by Violet Blaze
“Lyric?”
“I'm fine,” she says as she glances over her shoulder and finds a group of soccer moms gawking at her from the auto yard. They're here to get their minivans serviced and flirt with the boys in black. It's a win-win for all of us. “Just fine.” She glances down at her knees, at the torn nude tights I hadn't even realized she was wearing. Blood and grit sticks in her wounds like it's glued there.
“Royal?”
It's Dober, drawing my attention back to him and the, uh, situation that's sprung up suddenly and unexpectedly.
“Have Glacier deal with it,” I snap and then glance over at the clubhouse. “But first, have him take Mia home. And let her know it's okay to take a little holiday from the compound.”
Dober raises his dark bushy brows, but he doesn't say anything. Smart move on his part.
“You don't have to do that,” Lyric says, swiping her hands down her dusty suit. “I'm not pressing charges.”
“Pressing charges?” Mad as I am, even I find that funny. A laugh escapes my throat as I shake my head and run my fingers through my hair. Her first thought is cops and court. I guess in a way mine was, too. But in my world, a fistfight generally isn't a big deal. People have problems; people fight them out. But in this, I have to take a stand. Mayor's daughter … Mayor's anything is off-limits right now. Even for me.
“Do you have a bathroom or something where I could clean up?” Lyric asks and I nod, looking down at her, at the slight purple swelling around her eyes. They're as green as the trees soaring above us. And why the fuck did I even notice that?
“I'll show you the way.” I nod my head, running my tongue across my lower lip. I can still taste her on my mouth, like honey and wildflowers. Goddamn it. There I go again with metaphors. Not generally my thing. My boys would whip my ass if they knew the thoughts going through my head right now.
“You sure you don't want me to call the cops?” Lyric's sister asks, but I don't bother to turn around. My boys will make damn sure she doesn't—and they'll do it in the nicest way possible. A little flirtation never hurt anyone, right?
“It's fine, Kailey. I'll be right back. Just … wait for me, okay?”
I move across the deck and hold the door open for Lyric, a small smile teasing my lips as she scoots around me, very careful not to touch.
“I don't bite—hard,” I whisper as I follow in behind her and she jumps. “Not unless you want me to.”
“Just show me where the bathroom is, please.” Lyric shoves her loose hair over her shoulder and then pauses, reaching out a small, delicate hand towards me. My cock hardens in response. Eh, I think it was already halfway there anyway. Even the cold shock of Dober's news couldn't completely douse the fire this girl started in me. “My clip, too, thanks.”
I unhook her hair clip from my pocket and drop it in her outstretched palm, using the movement to wrap my fingers around her wrist and tug her towards me. I'm not even sure why I'm doing it. Lyric Rentz is a pretty girl … no, more than pretty. She's curvy and feminine and soft with big eyes and long lashes, full lips and a whole hell of a lot of spirit.
And she's forbidden fruit.
Makes me want her all that much more.
“Let go of me, you … wanker,” she says and then cringes as I laugh at her, releasing her wrist as I take a step back. Her eyes wander down and then pause on the bulge in my pants. She glances away suddenly, pretending not to notice. But I do. I can see her nipples hardening beneath that hideous blue shirt of hers.
“Wanker? Is that the best you've got?” I ask as I move up the stairs to my right, hand sliding along the bannister before I turn and glance down at her to make sure she's following. She might not know it yet, but she's walking straight into the wolf's den, pun intended.
Just one taste won't hurt, will it?
“Well, you are British, aren't you?” she quips.
“Ah, but I'm an expat. Hardly counts, right?” I stop at the landing and move aside while Lyric follows cautiously behind me. I have so many other things to worry about right now, but all I can seem to focus on is this. I keep repeating that this is what's best for the club, that taking care of this girl keeps everything running smoothly. But then that's only half the truth. I think my dick's taken over the rest of my brain.
“I guess,” she says, reaching the top and skirting around me like I'm on fire. Or maybe she just doesn't want to touch my throbbing cock. “Bathroom?” she asks again, her voice rife with suspicion, like she expects me to jump her at any moment. I won't lie about that one—I'm about ready to tear that proper little skirt right off.
“Cool it, sweetheart. I'm taking you to one of the dorm rooms. Toilets in there get cleaned by the hang-arounds after every guest and stay clean. The downstairs loo is fucking nasty, even after a good scrubbing. You wouldn't feel comfortable cleaning up in there with a bunch of burly bikers pissing in the urinals, now would you?”
She huffs, but she doesn't say anything, following me down the hall to the third door on the right. I reach down and turn the knob, pushing it open and gesturing for her to enter with a sweep of my arm.
“Thanks,” she says cautiously, scooting past me. When she turns to close the door, I'm right there shutting it for her—and locking it behind us. I don't miss her nervous swallow. “What are you doing?”
“Getting you a first aid kit.”
“You're a strange character, Mr. McBride, you know that?”
“Now, why would you go and say that?” I ask, stepping closer, forcing her to back up so that her thighs are pressed against the edge of the mattress.
“Charming one minute, scary the next. Makes a girl wonder if you're completely sane.”
“Charming, huh?” I ask, reaching up and brushing the back of my hand against her pale cheek. She shudders when our skin makes contact, her own hand coming up and wrapping around my wrist.
“And scary the next,” she murmurs. “You missed that part.”
“But I didn't miss this,” I murmur, sliding my left hand down and under her skirt, cupping her warm heat with my fingers. “You're already wet for me, love.”
Lyric gasps, those pretty green eyes of hers going wide with shock and then blazing over with a rush of heat. I tease her moist panties with my fingers before withdrawing my hand and inserting them into my mouth. Fucking shit. She tastes like she smells—sweet, fresh, bright.
When her hands drop to the button on my jeans, I'm not surprised.
There's a fire burning inside all of that prim and proper.
When she tugs down my zipper, I take that as a sign, shoving her back on the bed and grinning as she settles into the mattress, face burning with desire, lips gently parted, pupils dilated. Oh yes. She wants this as much as I do.
I move over to the desk in the corner and grab a condom from the drawer. We keep them in all the rooms—for obvious reasons.
I hit the edge of the bed and kneel between Lyric's legs, finishing what she started and freeing my cock from my jeans. She doesn't look at me, draping an arm across her forehead as her breathing deepens and a moan breaks from her throat.
I slide the condom over my cock and toss the wrapper to the floor.
“My tights,” she begins, but I'm already a step ahead of her, reaching down and slipping my finger inside a run. A little pressure and the fabric splits easily, giving me access to … a red thong.
“Are you bloody fucking kidding me?” I ask as her eyes snap fully open and she struggles to sit up.
“Oh God,” Lyric moans as I push her back and wrap my hand around her wrists, pinning her against the mattress. “I forgot I was wearing it.”
“Ah, Pint-Size, you're just full of surprises, aren't you?” With my free hand, I reach down and push her sexy panties aside, positioning my cock at Lyric's opening as I look down at her flushed face and wide eyes. Our gazes lock and a possessive urge surges through me. What the hell is wrong with me?
I almost pull away and slip my dick back into my pants, walk away an
d throw my hands up. It's what I should do. Our weapons shipment from Seventy-seven Brothers is late and Smoky says he's having trouble getting ahold of his guy. Not good.
“Royal,” Lyric begins, sensing my hesitation and trying to pull her wrists from my grip. But when I look at her, holy hell, it's like I'm a man possessed. I push the head of my cock against her opening and slide into her, inch by achingly painful inch.
When she winces, I pause.
“Too big for you, baby?” I ask, a small smirk curling my lips.
“No,” she grunts, her lashes fluttering as her back arches, pushing her hips towards me, taking me until I'm damn near balls deep. “I got kneed in the vagina, remember?”
If she wasn't wrapped around me, her pussy tight and throbbing against my shaft, I'd probably laugh at that. But for whatever fucked up reason, hearing her say the word vagina casual as can be when we're pelvis to pelvis like this, it turns my desire up a notch.
“Then I'm not holding back,” I warn, my voice dropping down into dangerous territory, the way it does when I have to shut off my emotions just to keep going. But this time, it's like I'm overwhelmed by them, drowning in lust and sex and desire. This girl's as bad as any high I've ever had; I can only hope the comedown isn't a bitch.
“Don't,” she whispers, her eyes focused on the ceiling and not on my face. Something about that pisses me off and I release her wrists, grabbing her chin and tilting her gaze towards me until our eyes lock. Then and only then do I begin to move, the mattress creaking beneath us as I thrust into her, her small heart-shaped face clutched in my tattooed fingers, her green eyes wide and moist as I slam my hips against hers hard, harder, fucking hardest.
“So tight, Lyric,” I growl, letting go of her face and putting my hands on either one of her knees, pushing her legs open, giving me deeper access. She cringes a little when my fingers brush across her still bleeding wounds, but I don't stop. A little bit of red never hurt anyone, right? If it did then I'd be quite rightly screwed. I'm swimming in blood, drenched in it. “You are so fucking tight.”
She bites her lower lip and slides her hands up her body to squeeze and caress her own breasts. The sight un-fucking-does me, and I groan as I pick up my pace, balls slapping hard against her ass as that wicked beast of pleasure curls in my body and unfurls with a growl. I collapse against her and come so hard it knocks the air right out of me. Before I can even catch it, she's sitting up and shoving me back with a palm to the chest.
The movement catches me off guard enough that I lose my balance on the edge of the mattress and stumble back, just barely managing to stay on my feet.
“What the hell, Pint-Size?” I ask as Lyric stands up and yanks her skirt back into place. “We're not finished here yet.”
“Says who?” she asks me, trying to sweep past me and out the door. I slam my palm against the wood and it clicks back into place at the same moment I grab her wrist and spin her around, putting her back to the wall next to the desk.
“Says me,” I snap, dropping my mouth to hers, thrusting my tongue between her teeth and drinking in the taste of her. “I don't usually let the pretty birds fly away without a souvenir to remember me by.” Before she can comment on that, I kiss her hard and fast, my right hand grabbing the fabric of her skirt and yanking it up to her hips. Lyric struggles a little bit, but she's still kissing me back and when my fingers dive into her slick wetness, she groans into my mouth.
Thumb on her clit, two inside her tight pussy, I work her body until she's thrashing against my grip on her wrists, biting my lower lip as her back arches and a rush of wet heat soaks my fingers in the wake of her orgasm.
When I finally let go of her, I'm grinning from ear to ear.
She takes one, long look at me and then slaps me across the face.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Lyric
I'm not exactly sure why I slapped Royal in the face. Maybe it was because he gave me my first orgasm in two years? I know, it's sad, but good sex doesn't always have to come with an orgasm. Great sex … well, wow, I don't actually think I've ever had great sex.
Until today.
I lift my wineglass to my lips and take a drink, pretending that I'm still listening to my father drone on about his new campaign promises. My mother watches and smiles politely, frustrated that her birthday dinner's turned into just another campaigning platform but too uptight to say anything about it.
“What the hell happened to you in there?” Kailey whispers for what has to be the hundredth time since I appeared frazzled and disheveled at the front door of the clubhouse. She's not an idiot; I know she knows. But she'd rather needle and pick at me until I give the answer she wants.
Across the table, my big brother glares at me, his mouth downturned, his green eyes staring straight into mine. He doesn't like the story I fed him about falling down my front steps. It's a lame story, even I know that, but I was so frazzled from my encounter with Royal that my mind felt like a pan of scrambled eggs. I couldn't come up with anything else.
“You can tell me anything, you know that, right?” Kailey asks, playing the sympathetic big sister card. I'm not falling for it. If I flat-out admit to having sex with Royal, she won't let me live it down. In fact, she'd probably save that secret for my future husband and surprise him with the revelation on our wedding day. She doesn't mean to be like that, but with our Mom and Dad for parents, it was kind of inevitable.
“How are things going with the Alpha Wolves?” my dad asks, pausing in his self-important rant long enough to gaze across the table at me, a fork in one hand and a smile on his lips. His hair is dark and perfect, not a hint of gray or white to be seen. I think he dyes it, but if I ever asked, he'd deny it.
I set my wineglass down and lift my napkin to my lips, dabbing at a pretend drop of liquid.
Well, Dad, I fucked the sexy British president of the MC in one of the club dorm rooms today. That was nice. Oh, but right before that, I got in a fight with one of his … groupies. I think I held my own in the fight though.
“Royal McBride is a difficult man to pin down,” I say with a self-deprecating smile. “He blew off our last meeting, but we have another scheduled for Friday. I have our proposals written up and ready to go; all he needs to do is sign them and we can schedule the photo op.”
My dad's gotten it into his head that a picture of his staff with a few choice members of the Alpha Wolves would make a great front page piece for the paper.
Local Government Takes Down Organized Crime Ring With Careful Bureaucracy.
Oh God. The day that Royal lets the press print something like that is the day that pigs fly. I don't even know the guy, but one look at him and I knew that he wasn't about to roll over for the mayor's office.
My dad nods briskly, dismissing me just like that. It should hurt that he doesn't care more, that he doesn't want to know more about me and what I do, but I've long since outgrown that. If it doesn't involve work or parties or what the neighbors think, then Philip Rentz isn't interested.
“Wonderful. You keep working your charm on those bikers, Lyric, and get the job done.”
“I always do,” I say, but my stomach's dropping faster than a stone in water. I have a meeting with Royal on Friday. And I just had sex with him. If I close my eyes, I can still feel his fingers on my chin, his body buried deep inside of mine. The whole encounter's a bit of a blur if I'm being honest with myself, but the feelings are there, the scorch of his flesh across mine. I feel like I've been burned.
A waiter sets a plate of food in front of me, but I'm not hungry.
Not for steak and salad and a twice baked potato.
I'm hungry for Royal McBride, and I have no idea what I'm supposed to do about that.
My house is dark when I get home, the only one on the block without a porch light on. It burned out weeks ago, but I've been too busy with work to bother with it.
After Toni left the office and moved back to Eureka, I was left with a mess of paperwork to sort through and a pu
zzle to try and figure out. How, exactly, does the mayor's office get an outlaw biker club to agree to anything? Money helps, but they already have plenty of that. Grabbing them a get out of jail free card from the feds? Helping them avoid a RICO—Racketeer Influenced and Corrupt Organizations—case … priceless. A lot of big words, sure, but it all comes down to one thing: that RICO acronym there, it lets the government charge and convict the leaders in a criminal organization, whether or not they're actually the ones who got their hands dirty. Money laundering, obstruction of justice, even murder.
I never would've had that carrot to dangle if I hadn't done what I did.
Philip Rentz doesn't care about the feds, doesn't have any political ambitions past the mayoral elections.
But I do.
A chill travels down my spine as I open my driver's side door and climb out, scanning the street around me for a moment before I slam it closed behind me. A quick push on my key fob locks the doors of my black Chrysler, and I head towards the front steps, pausing when I feel a little tickle on the back of my neck.
When I glance over my shoulder, there's no one behind me, but the feeling of being watched doesn't go away, not when I put my key in the lock, step inside and close it just as quickly.
I flick the deadbolt and the chain back into place and peek out the purple curtains that line my front window, but there's nothing and nobody there. I'm just being paranoid.
With a sigh, I toss my purse onto the coffee table behind me, running my hands down the front of my plain black dress, the one I always wear out with my family. Well, okay, so I have four or five different versions of it in my closet, but they're all so similar, they might as well be the same dress.
I looked so ridiculous in Kailey's dress. Hell, even calling it a dress is being generous. There was hardly any fabric there.
