Red Hot Bikers, Rock Stars and Bad Boys

by Cassia Leo

  “You keep using that word. I do not think it means what you think it means,” he said in the Spanish accent of Inigo Montoya. He found himself funny, snickering at his Princess Bride joke.

  “Shut. The hell. Up,” I growled. “And leave me alone. Go play your perverted game on someone who cares.” I smoothed my skirt that got bunched awkwardly around my hips, tore my glued stare off him, and prayed my heartbeat was not actually pounding in surround-sound like I thought it was. This was so stupid! I was a total mental case. Guys in a bar! That’s what I need. Guys I don’t know. Guys that don’t live in my house, share the same shower...well, not the same shower, errr, at the same time, but space I mean, shower space...or snuggle under the same blanket during movie night, or fight me for popcorn or the shaded space in the driveway. And now I had shower on my mind, and he’s fucking in it with me, pressing me against the tiles. Damn, I hate that bitch! Uh, I could bust her skull. How dare she hurt him like that! How could she do that to him? How could she cheat with some nerdy foot doctor? How could she leave Danny free? Free for me? I brushed flour off my face and chest, looked back at him, and instantly regretted it. His lancing stare cut into my bone.

  In all the time I’ve known him, he’s never been free. That must be the difference. Maybe that’s why he’s suddenly stolen my interest and arrested my body. His naughty, misplaced taunting has never bothered me or made me flush like this. Maybe that’s why he was looking at my lips like never before and why I was still wrapped around his body in my mind. His naked, muscular, hot, sweaty body that I was licking salt off of and aching to ravish entirely. My palms felt clammy and my panties damp, and my lungs squeezed and screamed out for more oxygen.

  “Seriously, Alexa. Thanks for caring about my breakup, in your weird way,” he muttered, rolling out half of his dough.

  After a deep, ragged inhale, I cleared my throat. “Don’t even flatter yourself. I meant in how this relates to me. Your pissy attitude is gonna screw up my week. I’m stuck with you? You...who has a Christmas tree in the kitchen and wears frilly, discarded aprons without disdain or shame? Freaking wonderful. See ya.”

  “Bring a damn pencil,” he yelled before I left.

  “Fuck off.”

  He chuckled and said, “That’s my plan. Do I seriously have to keep reiterating that?”

  Fuming, I froze long enough to scowl at him and scoff in annoyance then spun to leave.

  I was dying of thirst and craving sweet tea to chug, or maybe eggnog, or whatever else he might have coming to life in the fridge, but my hands were shaking so much, I didn’t think I could carry a beverage.

  I hurried out of the newly colored bluish green and cream kitchen and sprung up the back stairs to the second floor bathroom off the hallway. After I closed and locked the door behind me, I leaned against it before sliding slowly to the tiles.

  My breath lumbered in and out with greater volume. I folded up and leaned forward, pressing my forehead to the cool floor. What the hell was happening to me? I was near-hyperventilating, my insides were on fire, and I was slicker than ever. Just the thought of Danny discovering how hot and wet I was and chastising me for imagining such dirty, dirty things about him made me quake with arousal. Being in this short skirt, there was little between me and his skin, and he’s quickly in my panties and driving his fingers into me, hard and fast, and I’m dying from the delirious fake pleasure. As he orders me to suck off the results when he rushes juicy digits to my lips, it pushes me over the edge.

  I snatched a towel and moaned into it as I began pulsing wildly and throbbing in climax. I just freaking came and hadn’t even touched myself? What the hell. That’s never happened before. Ever. I cupped my hand over my swollen bits and pressed up with the pads of my fingers to feel how fast and crazy the contractions were. I was feeling all of this, but I was still in utter disbelief that I came from desire and fantasy alone.

  This was so out of left field. But. Oh. My. God. I wanted Danny Zane, the freaking rock star god who lived in my house and had the balls and badassery to wear my mother’s damn pink frilly apron without a single ounce of shame. I wanted him bad. I wanted him to fuck me and fuck me and fuck me until I screamed out for the rescue and deliverance of angels.

  That can’t happen! It won’t. I don’t think he just bangs girls willy-nilly. He likes a committed thing, and I sure as hell don’t want that, especially not with some cocky asshole that shares my domain and already thinks he goddamn owns me. But then again, what do I know? He could be a sweetheart and the hottest damn lay imaginable, which might make him irresistible. No way will I ever go there. His body is off limits! Off. Limits. Get that through your thick skull, Alexa!

  On the tail of my orgasm, I felt electrically charged, like I could zap teddy bears to life.

  I really don’t think I can deal with him teasing me like he does. There’s this pulsing, pounding part of me that feels like maybe he’s not totally kidding this time.

  Yeah. This week is gonna be HELL.

  ***

  CHAPTER TWO

  Danny

  “Be on standby. Just in case,” I said to one of my security guys, Jed. His home right down the road suddenly felt like three towns over. With Alexa back, I was nervous about how my psycho stalker would react. I received a pic of Alexa and me in the mail right when she returned to school after Christmas break. We were walking down the road, eating pizza slices in our winter garb, and her face was blacked out with marker then gouged with a pin or knife point or something. Back then, the thought of someone being jealous of her was downright laughable and insane, but the tightness in my jeans earlier told a true and torrid tale of burning lust that I couldn’t damn shake. Not such a joke or impossibility now.

  Hanging up, I felt sick to my stomach, like it was filled with curdled milk. Yeah, nothin’ like a kick in the nads to mend a broken heart. This week’ll be pure hell. My pulse was still at marathon-pace from the surprise of her. Just freaking showing up like that. In her damn, short skirt! Why’d I even go there, with the whole spanking thing? And worse, the sex.

  The curves of her globes that peaked out at me as she bounded up the back stairs were still on my mind, only stripped down, painted pink, and under my naked flesh while I devoured her neck and gruffly told her how many different ways I was gonna screw her brains out. What the hell? This is all I need. Maybe she’ll keep bitching, and I can plant her, deservedly, across my lap. That only made my fingers itch to set her straight and find a way to get her to submit to me, just once. But, like any other woman who’s sparked my interest, she’d never be all in. I can’t even get her to do her own damn laundry.

  I only teased her to take my mind off of that cheating slut. But the inappropriate porn that started running through my mind, the rough and dirty kind, where I’m feeding my true lusts and demanding compliance, ignited a new primal craving for the girl upstairs. I don’t know if I can resist at least trying to corrupt her and pull her into my kinky world. That blush of hers? And that leg-wobble? Hot damn. Something’s different in our dynamic. She wants me. She does. And she can’t bluff her way out of that truth, which only made me crave to ignite something real.

  I immediately texted Tim and Zack, the only friends I have who like college ball, to come over for some bracket action. I wasn’t that into NCAA, but a barrier between me and Brat, would at least prevent me from trying to bring my twisted fantasies to life. You have to be a special kind of fucked-up to want to sex-up a sorta sister, even by late-in-life circumstance. I am fucked-up. But I don’t want to be that fucked-up. She didn’t have much family to speak of. What was mine was also hers. And actually getting up that skirt might kill the only love she has in her life, ’cause her shitty mother sure doesn’t give a damn about her.

  I called her down when dinner was ready and regretted it.

  She was now in strappy heel sandals and an ivory babydoll dress that somehow looked innocent and slutty at the same time. It was short and gauzy with touches of lace trim that rimmed the
rainbow arcs of her breasts and grazed her thighs. I’m not sure why I pictured it wet, but now I couldn’t get that damn image out of my head when I looked at her. A burn terrorized my whole abdomen and made my dick twitch.

  She took a deep whiff when she stepped into the dining room and stopped near the espresso table I set for one. She splayed her purple-nailed manicured fingers on the table like an upside down flower and cocked her hip. “Mmm. Smells delicious, Danny.”

  “Who cares about dinner! Where the hell are you going dressed like that?”

  “Out.” She straightened up and huffed.

  “Where?” I shouted.

  “What the hell are you? The fashion police? I’m twenty-two. This outfit isn’t even bad or slutty at all, but even if it were, where I go and what or whom I do is not your business. Get your own damn life and stop butting into mine. You don’t own me.”

  Not yet. I glared at her.

  Her smile morphed into a naughty, devilish one as she slid into a chair. She probably didn’t realize how sexy the tilt she just settled into was. Or maybe she did. It lifted up one hip and highlighted a curve on her I’d love to grab, bite and flog.

  “What the hell, Alexa! You expect me to serve you dinner? Get your own damn plate.”

  She hummed and nodded. “Well, you’re the chef. Presentation is everything. Be sure to snatch me a tall glass of cold water while you’re at it, in case I need to quickly erase scum from my tongue.”

  “Cum?” I teased her.

  Her face pinked up and her sexy bottom lip involuntarily jolted back against her teeth. “Scum,” she repeated with invisible steam coming out of her nostrils and her butterscotch eyes flooding with annoyance. “You know what I said.”

  “My mistake. I should’a figured. Bet you swallow and prefer to have it linger.”

  I assumed that would rattle her a bit, but her confident gaze and the words, “With the best of ’em,” left me as the one stunned. She wiggled her head, sporting a smirk. She knew she nailed me. Great. Now all I could picture was her silken lips sliding me in and out of a wet-hot wonderland.

  Forget it, forget it, freak, just get her damn plate. I stiffened as severe pangs begged for way more than just dinner.

  I shouldn’t tease the girl, but I love how bratty and snippy she’s been today, a sure defense mechanism against the naughty treks I know her mind is taking. In my dual art of seduction and song, I’ve acquired the ability to read women with my keen attention to detail. She crossed her legs because they’ve turned to jelly and a tingle is sliding up between them. Her fingers curled into fists because she wants to touch something she shouldn’t. And her neck was strained because unwanted heat drained from her head and she wanted, with all her might, to squelch it. Fat chance. Her rose-petal lips were the biggest giveaway, slow dancing in a subtle kiss that hadn’t connected with her sweet mouth yet. I wanted to bite all those things. And I kinda wanted to fan the flames I’d lit to make them burn hotter and wilder, even though that’d be the absolute worst idea in the world. This smart-ass hellion was untamable, which made me want to take up the challenge. I was tired of women entrapping me with their love junk and crushing my heart when I was the one with power, looks, fame, and money. I stayed rigidly faithful, even with hundreds of phone numbers getting shoved into my palm. But I longed to revel in the raging fire I’d built just for Spitfire.

  I stood and bit down on my lip until it hurt. I pivoted away from her to get her out of my sight. When I returned to the table with her plate and glass of clinking ice water, I placed them in front of her, then sat across from her and said, “So, what’s this Momentum thing? What does this company do anyway? I’ll try my best to be cool and have a normal conversation with you. I’ll try. I really am curious.”

  “Well good. About time. I am quite enthralling you know.” She dove into her meal with a smile and moaned, driving me nuts because it was so unintentionally wicked and sultry. She acted like melted chocolate was gracing her tongue and sliding down her graceful throat. Fuck you, Alexa! Mmmm, yeah, fuck you, fuck you. Just thinking about thrusting in and out of her, right damn here on the table with everything brushed to the floor in a two-armed swoop, made me dizzy and stiff. I didn’t know I was that good of a cook. “I already told you about my job. It’s the company I interned for this past summer. Did you not jot that down during any of the hundred times you called? They handle everything from public relations to image consulting and branding. A new image is definitely something your band could use.”

  I threaded my fingers together and growled at her. “Like hell. What do you know what my band needs. You can’t even stand my music. We live on the edge. We don’t need freaking consultants.”

  “Sure you do, especially now. You not only got the boot by your label, which is a kiss of death, your last album and tour was panned by critics because of your new lead guitarist’s alcohol consumption. What’s his name again? Puck? He’s a freaking disaster. People aren’t gonna shell out cash to see you perform if you can’t be professional about your job.”

  “We are professional. Damn professional. Shut the hell up. It’s not like we bite the heads off bats and that guy did okay.”

  “Yeah. And he made a comeback because he rebranded.”

  “He never left the scene. Shut your damn trap and eat your food.” I scowled at my plate and stabbed at my creation and downed it like a ravenous beast. I wasn’t even that hungry anymore, just pissed, and using the activity to squelch my fury.

  “Yeah? If you’re so damn confident, tell me, Danny, when’s your next gig?” She looked at me through blinking lids as she hunched over her plate a little and inadvertently showcased her munchable mounds, now squished together and begging for squeezes.

  “Uh, Tuesday. At Smitty’s Smokehouse.”

  “Smitty’s? Ha ha. Whoa. What a crap location. That’s hilarious and yet, painfully sad.”

  I sneered. “Wow, and aren’t you just Little Miss Positive. I don’t need your criticism, Lex, on top of everything else. Fuck off.”

  “That’s all you ever give me, so back at ya. You’re not even playing real concerts now? See? This is exactly what I mean. You guys need a new and better image.”

  “It is a real concert. And we do play big venues, at random, but we like playing smaller or unplugged gigs from time to time also.”

  “Yeah right. Your phone isn’t ringing by the bigs, admit it.”

  “Maybe, but the new stuff we’re cranking out works better stripped-down in an intimate setting anyway.”

  “Stripped? Intimate? Mmm, yeah, I see your point. I can see how that’d be something you’re into.”

  “What better way to make the ladies drool from their best holes, Alexa?”

  Her twisted legs shifted and squeezed and I mentally ordered her to unwind and spread that soft pretzel stick wide open for my viewing pleasure. She did untwist those sexy gams but set her heeled soles flat on the floor and pressed her legs together like a tight clamp. Poor thing must’ve juiced up at the one. “I can think of plenty of ways. I’ve never heard you guys mostly unplugged. That must be … icky. Your raunchy lyrics without Puck’s bleeding guitar smearing it out? Errr, I don’t know about that.”

  “What’s wrong? Can’t handle the heat?”

  “No, I can’t stomach the garbage you guys spew.”

  “It’s steamy-hot, but in a quieter way now, like whispers in the dark. Especially the new stuff we’ve been working on. You’ll see. Why don’t you come? With a change of panties.”

  “I don’t even know who’s around town to go with. Everyone hit the beach. Kate maybe?”

  “Yeah, she likes my so-called garbage and drools over my pecs too. Why are you even here? Home, I mean? You agreed to do a job? Why on earth? I know you’d rather be surfing and soaking in the rays with your friends.”

  “True. But I won’t mind riding the waves of some hot, foreign muscles at home instead.”

  I glared at her, not liking that one bit. “You’d better
not catch some disease.”

  “Could say the same to you. And I already told you, I have work. And it’s not something I just agreed to do, I’m dying to do it, to participate in the meeting. Can’t wait to start my own life and career, out from underneath your strangling stronghold.”

  “You’d love my stronghold, sweetheart.” She flashed me an eye-rolling “whatever” sneer. I looked at her suspiciously. “And you’ve got no cash, surely. Let’s be real.”

  She shrugged and I smirked at her. “Yeah, but it’s not what or why you think.”

  “Oh no? Enlighten me then.” I laced my fingers together, waiting for her lame-ass excuse.

  “I’m sure you think I partied it away, Danny, but I footed the bulk of the bill for a benefit dinner for this really cool nine-year-old, Samantha, with leukemia.”

  “Really? Wow.” I said, with a tower of pride sliding down in my being. I was indeed impressed at her selflessness.

  “Yeah, really.”

  “That’s … astonishing. You’re right. Not what I was thinking at all.”

  “Well, she needed it way more than me. I only have a couple more months left in college, and I wanted to do something nice for someone before graduation. She’s doing better since her bone marrow transplant and latest round of chemo and is in remission now. I’m scared it’ll come back like a lion’s claw. She’s been inspirational to me, that’s for sure. How bravely she faced her hell gave me a reality check. Now, I want to chase hard and live life to the fullest and not miss out on anything amazing or fun, you know?”

  No longer hungry at all, I didn’t even take any more bites of my own dinner while I watched her eat. She downed the rest of her ravioli and guzzled her water. Her long swallows as she drained the glass were … so uuhhh. Damn.

  “Thanks for dinner, Danny. Not bad at all. Delicious actually. You should keep this up, in case the whole rock star-slash-composer thing doesn’t work out. Maybe you can have your own cooking show or something. I didn’t even gag once.”