Yet even this impressive feature, she noted, could not hold her attention for long—not when she had so many unanswered questions running wild through her psyche.
Her gaze racing to his face, Amanda pursed her lips as she noticed that Greg was making his best attempt at a sultry, narrow eyed look; no doubt imitating either the goddess Pia or one of the many porn starlets she’d caught him ogling at various points throughout the years.
Oh, she had to admit that he pulled the look off, and that his mane of shoulder length ebony hair looked most fetching as it fell in luxury across his muscled shoulders. Still and all, she swore to herself that she would not succumb to his petty attempts at seduction.
“So let me guess,” she said aloud, folding her arms before her and striking a proud stance before him. “We just got robbed, and the abnormally pervy burglar made off with all of your clothes as well as the vast majority of your earthly possessions. Then they tied you to the bed and left.”
His low, soft chuckle sent a thrill of excitement down her spine. Ah, but she’d be damned if she’d ever admit as much to his face. No siree.
“No, you silly, adorable girl,” he purred, adding as his hard naked body writhed sensual down the length of their soft cotton sheets. “I got myself into this situation.”
Amanda arched her eyebrows.
“Now I eagerly await the answer to my next question, this I actually can’t wait to hear,” she deadpanned, adding as she inclined her head in his direction, “How on earth did you manage to tie yourself to our bed?” she paused here, adding in a more serious tone, “Or did you, per chance, have a bit of help? Is Pia on the premises?”
Greg sighed.
“OK, so she was here,” he admitted, adding quickly as she seared him with an irksome glance that suddenly made him regret his lack of mobility at this present time, “but for a grand total of five minutes—just long enough for her to tie me to the bed and leave.”
Amanda squinted, downright disturbed and just a bit confused by this bizarre notion.
“She stayed just long enough to tie you to the bed and leave,” she repeated, tone vague and bewildered. “What kind of a bizarre and totally ineffective form of sexual fetish is that?”
Greg laughed.
“I’ve always loved your sense of humor, baby. I pretty much love everything about you,” he told her, adding as he shook his head from side to side, “And as far as Pia and I, well there pretty much is no Pia and I, baby. She rejected me cold this morning. And although her words hurt at first, they made me realize just what a fool I’d been, thinking that I could ever throw away my beautiful wife, not to mention our amazing marriage, for the sake of a one-night fling. If Pia was good for anything, it’s that she talked some sense into me about what was probably in reality just an early midlife crisis on my part. And she even agreed to help me get you back.” He paused here, adding as he writhed shameless and blatant in the sheets beneath him, “Even if it meant helping me fulfill one of your deepest, most forbidden fantasies. So after leaving work together, we picked up the kids at school, dropped them off at my Mom and Dad’s for the night, then headed back here—at which point she tied me to the bed and left me here as a present for you. I remember you telling me, a long time ago, that you had a little fetish for that kind of thing.”
His wife nodded.
“I did indeed at one point have a fantasy of dominating you in bed, Greg—and given my overall character and personality, perhaps that’s not surprising,” she smiled, but only briefly, “but now my only fantasy is to have a man in my bed—and in my life—that I can trust and love, without limit or reservation. A man I can rely on, without worrying as to whether or not he’s going to cheat on me or leave me.” She paused here, adding as she looked her husband straight in the eyes, “I think I’ve found that man, Greg. And he’s not you.”
Her husband winced.
“Come on baby,” he urged her, tone pleading as he asked, “Are you really willing to give up our marriage and family life for a man who might not be one bit more sincere or trustworthy than his slutty wife?”
Amanda snorted.
“Do your words sound familiar to you, Greg?” she asked. “Do they sound at all like the ones I said to you, this very morning? And let me ask you a question: if Pia had agreed to run off with you today, would you still be here with me, right now?”
She froze as he met her question, not with words, but with a restless squirm that sent his lean muscled body slithering and writhing in the sheets beneath him, punctuating this seductive motion with a soft, breathy plea of, “Take me, Amanda.”
Moving forward as if in a trance, stripping her dress off with every step, his wife descended hard on the surface of their bed as she covered her body with his; their legs entangling as she seared her lips across his—their mouths binding and their tongues entangling as she fixed her sturdy arms around his hard, trim waist.
For just a few moments they kissed and cuddled, their bodies moving together in a timeless tango as their chests pressed together and their nipples met and grazed.
“Just give me once chance, baby, just one night,” Greg growled against her lips, adding as he laved her mouth with a wet, wicked tongue, “I swear I’ll make you forget him.”
Amanda said nothing, only broke their kiss as she ducked her head to lick his planed pecks and nip his sculpted abs; finally laying a long lick down the length of his erect, pulsating member.
“Oh yes baby,” Greg hissed between clenched teeth, thrusting his hips forward to encourage her affections. “Devour me, Goddess.”
He groaned frustrated moments later, as a power hungry Amanda slithered up his body, her ravenous hands running wild over his chest and sides until their gazes locked and held.
“This night is for my pleasure, remember,” she hissed against his full, moist lips, even as she ran her hands through his soft dark hair and hoisted her hips sharp against his.
“Yes, mistress, of course. I’m sorry,” Greg assented immediately; adding as his long, hard cock grazed her femininity, “Tell me how I can please you.”
“Hold me,” Amanda ordered him immediately, watching with a smile as—with a single empowered lurch—he broke the silken bond that tied him to the bed and swept her body up in his arms; covering her body with his as their hips and thighs locked between them.
Claiming her lips in an impassioned kiss, he set his newly freed hands to work in rubbing and massaging her sturdy shoulders; next running his magical fingers like warm water down her back as their tongues and legs entwined.
Bowing his head in a worshipful manner, Greg licked and kissed her breasts as his hands caressed her rounded stomach. He whispered tones he spoke of her beauty, and how he always wanted her by his side.
Pulling her closer than close, he pulled her to him in a binding embrace as his hips joined hers to complete their clench. Their arms and legs entangled tight as she spread her fleshy thighs before him, inviting him to come inside as her own tender hands braced and massaged his firm muscled shoulders.
Finally, and with a heated gasp he sealed them as one, his long, hard shaft surging forth to the depths of her soaking wet pussy as his tongue mirrored this reverberating motion.
Kissing his wife senseless, Greg plied his warm, moist lips against hers as their hands joined between them; their hips gyrating wild together as the husband surged forth to his wife’s very core.
Wrapping her legs around his waist to draw him farther inward, Amanda sighed against his lips as waves of pure erotic sensation coursed her from head to toe; causing her heart to pound in her ears as the couple broke their kiss.
Even as he cradled her gentle in his arms, an ardent Greg continued to probe and penetrate her with a fierce intensity that stole her breath; all the while staring deep into her eyes as he whispered in a raspy growl, “I need you, Amanda. Stay with me. Please, for the love of God, just tell me that you’ll stay here with me.”
His wife said nothing, only lifted her hands
to his chiseled face as he shifted his own to knead her heaving breasts; her fingers outlining and memorizing his planed cheekbones, his full lips, his planed forehead as she stared at him with unreadable eyes.
Then she seized his lips in a timeless kiss; throwing her body against his as he exploded within her, carrying them across the bounds of an incredible mutual orgasm.
The couple continued to kiss as they clung to one another, their naked, sweaty bodies reverberating with ecstasy as they collapsed in the sheets beneath them.
Hugging her to him with a broad, triumphant smile, Greg cradled Amanda in his arms as he told her, “That was amazing, baby. Surely this proves beyond a shadow of a doubt that we were meant to be together. Now all we have to do is build on the fire that we’ve reignited. What do you say we…”?
He fell silent as his wife stepped gentle from his arms, landing on her feet on the floor before their bed, as she looked him straight in the eyes.
“Greg,” she told him, reaching for her clothes. “We need to talk.”
Bolting upright in the sheets, Greg cast his hands between them and said, “You must be joking, Amanda. Did you honestly make love to me just now, intending the entire time to dump me once we were through? Was this entire evening just your way of getting back at me for Pia?”
Amanda shook her head.
“Not at all, darling,” she assured him. “I wasn’t plotting or scheming. I was waiting.”
Dressing in quick, frantic movements, she soon stood tall and proud before her husband.
“I was waiting for you to tell me that you had no intention of leaving me for Pia this morning,” she revealed, adding in a lower tone, “And I was waiting for you to tell me that you were still in love with me.”
“Today another man gave voice to both phrases,” she revealed. “And do you know what? I think he really meant it.”
Then, with a long last look, Amanda turned away.
BARE BACK WITH THE BAD BOY BIKER
1
Tammy bumped her shoulder roughly against Stella’s shoulder as she made her way to the stage. Stella sighed but didn’t return the hateful glance thrown her way as the busty blonde took the stairs two at a time, her heels clicking audibly. Tammy’s music started playing - Chris Isaak, “Wicked Game”. It was a slow song, sure, but one the crowd out front ate up like sweet, sweet honey. The lights flickered blue as Tammy began her routine, starting with one hand on the pole, twirling slightly, the glitter on her bikini glinting and gleaming.
“Stella,” a voice called from across the room. Junior, the bartender, was standing with his arms crossed, his sizeable muscles flexing. Beside him, Candy looked like a Barbie doll, all tiny and too thin. Stella knew right away something was up from the way Candy’s skinny arms hugged around her chest, barely covered in two little purple triangles. Candy’s face was wearing a frown so deep it was visible even across the dark bar. With one more glance towards the stage, where Tammy was currently crawling towards some rowdy frat boys, she hustled towards the bar.
“Candy? What’s wrong?” Stella asked, growing more and more concerned with each step that took her closer. She could see Candy’s mascara running, her pouting lips quivering.
Still, some cold, hard part of Stella knew it was probably a much smaller deal than the brunette was making it out to be. Candy was a crybaby, pure and simple. Shit, one time Stella had watched Candy pitch a fit because one of the other girls had accidentally used the last of her glitter lotion. She thought everyone had it out for her; a noticeable coke habit made it all the worse, turned tiny slights into paranoid delusions.
Stella had thought, more than once, that she should just fire her. Stella didn’t like working with girls who rolled in red-eyed and jittery on a regular basis, and Candy caused more trouble than she was worth, in Stella’s opinion. But she just didn’t have the heart for it. That was Stella’s problem: she loved all her girls, or at least wanted what was best for them. Even that bitch Tammy, who’d rather dig a stiletto into Stella’s eye than give her the time of day.
Candy’s shaking chin jutted out and pointed toward the end of the bar. A group of bikers had taken up most of the stools at the bar, and it was to these men that Candy seemed to be directing.
“One of ‘em done said I was a li’l boy,” she said, her deep Kentucky accent made even thicker by the tears she was barely holding back. Stella raised an eyebrow. Junior was clearly trying to bite back a smile.
“What?” Stella asked, keeping a sigh of frustration from her voice.
“Said I got the body of a li’l boy, said I ought to get one of them real girls to take care of ‘em,” she huffed. Stella moved around the bar, putting one hand around the girl and rubbing her back.
“Aw, come on now, Candy,” she said, “you can’t cry over every little thing. You know you earn good money here because of that body, why are you letting some asshole get you all bent out of shape? Shit, girl, I wish I had that flat tummy. You’re plenty hot. Isn’t she, Junior?”
Stella looked up at her bartender with desperate eyes, hoping he’d keep his razor-sharp wit to himself for once. To her relief, he obliged.
“Shit, Candy, I’ve been chasing you since the day I was hired,” he said. “You’re the one who keeps turning me down, remember?”
Of course, Junior chased just about every girl on staff – pleasantly enough, never expecting anything to come of it. Still, it seemed to help Candy perk up a bit. But when she turned her face up to Stella, her self-pitying look had turned to anger.
“Ain’t you gonna kick ‘em out, Stel? For bein’ mean?”
Stella wanted to roll her eyes, but she focused all her attention on pouting back at Candy. Onstage, Tammy was upside down on the pole, her breasts now free of the bikini top. Paper bills littered the stage. The song was almost over.
“I wish I could, hon,” Stella lied. “But you know I can’t kick them out. Johnny would have my ass. And how would the other girls feel if they knew a whole bunch of viable customers got the boot on your account?”
At that, Candy’s eyes widened. Strippers could be meaner than starved dogs given the right reason. Candy could give as good as she got when feuds broke out, but she was smart enough to know it was better not to give another girl a reason to hate you. She sniffled and shrugged.
“I guess you’re right,” she said, wiping at her cheeks. Stella gave her a friendly shake and squeezed her in close.
“You’re on after, Sugar,” Stella said. “Go get cleaned up and show those jerks just how sexy you are.”
With Candy fluttering away to the dressing room, Stella was left to finally release the laughter she’d been holding back, with Junior joining in. The fact was, Candy did kind of have a little boy’s figure. She was lean as an arrow, with two tiny A-cup breasts and an ass that disappeared when you looked at her from the side. But some of the club’s regulars seemed to like her, so it gave Stella another reason not to fire her, though to be frank she had no idea who’d hired her in the first place.
Stella had only been working as manager at Spanky’s for six months, and Candy had been hired by her own predecessor - a man who had all but gift-wrapped the position and handed it right over to her.
The owner, Johnny, had been very clear that he’d never hired a woman before, and didn’t outright trust Stella’s ability to manage the club, but after his last manager had gotten not one but two of his best dancers pregnant, he didn’t want to risk hiring another man. Stella’s age hadn’t worked in her favor either; at 24, she was “far too young” to know what she was doing, according to Johnny, but she’d been the only woman to apply.
And even Johnny had to admit that his original judgment of her had proved to be too hasty. Things at the club weren’t exactly one the up-and-up, but they were a far sight better than they’d been when Stella took the job. The dancers – who were infamous for quitting every week only to come back the next month when their sugar daddy failed to provide enough sugar – were sticking around mor
e, showing up for their shifts on time, and even getting along better.
Stella’s managerial style was strict but compassionate, and the girls appreciated her empathetic way of listening to their endless gripes and needs. Well, most of the girls, anyway. There were one or two, like Tammy, who simply loathed having a woman for a boss. Stella knew that Tammy believed she should have been made manager, having worked at the club for a whopping two years – still the longest any dancer had stuck around. But Tammy also had a lot of enemies, and most of the other dancers gave her a wide berth.
Now, Stella eyed the group that had allegedly insulted Candy. She knew that Candy was likely exaggerating, and definitely needed to get a thicker skin, but Stella still didn’t like the idea of anyone pushing her girls around. When she made her way down the bar, she sized up the men. They were all big, burly men, wearing leather jackets with various patches. One that was shared by all seven men boldly declared them to be members of the Rolling Thunder MC.
She was familiar with the club; Truly, Kansas was a small town. The club operated a small dive bar on the opposite end of town from Spanky’s, on the outskirts of town, and were undoubtedly the town’s biggest importer of weed and hash. If it was being smoked in Truly, it came from Rolling Thunder. As she neared the group, several pairs of eyes fell to her. But it was one set in particular that caught Stella’s attention – along with the breath in her throat.
Shit, she thought as she got caught in the gaze of a green-eyed, brown-haired Adonis. With a cut, square jaw covered in a fine shadow and cheekbones like marble, he was strikingly handsome. She judged him to be in his early 30’s. His hair hung down over his forehead in a messy mop that just begged for her fingers to run through it.
But Stella checked herself, determined not to get her panties in a bunch over a hot guy. She’d managed to make it through most of her life without letting a man get the better of her heart or body, and she’d be damned if she was going to let it happen now.
ENSLAVED BY SHIFTERS Page 46
