by Mazzy King
He scrunches up his face, making a show of thinking it over. “A few things. Not much, though.”
I scoff and flick the collar of his leather jacket. “Bet you’d take a scuff on your baby there seriously, huh?”
The smirk and all traces of humor leave his face in a flash. It’s almost as if the room’s dropped ten degrees. He blinks and looks away.
“Uh, Ryan, I’m sorry,” I say awkwardly. It’s obvious the jacket carries a much deeper meaning than simple sentimentality. “I—can be a jerk. I’m sorry.”
“No,” he says softly, shaking his head. “I, uh, was wearing this jacket the night of…that ride I told you about. The night my friend died.”
A pang tears through my heart. “I’m so sorry. That was really callous of me.”
He glances up at me, one corner of his mouth curled up, but with none of his usual cockiness. “You didn’t know. How could you?” He clears his throat. “As a matter of fact, I do have a pretty big scuff on it.”
He stands and slides the jacket off his shoulders and turns it around. A huge, ugly scuff that’s more of a scrape gashes across the back. I run my fingers over the puckered, destroyed leather.
“I think that’s what kept my spine from shattering and ripping out of my back when I hit the pavement,” he says matter-of-factly. “Even so, I was in the hospital for a month and rehab was six more. And then, you know, jail.”
“Jesus,” I murmur. “God, Ryan. I’m sorry. About that. And…your friend.”
“That’s why the jacket means so much to me,” he says quietly. “It’s a reminder that I’m alive…and a reminder of what I lost being stupid.” He peers closely at me. “Gemma, are you all right?”
I’m not aware of the tears leaking from my eyes until they patter onto my upper chest. “I just—” I take a shuddering breath. “I don’t understand why you want into this life, after everything you’ve been through.”
Ryan tilts his head. “Aren’t you part of this life?”
I gesture around the bathroom, indicating my apartment, the shop below it. “This is where it all started. Before the Draconian bullshit.”
“Bullshit?”
“It’s not what I want,” I insist, tears flowing. “It’s never been what I wanted. This is my dad’s garage. We were just supposed to be a family of mechanics. And then Tristan met the wrong people, and he got in too deep…” I shake my head. “It was never supposed to be this way.”
Ryan steps closer. “What do you mean, he got in too deep?”
“A few years ago, we weren’t doing so well. My dad had to take out a loan, and for a while it looked like we might have to close when the interest got too high.” I sniffle miserably. “Tristan met some guys and out of desperation, he took a job. Like what you did tonight. Except he couldn’t leave it alone because the money was too good. We got out of debt, we started flourishing, and more and more bikers started coming here. But Tristan couldn’t walk away. So he stayed. He tries to convince himself this is the right thing to do.”
“Huh,” is all Ryan says.
“He’s not a bad guy,” I whisper. I back up until my butt hits the edge of the sink, and I slump against it. “He’s tough. He’s fucking tough. But he has to be. The only way he can get out now is if he’s dead. He’s in too deep with the kingpin he does pickups and deliveries for. You don’t just walk away from that.”
“Would he get out if he could?”
It almost feels like a betrayal to my brother to admit the truth. But I nod anyway. Then I look up at him. “Why?”
“I’m just asking,” Ryan says softly, coming to stand in front of me. “It says a lot about him.”
I swallow and lower my eyes to the toes of my boots. “My dad retired last year. He couldn’t watch Tristan go down this path. They haven’t spoken in…a while. I stick around because I don’t want the family business to fail. And I want to keep an eye on my brother.”
Suddenly, warm, gentle fingertips are on my chin, and Ryan tilts my face up. He looks me in the eye. “You’re a good sister.”
My eyes fill with tears again. God, when did I become such a crybaby? “It doesn’t feel like it. It feels like I’m an enabler.”
The A/C suddenly kicks on and a rush of cold air blasts over my head. I shiver involuntarily.
“Here.” Ryan reaches around me. A moment later, the delicious, encompassing warmth of his jacket envelops me. The smell of beat-up leather undercut by the light, fresh scent of him that clings to the jacket lining cocoons me.
For a moment, I feel warm. And safe. And hopeful.
I lift my gaze to his.
He smiles softly back at me.
“Who are you, Ryan?” I whisper.
“Someone you can trust,” he murmurs.
I’m still drowning in the sea of his luminous green eyes when his mouth lands on mine.
I told him once I’m off-limits.
As the Draconian president’s sister, this is crossing a line. This is breaking rule number one.
I wrap my arms around his shoulders and open my mouth under his.
I don’t care about the rules anymore.
5
Ryan
God, her mouth is so, so sweet.
I crush my lips to Gemma’s, then slide my tongue into her mouth. Her tongue is soft, sweet. Her mouth tastes like every delicious thing I’ve ever had, but now I want to see what the rest of her tastes like.
I dip my head and use the tip of my tongue to trace the cleavage that’s enticed me ever since I first laid eyes on it, then follow the path up her chest to glide up her throat the way I envisioned before. She shivers. I tease the pulse below her jaw, kiss her chin, then hover just a breath away from her lips.
“Ryan,” she murmurs, pulling me close.
We devour each other’s mouths. She lightly presses her fingertips to my chin to encourage me to open my mouth, and a moment later her tongue sweeps inside. My cock jumps up inside my jeans when her legs slide around my hips and tug me closer.
“I need you,” she whispers.
“I’m all yours,” I whisper back.
Gemma slides off the counter and grabs my hands. “Bedroom’s this way.”
It occurs to me I’ve only just met this woman yesterday. Am I insane? Dreaming? Being Punk’d?
Inside a small, beautifully decorated room in shades of white, gray, and black, I feast on Gemma’s mouth as she scrabbles to pull my shirt off.
“Should we, like, talk some more?” I ask, helping her yank off my T-shirt.
She growls, raking her fingers down my front, her fingertips digging into my pecs. “What do you want to know?”
“Uh…I don’t know. What’s your favorite color?”
“Same as the last name. Black.” She deftly undoes my belt.
“That’s not a color,” I breathe, lowering one of her tank top straps so I can explore her beautiful shoulder with my lips.
She grabs my face and looks me in the eye. “I’ve had five sexual partners in my entire life. I’m twenty-seven years old. I haven’t been with anyone in nearly three years. You’re the first guy I’ve met in a long time who I think can handle me. I’m clean, I’m on the Pill, and I’d really like it if you’d shut your damn mouth and fuck me like you mean it.”
My cock goes from mostly hard to unbearable steel in less than a second. “Okay, but one thing first—”
“Ryan, I don’t care that black is not a color!”
I bite back a grin. “I’m also twenty-seven. I’ve had three partners in my life. I haven’t been with anyone since before the accident, because I…just couldn’t. I’m clean too. I’m not on the Pill, though. And, Gemma…” I bring her face to mine and slowly lick into her mouth, suckling on the tip of her tongue. “It would be my esteemed pleasure to fuck you exactly the way you want.”
I slip her tank top over her head, scoop her up, and toss her on the bed. Under her black tank top, she’s wearing a black lace bra. And once I’ve got her tight jeans off, further exploration
shows me she’s wearing a black lace thong.
I step back to pull my jeans off, then crawl over her. I lean down, pushing her thighs apart, and lightly brush my tongue over her panties, right where I believe her clit is. I must have guessed right, because she gasps sharply with pleasure.
I trail kisses up her belly slowly to her generous breasts. I ease them out of the cups of her bra, massaging them and teasing her nipples.
“Fuck, Ryan,” she moans softly.
It’s been so long since I’ve had a beautiful woman in my arms. I do my best to focus on the moment and not get lost in my own desires.
I pull her bra off and return my lips to her nipples, loving the way they harden to little diamonds on my tongue. She slides a hand into my snug boxer briefs to stroke my cock, squeezing just right at the tip.
“You should take these off,” she murmurs, and I growl.
I lean back to obey her, stripping them off, then hers, and move her on top of me and over my face. I smirk up at her. “Might want to hold onto something, beautiful.”
Gemma grabs the headboard to brace herself. “What—”
I run my tongue deeply through the slit of her lush, wet pussy and latch onto her clit.
“Oh God!” she squeals.
I keep a firm grip on her hips, holding her flush against my tongue. She moans loudly, rolling her hips against my mouth. Little splashes of her juice burst out from her and trickle down both sides of my face as her pleasure peaks higher and higher.
“Wait, wait,” Gemma murmurs, and in a flash, whips around so she’s no longer facing the headboard. She reaches for my cock and bends forward, her warm front covering mine, and pulls my cock into her warm, wet mouth.
I grunt into her pussy, curling my toes, and redouble my efforts as she sucks me expertly.
Gemma moans around my cock as her hips roll firmly and insistently, pushing her clit harder against my tongue. Her body tenses, and I know she’s close to coming. At the same time, her mouth around my dick moves faster, tightens even more around me, and the pleasure of it all is overwhelming. I have no time to warn her that I’m going to explode before I do, jetting my hot, creamy cum down her throat. Then she moans loud and long, the vibrations sending ripples over my cock, and with another sweet, juicy burst, she comes on my tongue.
For a moment she lays draped over me, breathing hard. I massage her ass with two hands. Despite coming, my dick isn’t soft. In fact, he’s ready for more. I trail two fingers down the crack of her ass and massage them gently over the slit of her pussy, working them in with slow, insistent pushes until they’re buried inside her. Gemma moans again, her walls squeezing around my fingers as I work them in and out of her, adding my thumb to the mix to brush her clit.
Her breathing quickens. “Fuck, Ryan, you’re going to make me come again!”
She can’t see my gleeful smile, but it’s there as I continue pumping my fingers in and out. My left hand is busy too, still squeezing her ass, and I stroke my thumb lightly over her anus in time to the rhythm of my fingers.
Gemma raises herself up on her arms, her long hair spilling down her back like a silken ink stain. She works herself back on my fingers, her breathing building and intensifying. I plunge my fingers faster, making sure to hit that little spongy mass just inside her over and over and—
“Fuck!”
Her beautiful, elegant back bows as she comes again. Every one of her inner muscles squeezes my fingers tight, pulsing, and I need to feel that on my still-rock-hard cock immediately.
I turn her around to her back and gather her in my arms, then claim her mouth. “You’re so beautiful, Gemma. Do you believe me yet?”
Her lust-lidded eyes find mine, and she bites a smile up at me. “I suppose. Are you telling me you’re spent for the night?”
I chuckle into her neck, loving the way she shivers. “Not even close, beautiful…”
I reach down and grab her hips, positioning her directly beneath me. She spreads her legs wide for me as our lips meet again. I guide my heavy, aching cock to her opening and gently push through her wet, warm folds.
“You feel like heaven,” I murmur in her ear, squeezing my eyes shut. “How are you real, Gemma?”
She gasps as I settle all the way inside her, tilting her head back into the pillow. Then she lifts it and looks into my eyes. She grabs one of my hands and places it over her heart. “I am real, Ryan. I’m not going away. I’m real, so feel me.”
I lower my head, bringing my mouth to the center of her chest. It’s as if I’ve just been hit by something heavy on both sides of my head. On one side, a huge, deeply rooted rush of emotion for her. Something…that just might be love.
On the other side…guilt. Heavy, horrible, guilt. I’m not who she thinks I am, and if—no, when—she finds out, she’ll never forgive me.
“Ryan,” she breathes. “Stay with me.”
I lift my head. “I’m here, Gemma. Nowhere else.”
I drive into her, over and over, trying to ignore the pressure of guilt as I lose myself in the pleasure of her. I focus on the sounds in the room—the slap of our flesh meeting as I take her with hard, deep strokes. Her gasps. My moans.
We come together, trembling in each other’s arms.
After a moment, I bring my lips to her cheek, trailing them back to her ear. “I think I’m falling in love with you, Gemma.”
She turns her head to look into my eyes. Her throat works as she swallows. “You better be damn sure about that, Ryan.”
She lifts a hand to trace my cheek, searching my eyes. I don’t know what she’s looking for, but maybe she finds it, because she pulls my head down to nestle on her chest, and we sleep.
6
Gemma
Two weeks later
“You’re doing that wrong.”
I look up from where I’m installing a new engine on a Yamaha, eyes narrowed, and glance over my shoulder.
Ryan grins at me cheerfully, crunching an apple. He’s leaning against the counter in my garage, not helping me, and generally being his typical obnoxious, sexy self.
Earlier tonight, I got a rush job from a longtime client who paid me very generously to do the last-minute engine overhaul before he goes on a road trip tomorrow. Or, technically, later today, as it’s nearly two a.m.
The bar is still going. The guys are having a raucous Friday night party with loud music and lots of women. I told Tristan he was on his own for a bartender, but he ducked out around eleven, saying he was going to take a ride and head home. He’s not much of a partier. He’s not a womanizer, either. He’s single, but he used to have a girlfriend—a woman I was sure he was going to marry. But when things with the Draconians started heating up, they split, and I don’t think he’s ever gotten over her.
Ryan and I haven’t really put any labels on what we are. There haven’t been any mentions of the L-word since our first night two weeks ago, but we’ve been together every night since. I’m not sure how to describe what I feel for him, but it’s strong. He drives me fucking crazy—and in the bedroom, he is so good at driving me crazy.
I think of our most recent romp and shiver, which was about three hours ago when he took me right here in the garage, bent over my own Softail. It was rough and dirty and fast, but I came like a thunderclap with an intensity that knocked the wind out of me. And after kissing me all over and telling me how amazing and beautiful I am…he went right back to his charmingly annoying self.
I hold up a wrench. “Don’t make me rework that pretty face of yours when it’s healed so nicely.”
He shrugs, still wearing his shit-eating grin. “All I’m saying is, if I paid someone five grand for a rush job, I’d want to make sure that engine doesn’t drop out when I’m on mile seventy-five, you know? That’s all.”
I straighten up. “Well, if you’re such a know-it-all, come on, hotshot.”
He tosses his apple core into the trash and pushes away from the counter and walks toward me. He lifts his hands up. “Only if
you’re sure. I’d hate to show you up in your own garage.”
“Ha-ha,” I say sarcastically, moving aside. “Have at it. Besides, I’m not as great with crotch-rockets as I am with Harleys.”
“How dare you insult a Yamaha by calling it that.” He crouches down beside me. “This is a miracle of a machine. You ever ridden one?”
“Few times.”
He starts messing with the engine, his hands sure and deft like he’s done it a million times. “I used to have a Yamaha. That’s what I was riding…that night.”
I glance at him. “It hasn’t, like, emotionally scarred you? You’d still ride a Yamaha?”
He shrugs. “Maybe. I haven’t, though. I guess I’m not ready.”
I touch his cheek. “That’s understandable.”
We work side by side for a while. He explains things to me, talking about the Yamaha in ways I’ve never heard before.
“You should have a shop,” I tell him.
He laughs. “Right.”
“No, I’m serious,” I insist. “Why not? It’s a hell of a lot better than what you’re doing here.”
Ryan glances at me.
“Or does running drugs back and forth just really light your passion for life on fire?” I ask sarcastically. “Come on, Ryan. You were meant for more.”
He exhales a deep breath through his nose, looking down at his oil-covered hands. “Gemma, there’s something I need to tell you.”
Those are words no one is ever in a hurry to hear, and any hope of him professing his undying love for me in this special moment evaporate at his tone.
“Okay,” I say neutrally. “Shoot.”
He lifts his gaze to mine. His eyes are haunted, but clear. “There’s something about me you need to know. I need you to know it changes nothing about how I feel about you, and what I want us to be.”
I swallow. “Ryan, you’re scaring me.”
He shakes his head and nudges me gently with his shoulder since his hands are dirty. “Don’t be scared. Just listen, okay?”
The door behind us flies open, and we both whirl.
