A Dirty Lion

by Faye Byrd

  “I can try.” Standing here, my chest pressed tightly against his, is doing weird things to me, even with a fresh orgasm lingering. “We should go back.” My voice is so soft and breathy I almost don’t recognize it.

  “Yeah,” he murmurs, his eyes locked on my lips.

  My tongue peeks out on instinct, and he takes full advantage. He expertly pushes his way inside at the same time his hands roam down to cup my ass. I moan into his mouth as our tongues meet, and he grinds our pelvises together. Every feeling I have for him is driven to the extreme, whether it’s lust, anger, pleasure, or pain. He affects me on a level I didn’t realize existed before now.

  The man is sex personified, and I’m not sure anyone else will ever live up to his example. “Shit,” I murmur, pulling my lips from his. “You’re really fucking good at that.”

  He smirks. “I know.”

  “Let’s go get this Lois shit settled so you can teach me your technique.” I wiggle my brows, breaking into a giggle when he groans.

  “Maybe I’ll just wait on my bed,” he mumbles, then adds, “Naked.”

  “I wouldn’t be opposed.”

  “Jesus.” He palms his erection. “You’re fucking insatiable.”

  “For you.” I walk backward until I run into the door. “Join me when you’ve gotten that under control.”

  I smirk and turn, opening the door and disappearing inside. Lois looks up as I cross the room. “Did you kick the murderer to the curb?”

  “Not really,” I say, smiling as I picture the way he looked when I left him. “He’ll probably be along soon.”

  “What the hell, Miranda?” she asks, looking at me like I just crushed a puppy’s skull. “Are you in love with him or something?”

  “Ha,” I bark, tossing my head back and laughing. “Or something.”

  “Whatever,” she mumbles, sighing. “Is he going to kill me?”

  “What?” I snap my eyes to hers. “No. He’s not like that.” My stance softens and I retake the chair next to her, whipping out a knife and cutting the zip ties from her wrists. “Look, Lois. Jack’s gotten out of hand, and Enzo may not be perfect, but he’s the only hope Crescent City has. Rodney isn’t the man he used to be, and the Wolves are taking advantage at every turn.”

  She studies me, looking for the lie, but it isn’t there. Granted, I don’t know much about Enzo—aside from how well he can fuck—but I trust he’s not here to hurt innocent people. From what I’ve gathered, Crescent City falls under the Redding charter of the Dirty Lions, but they’ve never had reason to have a clubhouse here. All that’s changed, and Enzo is here to set it right.

  “I’m not from Crescent City,” she says softly. “It was always my lot in life to live under Jack’s thumb.”

  “But you don’t have to anymore,” I stress, sensing my moment. “He’s dangerous, and the only people who can take on the Werewolves are the Lions.”

  The door creaks open, and I have to fight back a snarl. I almost have her, and here he comes all brash and sexy and assholey—except, he isn’t. Well, at least not brash and assholey. Sexy, he still is—even more so now. He’s removed his tee, and his basketball shorts hang low on his hips—his entire DIRTY tattoo on sinful display. He quietly comes over and pulls up a chair, flashing Lois a soft smile as he flips it around and backward-straddles it.

  My girly parts tighten.

  “I’m sorry, Lois,” he says, his voice pure fucking silk. “I thought I was saving you.” He runs his tongue across his bottom lip, and that bitch sighs. “Sammy made a bad choice, and it’s not right that you want to punish me for it. You may not have been in danger, but most of those other girls were, and they were kids. Babies,” he stresses, somehow summoning tears. Sexy fucking faker. He leans in, and she hangs on his every word. “I only want a better life for the people in this town, and that includes Pacific Shores. If you help me, I can make it happen.”

  “What can I do?” she asks, looking at Enzo with big doe eyes. “I’m just a teenage girl who’s going nowhere.”

  “That’s not true,” he says all buttery and soft. I want to mount him. “You might have information that could help, and maybe you don’t even realize it.”

  The way she’s hanging on his every word when she wanted to shoot him earlier bugs the shit out of me. “I think I’ll go get something to drink,” I say, standing. “I’ll be back in a minute.”

  Neither of them acknowledges me, and I sigh as I close the door behind me. Enzo definitely isn’t interested in an underage girl, so his whole spiel is an act, but that doesn’t mean I have to like it. I fucking loathe it, if I’m being honest. Seeing him all sexy and soft and caring feels almost too intimate.

  Instead of going to the kitchen, I head to Enzo’s bedroom and throw myself across the bed, burying my face in my arms. This day has been too much for me. From Jackson to Enzo, my head is spinning, and my stomach is in knots. Life as I know it has officially changed, and for the near future, it’s not for the best.

  “Hey,” Enzo says, brushing my hair off my face. “I thought you were coming back.”

  I yawn, looking around in confusion. “Oh.” I flop my head back down when I remember why I’m in here. “Nah, I figured you had it covered.”

  He stretches out beside me, his warm hand settling on my waist, causing goosebumps to spread across my skin. “I did, but that doesn’t mean I didn’t want you around.”

  His words settle inside my brain, and I roll them around, testing out all the ways in which they delight me. “I think you’re confused,” I say, feeling awkward and unsure, so unlike myself. “I’m the girl who keeps you pissed about one thing or another on a regular basis.”

  “True.” He smirks, spreading his large hand across my back and pulling me so close I have no choice but to hitch my leg over his trim hips. “But angry sex is so fucking hot.”

  I snort, remembering how frustrated I was when he hung me out to dry earlier. “For you maybe.” I punctuate it by tugging his nipple ring. “It only pissed me off.”

  He leans over and licks up my neck, his lips poised at my ear. “I made it up to you, didn’t I?”

  I hum, the roughness in his voice sending sparks prickling across my skin. “Damn right you did,” I concede, wrapping my fingers in his wavy hair. “But only because I forced you.”

  “True.” His fingers grip my thigh and trail close to the open leg of my jean shorts. “You wouldn’t have to force me now.”

  My eyes roll upward as his fingers ghost the lips of my pussy. “We have other things to worry about now,” I say, fighting off the lusty haze even as I angle to give him better access. “Did Lois share anything new?”

  “Jesus, you’re so fucking wet,” he growls, bringing his fingers up and sticking two of them into his mouth before pulling them out with a loud smack. “Motherfucking yum.” His hazel eyes are intent on my face. “Nothing that’ll help take down the Wolves, but I did talk her into allowing Jameson to drive her to her grandmother’s house in Oregon.”

  “I’m impressed,” I say, but it turns into a moan when his fingers find me again. My fists tighten in his long waves, and I tug as my body tenses in anticipation. “That should buy us some time.”

  “Fuck time. Fuck Lois,” he murmurs, his scruff scraping the sensitive skin of my neck as his fingers work the waistband of my shorts and push them down my thighs. “I’m only interested in you right now.”

  He shifts, poising over me, and everything in me clenches at the sight. He’s so fucking serious, with a dark, intense gaze and rock hard muscles that cage my small frame between them. I feel like nothing exists outside of the safety of his arms, but I know that’s not true. A war is looming on the horizon, and it’s evident from the storm raging in his eyes.

  I bring my feet up and yank at his shorts with my toes until they tug loose, leaving him bare and rock solid. The wild halo of blonde spirals that frame his face and the metal that adorns his eyes and lips leave him looking fierce and full of vengeance. It’d b
e scary if I didn’t already trust him to take care of me in intimate moments like this.

  Running my fingers up his arms, I trace them over the lion that patterns his left shoulder, and his eyes fall closed in pleasure. The sound he makes is somewhere between a roar and purr, and I take delight in taming the ravenous beast. When his eyes reopen, they’re so bright it’s as if he’s lit from within.

  “So fucking hot.” He sits up, pushing up the T-shirt I’m wearing. “Off. I want it off,” he murmurs, ripping open a condom and rolling it down his long, thick cock.

  I hurry to comply, reaching for him again as soon as my arms are free. He settles between my thighs, his solid weight a welcome sensation, and I wrap my legs around his waist. Skin to skin we lay, eye to eye we stare, and soul to soul we communicate. I can’t begin to explain it, but this moment is different, special somehow.

  I lick my way across his collar bone and up his neck to whisper in his ear. “Show me,” I rasp, unable to comprehend the meaning behind my own words. “Please.”

  With the tenderness that belies the intense glint in his eye, he enters me, and I cry out. He seeks my hands and entwines our fingers, bringing them above my head to open me up to him. I arch into his body, matching my thrusts to his. His lips descend and pepper my face before he invades my mouth. Sensation is exploding from so many sources that they’re piling on top of each other. A whirlwind of pleasure is spinning its way through me, and the center is becoming tighter and tighter. I’m on the verge of an explosion unlike any I’ve experienced before.

  Tighter and tighter it spins until I’m crying out as ecstasy erupts from within me. I tense and my nails dig into his hands as I depend solely on him to continue the steady, toe-curling rhythm, and he does. He worships me with his thrusts and tastes me with his mouth while also anchoring me with his strong hold until I return to coherency.

  “Wow,” I say, my voice scratchy from overuse. “What the fuck was that?”

  Enzo rolls to the side and deposits the condom in the bin. “Nothing new,” he mumbles, throwing an arm across his eyes. “Same shit, different encounter.”

  His voice sounds strange. I feel strange. Something strange just happened between us, and there’s no way he doesn’t feel it. I get up, my legs wavering, to find my shorts and his tee, tossing them both on hastily.

  “Ready?” I ask, my arms crossed.

  He lifts his arm and opens his eyes, widening them when he sees I’m fully dressed. “For?”

  “Take me to my truck,” I say, huffing. “It’s still in the school parking lot.”

  His brows furrow. “Now?”

  “Right the fuck now,” I reply, my voice high-pitched.

  “What the fuck’s the matter with you?” He sits up, sniffing a pair of jeans from the floor before stepping into them. “We still haven’t discussed how we intend to handle Jackson, so you’re not safe in Crescent City alone.”

  “I won’t be alone.” I shrug. “My dad is the sheriff. Remember? You can follow me home, and I promise I won’t leave.”

  He comes over and puts his sexy hand on my waist. “You could stay here.” He’s all honey and sugar, and it enrages me after the way he just blew off my question.

  “Fuck you.” I shrug off his touch. “What do you think I am, your goddamn girlfriend or something?”

  His pretty tan face goes pale and he looks around, marching to his dresser, throwing on a shirt, and snatching up his keys. He turns, aiming his pointer finger at me. “Let’s fucking go, but you better stay inside your house for the rest of the night.”

  We don’t speak further as I trail him out the clubhouse to his Harley. He’s agitated, and it makes me smile for some fucked up reason. After revving the motor a couple times to express his ire, he tilts his head for me to grab the extra helmet and hop on. I do, but this time I notice something new. Shoved in the back of his jeans, resting against the LION half of his tattoo, is a fucking gun. And this isn’t just a handheld pistol, not at all. It’s black and looks like a mini machine gun with a clip that’s triple the usual length.

  The whole ride is tense as fuck, on both our behalves, and I’m relieved when it’s finally over. “Thanks,” I say, handing him back his helmet.

  He nods, taking it to attach to his bike. “I’m gonna need your schedule,” he says, not meeting my eyes. “I’m not sure what happened in the last thirty minutes, but keeping you safe is still a major priority for me. We need to make sure Jackoff doesn’t accost you here again.”

  I bob my head, warmth blooming in my chest. “I have a copy in my bag.” I toss my thumb over my shoulder.

  When he doesn’t say anything more, I turn and jog the three parking spaces over to my truck. Opening the passenger door, I dig through my bag until I find what I’m looking for and turn triumphantly, holding it in the air.

  “What the fuck is that?” he growls, his expression menacing.

  “None of your fucking business,” I say, not knowing what he’s referring to but going on the defensive anyway. “You don’t get to question me.”

  He drops the kickstand to his bike and stalks across the parking lot to tower over me. Shit. Why do I find that so hot? “It absolutely is my fucking business,” he says, and the veins in his neck pop out, making me want to lick them. “No girl of mine rides around in a deathtrap like this.” He smacks my fender, denting the rusty metal.

  “I’m not your girl,” I say, turning and walking around to the driver’s side. When I open the door, I step up onto the floorboard and look at him over the hood. He’s fuming, and my thighs clench at the sight. “And I’ll buy my own car with the cash you owe me from today. I’ll even give you the first round for free.”

  “Nothing is free, babe.” His lip turns up in a sneer. “Ever.”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  My Girl

  Enzo

  “Pull in beside that rust bucket and leave the keys in the ignition,” I say into my Bluetooth as I watch the silver Audi Q5 enter the parking lot. “I don’t care how you get that truck out of here, but go push it off a fucking cliff.”

  “Will do,” Wyndall says, pulling the sleek used car to a stop and getting out. “Are we sure she’s not going to show up to the clubhouse later and murder us all?"

  I chuckle, knowing he’s joking but still taking a second to ponder that shit. Randi’s fucking crazy. “I fucking doubt it. She hasn’t been around in weeks.”

  “And this feels like the kind of stunt that’ll bring her back around,” he says, cranking the backfiring piece of shit, “to kill us all.”

  “Don’t fucking worry, pussy,” I growl, irritated that he’s questioning my motives. “I won’t let her hurt your punk ass.”

  “What a relief,” he says sarcastically, backing out of the spot and finding my eyes across the parking lot. His pointy mustache twitches as he flips me off and ends the call.

  Fucker.

  But I suppose he has a point. Since I dropped Randi at her truck almost three weeks ago, I’ve been lucky if I even get to talk to her on the damn phone. I’m not sure what’s gotten into her, but it sure as fuck hasn’t been me. After having the most satisfying sexual experience of my life, she hopped out of bed, full of attitude, and demanded I take her to her truck. She’s distant, more so now than ever, and I don’t have a fucking clue why.

  Even though something’s going on, I’d never let anything happen to her. So here I sit, watching for her to come out of class so I can follow her home and hope she stays there after I leave. It’s all I can do, and it isn’t enough, but until she gets over herself, it’s the best I can fucking offer.

  Fifteen minutes later, she comes out with the dark-haired chick who’s always at her side, only she stops cold when she sees the car. Her head swivels and her body follows as she looks for that fucking death trap. I laugh to myself, enjoying her confusion. That is, until her eyes find me across the lot and her fists ball as she stalks toward me.

  Jesus. My cock jumps to attention.

  “W
here’s my fucking truck?” she yells as she gets to the halfway point. “You better get it back here right the fuck now.”

  I smirk, enjoying the way her hips swing with each angry step. “Not on your fucking life,” I reply, lifting my chin to show I mean business. “That motherfucker was a danger to you and anyone else on the road. It’s gone.”

  “You don’t have that right,” she grits, coming to a stop just beyond my reach. “You don’t get a say in my fucking life.”

  I stand, swinging my leg over my bike and towering over her. Lifting her chin, I say, “I don’t see why the fuck not. It’s me who’s keeping you safe from Jackoff. It’s my name you call when you’re having the best orgasms of your life, and it’s me who made sure you got to come to this crappy school.” I let go of her chin and step back because fuck, that sounds like more than fuck-buddy shit. “So yeah, I get a fucking say.”

  Her arms are crossed, and she’s looking at her feet when she mumbles some bullshit I can barely hear. “I’ve only slept with you.”

  “So?” I say, cupping my ear. “You need to speak up.”

  She lifts her head, and her dark eyes are full of fire. “That’s the only fucking reason it’s you who’s given me the best orgasms of my life!”

  “That’s a goddamn lie, and you know it,” I snarl, wanting to prove it right here in this fucking parking lot for all to see. “You’ll never find another man who measures up.” Everyone around us is frozen and staring. “Nothing to see here, folks,” I say, glaring at them. “This is between my girl and me.”

  “I’m not your fucking girl,” she sneers, and she seems overly pissed about it. “I’d appreciate if you’d stop insinuating that I am.”

  “Aren’t you, though?” I ask, backing her against the nearest car and lowering my voice. “I’ve committed myself to you, let you into every part of my life, and done my best to make yours better. So yeah, for the time being, you are my fucking girl.” I brush her wavy hair from her face and trail a lone finger across her cheek, watching the color bloom under my touch. “I like it when you’re around, and it’d kill me if you were to get hurt.”