between verses and letting the sound of the guitar wash over her, lifting its lonely voice when she parted that full gorgeous mouth and let the words tumble out as natural as if she'd written 'em herself.

  “Could you ever love me in a different way? If we tried, maybe we could watch it burn this pain. Because things are better in we try today. Don't leave my ashes, washed clean away in the rain.”

  I strummed along beside, preparing for the last line, lifting my eye to meet hers.

  It was in that second that I knew for sure: this was the girl I'd been looking for.

  “Just staying strong and holding hands. And, honey, my love for you's all that lasts.”

  We both trailed off as the final notes of the song faded like stars in a sunrise, pausing as the cracked bedroom door opened and Layla peaked her face inside.

  “When you two told me you were da
ting, I thought for sure that you were lying. But now I can really see it. Are you sure it's only been three months?”

  “It's been three fucking days,” she muttered under her breath, but only just loud enough that her sister couldn't hear.

  I smiled.

  Oh yeah.

  This was a girl worth trying for, a one in a million woman.

  And here I was, getting ready to drag her into a den of wolves.

  Now I just had to make sure she didn't get ripped apart.

  #

  Leaving the apartment at all was risky, but Layla was driving me fucking nuts and I wanted Adelaide to know for sure that she and her sister were not my prisoners. If we were going to do this, there had to be complete trust between us. We might've only known each other for three days—and one short sultry Southern California summer—but we'd never lied to each other and that was a goddamn miracle.

  Sometimes I convinced myself that the reason I slept around so much was because that new relationships were always more honest than old ones. Like they were all destined for failure at some point or another, but the new ones just hadn't had a chance to build up all that awful plaque of bullshit and lies that turned every serious relationship I ever tried into a heart attack.

  I took the girls out on a walk—ain't no way I was risking driving the bikes anywhere around here in case someone was out lookin' for 'em—and took them down Paradise Road in the waning sunshine toward the Westgate. There was a bar, a restaurant, coffee shop, casino. And it'd be packed with tourists from all over the country—or the world, more like—so the chances of being seen and recognized were slim.

  “There must be some great local places around here,” Layla hinted as we entered the air conditioned lobby and she shoved a pair of sunglasses up on her face. The personal shopper picked 'em out. Hell, she'd bought panties, bras, even lingerie. That woman thought of everything. “Isn't this all generic tourist trap chains and shit?”

  “Sure, yeah, there are some good local places but we,” I gestured between us, “ain't going down there. Do you want to end up spit roasted in a sociopathic billionaire's bedroom because I sure as hell don't.”

  “What the fuck is spit roasted?”

  “It's a sexual position where one guy screws a girl from behind and she sucks another's dick,” Adelaide said without a lick of embarrassment. She was sweaty from the walk and the heat, her bangs sticking to the skin of her forehead. I reached up and brushed them off, her eyes landing on my face and catching there.

  “When did you lose that virginity of yours? I was under the impression that it was … recent.” Layla's pale brown eyes flicked over to me with distaste. Fuck, if I could've dumped her at the all you can eat buffet in the casino and gotten the hell outta there, I would have.

  “Virgins can't read or watch porn, Layla? Don't be ridiculous,” Adelaide continued, pulling away from me and looking around the room like she expected us to get jumped at any minute. I didn't blame her; I was thinking the same thing.

  “You better not let Maverick find out about this,” Layla continued as she looked around and spotted the restaurant. “Shit, I am starving,” she said, taking off, the two of us following slowly along behind her. At the mention of her brother, Adelaide's face had shut down completely.

  “I know I have to tell her eventually, but … not yet. I'm not ready.”

  “You won't see me rushing you,” I told her, walking in step beside the woman I was about to commit to in a way I'd never foreseen myself doing. Once we set foot on this path, we were in it for better or worse until death did us part. Didn't have to be either of our deaths, but we'd have to make some sort of significant power shift happen within the ranks of TSR or whoever we left behind would eventually find their way back to us. “Let's just grab something to eat and get the fuck out of here.”

  “Thanks for doing this,” Adelaide said, her leather jacket slung over her shoulders, her purple and black Ruger stuffed underneath it. I didn't blame her for bringing it—I had my Browning 1911-380 tucked in the back of my jeans, covered up with a leather jacket of my own. We must've looked ridiculous, sporting all that leather in the seventy degree evening heat. Hell if I gave a fuck. “It feels good to get out—even if it's just to some cheesy resort.”

  “Well then, it's the worth the risk, ain't it?”

  “Dash,” she said suddenly, pausing in the entrance to the restaurant as her sister pranced off behind the hostess toward a table in the back corner. She was looking right at me as she spoke, her face resolute but her lips gently parted. “Thank you. I don't know if I said it before. I was too shaken up to really care, but … thank you for coming in there and getting us. I know how much you risked just by being there.”

  “It was my dad that put you there in the first place. It was the least I could do, Adelaide. You don't owe me anything.”

  “I know that. I just wanted to tell you thanks. It always impresses me when a stranger goes out of their way to help somebody else. That's about as rare an event as finding a faerie that can spin straw into gold.” I smiled and reached out, cupping the side of her face, loving the way her jaw fit into her hand, like it was made to be there.

  “Excuse me,” a man said and I moved to step out of the way for him to pass.

  Only, the fucker didn't pass and I looked up to find him standing next to us in a red shirt and a black suit jacket, a pair of Chucks on his feet and a nervous smile hovering on his face.

  “You're Dash Buchanan, right? Lead singer for Pistols and Violets.”

  Jesus fuck.

  “Yeah, that's me,” I said with a smile. I'd been afraid this might happen and here it was. The band was fairly new and our first album had just hit gold. We had a ways to go before we snagged that platinum certification.

  “Apollo Christensen,” the man said as I noticed two not so surreptitious bodyguards hovering in the background of the lobby.

  Shit.

  Adelaide noticed them at the same time I did and stiffened up, her hand hovering underneath the edge of her black motorcycle jacket.

  “Please don't freak out,” he said, holding up his hands. Jesus he looked young, like I coulda been his daddy young. But there was a polish to his hair and his rumpled clothes that said money plain as day. “I just recently …” He paused and glanced around, dark brown eyes taking in the scenery with a bright spark of fear and a dash of nervousness. Apollo turned his head and pointed at a reddish spot behind his right ear.

  It was the crown, knife and scepter of The Sovereign Revolutionists.

  “I attended my first TSR gala the other night, at the block, and I happened to see you there …”

  “Are you stupid, boy? The first rule of business is that you never bother another member in public like this. You trying to get us both killed or something?”

  “Dash,” he continued as he looked at Adelaide with something akin to relief in his eyes. “I knew you weren't like the others,” he mumbled and I raised an eyebrow as he swung his gaze back to me. “This place is a dump.” Apollo smiled, almost shyly. “Why don't you hop in my car and we'll go for a ride? I have business that I think we should discuss over dinner.”

  “Do you now?” I asked, crossing my arms over my chest.

  “I think you'll want to hear this. It's about TSR,” he said, breath catching slightly, “and how to take them down.”

  Layla, Dash and I piled into the back of Apollo's limo and rolled away from the Westgate toward wherever else it was that he planned on taking us. Half of me was convinced that he was working for the Revolutionists and that we'd end this car ride behind pulled out by our hair and executed point blank. But he had a trick up his sleeve that ultimately convinced Dash and me that we should trust him—for the moment anyway.

  Kelly, the dairy farmer's daughter, was waiting outside by the car, and she wasn't drugged, wasn't glassy eyed or blank faced. Either he'd taken that stark animalistic fear I'd seen in her eyes the day before yesterday and somehow already managed to strip it
out with Stockholm syndrome, or he really hadn't hurt her.

  “How'd you get through the Play Rooms?” Dash asked as he studied the girl from across the limo and my mind strayed back to his body moving inside of mine, the cool drizzle from the ice cubes draping across my thighs. That thought segued into our lovemaking session on the couch, and then to him bending me over in front of the sliding glass doors.

  “I'm richer than most of the people there, that's how. Also, I told the Auctioneer that I had exhibition impotence and that there was no way I was getting it up in front of all those people. I agreed to update the Block's security system for free and he had Kelly waiting for me in my car after the auction.”

  “They let you touch their security system?” Dash asked as Apollo poured a glass of champagne and offered it to me.

  “Sorry, but there's not a snowball's chance in hell that I'm drinking or eating anything you provide. No offense.”

  “None taken,” Apollo said as he handed the drink to Kelly and she smiled sweetly in his direction. Uh-oh. I could see a romance brewing there. It was almost … cute. Or it would've been if Apollo hadn't bought her at a fucked-up dystopian style auction last night. He even picked up a silver bowl full of strawberries and offered one to her. It was almost too Pretty Woman for me to look at.

  Layla sat beside me with her eyes wide and her mouth pursed. She was shaking, too, which scared the crap out of me. She'd been putting up a good front, but she was still totally fucked-up from the whole experience. I didn't blame her: so was I. But I was too overwhelmed by the enormity of it, the danger of what I was about to do, to process any emotions right now.

  “Can you believe she only went for a quarter mil? Kelly's a peach.”