Lonely Rider - The Box Set: A Motorcycle Club Romance - The Complete Series

by Melissa Devenport

  She’d let him leave her nine years ago. She’d done nothing to find him, to get him back, to change his mind or fight for him.

  Can I fight for him now? Can I change his mind? She didn’t know. She didn’t know anything. She should have let him go. Should have let him walk out that door and out of her life, but she leaned in instead. She wrapped her arms around Trace’s thick neck, twined her fingers in his dark soft hair and tugged his face frantically down to hers.

  She’d spent a decade missing him. Longing for just one more taste.

  Even if she couldn’t change their destiny or reshape their future, she’d have these moments with him, stolen moments, moments that would have to last for the rest of her life.

  Chapter 7

  TRACE

  She was killing him. A slow, horrible death, like a shot to the gut. It felt like he’d been shot and left to die for days. He felt like his insides were raw, festering, like he was finished. He ached. All the loneliness, anger, anguish, shame, regret, and pain from the past year rose up sharply. His chest burned with the bitter acridness of a life ill spent.

  He needed to leave. To get the hell out of there. He needed to put as much distance between him and Sandy as he could. He was worse for her than he’d ever been. If she’d deserved better in the past, she sure as fuck deserved a thousand times better than him now. He’d been a saint back then in comparison.

  But she was looking at him like she could save him.

  She gripped his jacket like she couldn’t bear for him to leave.

  She threaded her arms around his neck and twisted her fingers in his hair. Her beautiful, lush body pressed up against his, ripe curves to all his hard planes.

  And then she wrenched his face down and kissed him.

  He was lost.

  His stomach clenched. His hands gripped Sandra around the waist so tightly that it had to hurt. He blistered her mouth with his. He licked at the seam of her lips and when she opened for him, he pushed his tongue inside. He lost his mind. He couldn’t fucking think straight to save his life.

  She ripped her face away and stared up at him, breathing as raggedly as he was. “I’ve thought about this for years. What it would be like to kiss you again.” He closed his eyes. He had to get out of there. A stinging blow across his cheek brought him out of it real fast. “Stay here,” Sandra ordered. “Stay right here with me.”

  “You just slapped me,” he said in amazement.

  She nodded. “I did. You were trying to drift off. Trying to be logical and rational. You can’t be those things and be here with me. I want you to be here with me.” Her eyes twinkled with devilment. “Are you going to punish me?”

  Fuck. Fuck, fuck. I am so fucking screwed. Punish her? Hell, he wanted to. He imagined taking her over his lap and spanking that curvy bottom until it was an angry red. Fuck, he imagined pushing her panties aside after, sinking his tongue into that sweet pussy and eating her until she came all over his face in a hot, wet rush.

  “You do want to punish me,” she said darkly. “So do it. The door is locked. We’re alone. You left me. You left me years ago. I wasn’t done with you then. I’m not done with you now.”

  “Sandy…”

  “No. No, I don’t want to hear about all the reasons you can’t. I don’t want to think about all the reasons I shouldn’t. It’s just us. Right here, right now. If that’s all we can ever have, I’ll take it and be thankful for it. You can leave after. You can pretend this never happened, but I need this.”

  “I- I can’t…”

  Her eyes narrowed and her kiss swollen lips thinned into a hard line. “Don’t make me tell you that you owe me. Because I will. I’ll play that card. Unfair or not, I’ll say it.”

  Trace groaned. His hands were still on her waist. Her warmth leached into him, turning him inside out. He should walk out that fucking door, but if he did, his life would just continue to be as empty and meaningless as always.

  He’d tasted her and damn him, he wanted more. He’d always wanted more. He’d longed for her over the years. He’d never been able to banish her from his mind or excise her from his soul. She haunted him. She would always be the ghost of his past, present, and future.

  She edged in, wriggling her shapely hips against him, grinding her heat straight onto his dick. She never broke eye contact as she tempted him to do every single sinful thing he’d imagined over the years. She said she’d fantasized about him. Fuck.

  Her nipples were hard little peaks under the thin fabric of her dress. She clearly wasn’t wearing a bra.

  She caught his gaze and she smiled coyly. Teasingly. She’d never been a tease. She’d been many things, but not that. The unexpected side of her sent him for one hell of a ride. “I’m not wearing panties either,” she said huskily. She ground up against him again and gasped as the hard bulge in his jeans hit her most sensitive spot.

  Fuuuuuuck.

  Sandra let out a high pitched scream when he grabbed her. He’d have plenty of time for regret later, but for now, he was going to give them both what they fucking craved. His fingers ground into the fleshy part of her ass as he guided her backwards. Her calves hit the couch and she fell back, tugging him down on top of her.

  His hand frantically tore at her dress, pushing the never ending fabric up her shapely legs. Her skin was so smooth, like satin. Like fucking rose petals. He wasn’t gentle. He was incapable of being gentle. Sandra parted her thighs and edged up the couch at the same time. He took the opportunity and the way her hips lifted, to ruck her dress up around her waist.

  He feasted his eyes on her. She was perfect. Fucking better than he remembered. Her pussy was glorious. Shaved, pink, fucking glistening for him.

  “No panties,” he rasped. “You were telling the truth.”

  “Of course. I’ve never been a liar.” She watched him watching her, and damn, that was sexy. It was far bolder than she’d been in the past. She’d always been a little bit shy, especially at first. It was broad daylight, the golden slants of the sun filtering through the slits in the blinds.

  His cock strained so hard against his fly that the head probably bore an imprint of the zipper. He was harder than he’d ever been in his life. His balls ached like someone just wound up and punched him there. He trembled with the need to take her, but also to restrain himself. It would be so easy to shove his jeans down, pull out his dick and bury himself inside of her warm, tight heat. He wanted to fuck her senseless. Fuck her until she’d come ten fucking times and was begging him for mercy. He wanted to blow his load inside of her, to fill her up and make her undoubtedly his.

  Fuck. She can never be mine.

  Knowing it didn’t change the fact that he wanted to mark her. His inner caveman roared at him to bite the creamy skin on her thighs, lick her and suckle her until he’d left marks all over her. Fuck her until she couldn’t remember her damn name. Fuck her until he couldn’t remember his.

  She shifted and opened her legs further. He sat there transfixed, struck dumb at the sight of her. And then… then she reached down and trailed her sweet tapered index finger over her sweetly perfect folds. She massaged herself, closed her eyes and sighed in pleasure. She skimmed over her clit when her finger was good and wet, and then because she wanted to kill him, she popped that finger into her mouth and sucked her own juices off of it.

  Okay… so maybe she’d learned a thing or two over the years.

  The thought of her learning them with someone else made him fucking crazy. He wanted to hunt the bastards down and put a bullet between their eyes. He wanted to hand them over to Tommy and let the guy work his magic. He wanted to…

  “Stop. Thinking,” Sandra commanded. “You look so serious. Like it’s a damn funeral. Does my pussy really look that awful? I know I might be different. I’m- older. I’ve had a child… but god, you’re really making me worried.”

  “No.” He shook his head firmly. “Fuck no. You’re beautiful. I’m… I’m almost scared to touch you. I’m scared at the bea
st that I’m going to become at that first taste of you.”

  Her eyes glistened. “Maybe I want the beast. Maybe I want you to fuck me until I’m screaming.” Her lips parted as she studied him. Slowly, deliberately, she ran her tongue over her bottom lip before she sunk her pearly teeth into it. “I want you to destroy me. I want you to put me back together. I want you to give me this, something that I’ll remember for the rest of my life. I want it to be rough. I want it to hurt.”

  “Fuck Sandy,” he cursed. He snapped, the beast roaring out of his skin. He dove between her legs and lost himself in her perfection.

  Chapter 8

  SANDRA

  Her fantasies over the years were nothing compared to the real thing.

  She’d forgotten what true pleasure felt like. Could something be truly wrong if it felt so absolutely right?

  Sandra buried her fingers in Trace’s thick hair as his erotic tongue swirled over her heated core. He explored her frantically, like he’d never get enough. His tongue delved deeper, finding her entrance and plunging inside. She was embarrassingly wet, but she couldn’t actually find enough willpower to care. Her hips bucked up, grinding herself against his mouth. She shamelessly opened herself to him, demanded more with the little incoherent moans escaping her throat, with her fingernails digging into his scalp.

  His tongue circled her again, from her entrance back up to her clit. She tensed as it flicked over the sensitive bundle of nerves.

  “This is mine,” he groaned.

  It wasn’t. She wasn’t. Not after he left. For the moment though… yes, she was his. “Yes, I’m yours,” she said breathlessly. She’d worry about semantics later. They both knew what this was; some very long delayed closure. Desire. A mutual session between two people who weren’t finished with each other. That was it.

  Trace’s strong hands spread her thighs open wider. “I want all of you,” he said darkly, thickly.

  Sandra opened her eyes and watched him lick his lips. Her body jolted at the knowledge that he was tasting her, licking her juices from his mouth.

  “So wet,” he groaned. “So swollen and so fucking perfect.”

  She responded with a whimper when he bent his head and continued his slow torturous exploration. He suckled her clit unexpectedly and she nearly shot off the couch. Her hips jerked up hard into his face. He laughed, a long low rumble, and moved down lower, away from the spot that was going to set her off if he kept suckling and licking it like he was doing. He strayed to her entrance and god, that was just as good. His tongue delved inside of her and her back arched up. Her nails dug into the tender flesh of his scalp. She rocked her hips hard into his face, craving more, needing more.

  The pressure was delicious. The feel of his thick tongue, warm inside of her… she wanted it all. She wanted something else there, but she could wait. He made her want to wait. The torture was exquisite, everything she’d literally dreamed of, better than any memory.

  Trace was a master at what he was doing. He traced hot strokes over her folds, danced over her clit. He was like a magician with his tongue. His fingers dug into her thighs, keeping her legs spread. He was the one in control, she had no doubt of it. She liked it that way. She wanted it that way. He took nothing for himself. He gave her all the pleasure she’d longed for as he fucked her with his mouth.

  Her world narrowed, everything focusing in on that one point, on the pleasure sweeping through her veins. Her toes tingled, her legs shook, her hands trembled. She clung to Trace while she dug her heels into the cheap pleather couch.

  “I want you to come for me,” he ground out right before he bit down gently on her clit.

  The sweet nip, something that no one had ever done to her before, sent her over the edge. She cried out wildly as she came in blinding waves of pleasure. She cried out something that sounded like Trace’s name. Her back arched completely off the couch and her hands scrabbled fiercely, tugging and ripping at his hair. Actual lights burst behind her eyes. Her breath remained trapped in her lungs as pleasure coursed through her veins. He didn’t stop. He didn’t give her a reprieve. He kept licking her, circling her with that glorious tongue, even though she shook and trembled under his touch. Just when she started to come back down, he brought his hand to her entrance and plunged two fingers into her channel, sending her straight back into the black oblivion.

  Each climax was more intense than the last. Sandra felt it to her toes and to the roots of her hair. Her fingers went numb, her legs went numb. She sucked in air like each breath was going to be her last. The waves of pleasure were so sharp they were almost painful. She’d never felt anything so good or come so hard. She shook and trembled and Trace fucked her with the devastating hand mouth combination.

  Was it possible to come for so many minutes straight? She had no idea. She couldn’t remember it ever being like this with him, even the first time around. Maybe her memory was faulty. It had been nine years. A lot had happened since then. She couldn’t remember it feeling like this, coming so hard that she was afraid she was forever ruined for any other man because they couldn’t possibly compare.

  Maybe it was like that before.

  Maybe that was why she’d never been able to make it work with anyone else.

  Because, just like she’d said, no one else was Trace.

  Finally Trace took mercy on her and leaned back. He waited until her eyes fluttered open before he slowly licked his lips. His eyes fluttered closed and he groaned, savoring the taste of her. “You’re so fucking sweet,” he growled. “I love the taste of you. I’ve missed the taste of you. I never forgot how sweet you were. I’ve never tasted a pussy as glorious as yours.”

  She could have come just from watching him lick his lips, from his gravelly words. “Don’t stop,” she panted, her voice unrecognizable as her own, almost as rough and thick as his. “Please.”

  Trace’s eyes narrowed and darkened. His pupils were so dilated they nearly consumed the irises completely. “What do you want me to do?”

  “I- anything.” Her face flushed. She should feel some modicum of regret for what they’d done already, but she couldn’t. He’d given her the best orgasms she’d had in her life, or at least, that she could remember.

  A few dark strands of hair clung to Trace’s damp forehead. He reached up and swiped them back. His throat bobbed as he swallowed and again she was struck by how she wanted to put her lips there, her tongue there, trace the bulge, trace all of him.

  “Anything?” One dark brow arched. “You shouldn’t tempt me like that.”

  “Why not?” She wriggled her hips, giving him a full show of the most intimate part of her. She was generally a shy person. Not with him, though. Never with him. If she’d been afraid of anything, it was of her passion, her wildness, the beast he unleashed in her.

  “You have no idea what you’re asking,” Trace groaned.

  “I think I do.” If he thought she was letting him go now, he was mistaken. If she was going to live with regrets, she was going to make them good. A lifetime’s worth. She wasn’t nearly finished. “I want you inside of me.” She tempted him with a coy smile and a tilt of her hips. “I want you filling me. I remember how big you are. I remember how much it hurts at first and how sore I am after. I need you. I want to come with you inside of me. I’m on the pill. I want to feel you come so deep inside me that it feels like you’re in my stomach.”

  Trace’s eyes slammed shut. “Fucking Christ, Sandy.” His hands clenched into fists. She watched the hard play of emotion across his face. “I want you so fucking badly. You’re right that it’s going to hurt. I’m not going to be gentle. There is no way for me to be gentle, especially not when you talk like that.”

  “Good.” Her tongue snaked out and wet her lips. “I don’t want you to be gentle. I want you to fuck me. Now.”

  She watched his thread of control snap again, just like it had before, when he’d rucked her dress up and eaten her pussy. His hands unclenched and flew to his pants. He fumbled with
the button. The zing of his zipper sent a pang shooting straight through her core. Her breath hitched when he tugged his pants and boxers down. His cock was huge, she remembered that, but apparently her memory was indeed unreliable, or maybe just fuzzy, because she didn’t remember it being that big. He was huge. His shaft was long and thick with perfect veins. The head was swollen, an angry red. Beads of moisture dripped from the tip.

  Her mouth watered and she wished she could have taken her time, but she knew they were past that. She ached to have him inside of her.

  Trace wrapped his hand around his shaft. He never tore his eyes away. “Are you sure? You can still tell me to leave.”

  “Are you crazy?”

  He nodded slowly. “It wouldn’t be the first time someone told me I was.”

  He leaned forward though, covering her with his massive form. He still had his jacket on, his pants, his damn shoes. She didn’t want him to take any of it off. Of course she wanted to caress his skin, to lick and taste him, but they’d never done anything like this, fully clothed, their need to have each other and claim each other far greater than their need to take their time and undress.

  Trace gripped her hands in his and forced them above her head. She wrapped her legs around his hips on instinct and froze when she felt him there, throbbing and so unbearably hot. The ache inside of her turned into a full on inferno, burning her up.

  He claimed her lips, bruising her mouth, warring with her, kissing her breathless. He thrust his tongue into her mouth and stroked hers hungrily. Every single motion was echoed down between her legs.

  “I want you,” she panted when he broke away. “I need you. Please.”

  Trace tucked his face against her ear. His rapid breaths echoed loudly there. She loved the warm puffs that heated her sensitive skin so erotically. “Don’t worry,” he growled. “I’m not going to stop. I need you too fucking badly. I’ve always needed you.”