by Rie Warren
Holy shit.
I’d just about jizzed my jeans when she’d appeared earlier. Whatever the hell she was wearing, my dick one hundred percent approved. Whole-fucking-heartedly. Damn. The little black number she wore wasn’t slutty, but it wasn’t exactly conservative either. Definitely not church appropriate. Like I knew shit about going to church . . . other than the MC chapel.
The dark material clung to her shoulders then simply frigging plunged in a holy fuck sort of way between her tits and even a little bit lower. I mean, the inner curves of her breasts were on full fuck-hot display. I damn near thought the sexy black dress barely hid her hot little nipples from view. Zero chance of a goddamn bra. It stopped mid thigh. And her legs were all smoky stockings and then strappy high heels.
I wanted those spiked heels spiking against my shoulder blades as I dove down to eat her out.
So, I was a hell of a lot more interested in Honoré than the rest of the concert during the last part, and by the time the second half of the show ended, my cock was rock solid in my pants.
“What’s next?” Honoré asked when the lights in the hall went from dim to bright.
Her eyes had gone from sharp and clear to dazed and dilated.
Probably had something to do with the way I’d stroked my fingertips up along the inside of her nearest thigh throughout the final few minutes while a woman played the hell out of a violin center stage.
With a hand pressed low on Honoré’s back, I pulled her to my front.
She gasped hotly, feeling the solid press of my steely erection against her belly.
Tipping up her chin, standing there in the middle of the concert hall that was emptying around us, I bent close enough to kiss her.
Her lashes lowered. Her breath pelted out. Her breasts jiggled.
My tongue lashed just at the corner of her plump lips.
That was as far as I went before I murmured, “Next? Dinner.”
She growled in her throat when I stepped back, her frustrated noise just another turn on.
Another torture.
I took her hand, guiding her from the auditorium and out of the building.
Although the city was alive with people and noise, lights and energy, electric silence beat between us while I escorted her down the block.
If I leaned back just enough, I could see her ripe ass switch back and forth.
And it was my turn to groan, a rumble from deep in my chest.
Honoré gave me a lusty smile and strutted even more sexually along the sidewalk.
I held the door of the restaurant open and, when she passed through, I lightly swatted her ass.
She hissed.
I fondled her for a few seconds more.
When she was seated at a candlelit table, she looked lush and hot and so fucking ready I had a damn hard time taking a seat—stiff cock and all—instead of swiping the candle and cutlery and glasses off the table so I could sink balls deep into her clutching pussy.
We ordered, the silence between us not awkward, but arousing. Drinks arrived, and I swigged my beer while she sipped her wine, peering at me over the top of her glass.
Then her foot encased in the heel found my leg beneath the table. I choked. She bit her lip. I inhaled sharply.
That wicked high heel stroked up the inside of my calf, and I splayed my thighs wider, daring her to put that hot high heel right against my groin.
“You’re playing with fire, baby,” I warned, voice gritty and throbbing.
“I surely hope so.”
Grabbing her wrist, I pulled her toward me.
Naughty heat flashed across her pale blue irises.
“That dress makes me wanna do bad things to you.”
“Mmm. And are you going to do those bad things, Saint?”
Food arrived, and I was still determined to make this night about more than sex.
What a delusional jackass I was.
I barely paid any attention to what was going in my mouth ’cause the only thing I really wanted in my mouth was Honoré’s sweet cunt.
After the first course and deep into her second glass of wine when the main meal arrived, Honoré relaxed in her seat. “I didn’t expect you to do . . . all this.”
“Just wanted to show you a good time.” And I’m still gonna show you a good time on my cock . . . later.
“But you know what I asked of you.”
I leaned closer, my lips brushing strands of hair away from the shell of her ear. “You need to get fucked. I still plan on delivering.”
She shivered, and I watched the chills rise on the column of her neck when I pulled away.
But if I didn’t change the subject from sex, I seriously would end up taking her ass up across the table in the middle of the restaurant.
I took another bite of food I could barely taste, and then asked, “You never did tell me how many instruments you play.”
Honoré sat back, ticking off on her fingers. “Piano. Violin. Fiddle. Cello. Accordion. Guitar. Oh, and spoons.”
“Spoons!” I chuckled. “So you got some of the whole native Nawleans thing running through you?”
“Honoré Parrish sounds pretty Cajun don’t you think, Saint Baptiste?” She took a bite of her steak then licked at the savory juice coating her glistening lips.
My gaze homed in on her pink tongue, and I so fucking wanted to feel that pink tongue wrapped around the engorged head of my cock.
“What do you play?” she asked, her tone now totally sultry.
“Well . . .”
“If you say women I will jump across that table and strangle you!”
“Guess I gotta plead the fifth then.” I winked before adding, “Nah. Not really musical like that. Just me and my tattoo gun.”
“Do you do yourself?” Her gaze landed on my inked forearms.
“Not sure I should answer that one either.” I smirked.
“Oh, you! I didn’t mean”—her voice lowered—“jerking off. You’re terrible.”
“You have no idea how bad I can be, baby.” Scooting closer, I brought our hands together.
I just lightly grazed the inside of her wrist, once again admiring the lace-like ink on her hands.
“So why weren’t you up there tonight? At the Orpheum,” I asked.
“I could’ve been. Not to be arrogant or anything.” She glanced at me, a flush coloring her cheeks.
“Hell, from what I’ve heard—your voice and everything—I’d say you have every right to brag on yourself.”
Her smile came wholly before faltering a little. “I had a full ride to Juilliard. Then things happened.” She shrugged. “A bad ex . . . bad times. Guess I’m a little gun shy still, which is why I . . . I don’t go out that much.”
“Sorry about that.”
She looked at me, those ice blue eyes suddenly warm. She squeezed my hand. “Not your fault, is it? I’m not complaining. Shit happens, life changes. I still get to play. It’s all good.”
She didn’t have to tell me shit happened.
Or more to the freaking point, a dickhead named Ripper had happened to me. Probably partly my own damn fault. Never should’ve joined up with the Leather Devils in the first place.
The waiter approached, a skinny menu in hand and his eyes roaming all over Honoré’s smoking hot body in the smoking hot dress. “Can I get you any dessert?”
I wanted to put a fork through the dude’s wandering eyes, but Honoré slid closer so the softness of her breasts cushioned my arm with heat.
Then the heat of her words hit me even harder.
“I think you know exactly what I want for dessert, Saint.”
Goddamn.
“I’ll just bring the check then.” Drooling dude disappeared.
Waiter dismissed.
Too bad my stupid hard cock couldn’t be dismissed.
Hit full in the face with muggy May air when we stepped outside, the heat of the night did zero to douse the fire building inside my body.
Again, Honoré swi
shed her ass back and forth, and my hand nearly cupped her bottom.
When we made it to the car, she teased her fingers along my loosened tie and down my chest. “You made me talk way too much tonight. So are you going to put out now or keep stringing me along?”
Dipping down to her neck, I licked a slick path to the delicate line of her jaw then to the lobe of her ear. “Haven’t decided yet.”
Bullshit.
She moaned, hands roving down my back to my ass she squeezed.
My cock drizzled jism—so fucking hot, hard, and leaking.
Stepping back from her took a damn effort.
She leaned against the Chevelle, pure sex in a sinful black dress.
Damn, I wanted her. I really wanted her bent over and begging for my cock.
Shit. She’d already asked for it.
What was I waiting for?
Digging into my pocket, I pulled out the keys.
I tossed them to her. “Wanna drive?”
Because at that point my dick was as hard as the gearshift. Maneuvering into the car would be hard enough.
Unlocking the door, Honoré flicked that moon-shimmery blonde hair over one shoulder. “Hell yes!”
I got in beside her, admiring—drooling over—the way her dress reached even higher on her thighs when she tugged on the seatbelt.
With the classic car in gear, she roared out into the street, a whoop-holler leaving her throat when she pushed the Chevy faster.
She rolled down the window, her hair waving all around and a giant smile on her face. “This sure beats my Honda.”
“Never figured you for a muscle car junkie.” I couldn’t get enough of looking at her.
So fucking free.
So fucking beautiful.
Aiming a wink at me, she hit high speed. “Well, I think you already know I like to go fast.”
Yeah. And that was why it was so damn hard trying to control myself around her.
Her hand on the gearshift put X-rated thoughts into my head . . . both heads.
Damn.
I was gonna have her tonight, and I had a week’s worth of cum saved up.
I directed her toward the Thunder Road Bar, and she only glanced at me briefly before zooming down side streets, handling the V8 engine like I bet she could handle my cock.
Once parked outside, across from the bar and all the bikes, she waited until I crossed in front to open her door. Helped her out. Pulled her to me.
She twined her arms around my neck the moment I crashed my mouth over her lips.
Hunger. Greed. Need.
I slipped my tongue inside that wet heat, and shudders rippled down my spine. Up my thighs. All over my balls.
Honoré jerked against me, her lips motherfucking divine.
Welcoming.
Greedy.
So achingly needy.
When I withdrew, I could hardly breathe. What came out was the ghost of a groan . . . then I heard Sol from across the way.
I turned my head to see that fucker cackling, holding his barbecue tongs and snapping them at us like he was giving us applause.
“We have an audience?” Honoré asked breathily against the side of my throat where my skin felt tight and goddamn shivery.
“Oui. Sol.”
“I like Sol.”
“Everyone likes Sol,” I grumbled, holding onto her waist as I led her across the road.
I tipped my head to Old Man Voodoo. “See enough?”
He grinned at me with a mouthful of pearly whites, ever proud of his new dentures care of Angel. “T’ain’t nothin’ I ain’t seen before.”
I placed a palm on his shoulder. “You met Honoré yet?”
“She be the one sang at da fais do-do.” He clasped both her hands. “Sho did like your music. Bin listening to this’un bellyache ’bout you since then.”
“Thanks, Sol. Thanks a bunch,” I muttered.
Honoré completely glowed in front of him. “Purely my pleasure to finally meet you, Sol.”
I hooked an eyebrow high. “You weren’t half as nice when you met me.”
She chimed a laugh, anchoring two fingers around my tie. “I promise to be nice to you later though, cher.”
Oh . . . hell.
If only I could just caveman her upstairs. Bypass the whole bar scene.
But she was already stepping inside the crowded barroom.
I stalked after her with long strides . . . the better to keep those motherfucking Man Buns from coming on to her.
When I made it to her side, I nodded at the usual suspects—Angel, Lennox, Revenge, Chase. A fuck-lot of eyebrows went up, and a fuck-ton of eyeballs stared at us.
Mercy hurried over. “Honoré! Did Saint finally get to you?”
I ordered a couple beers from Chase, keeping one eye on the women.
“I guess you could say that.” Honoré returned Mercy’s hug.
“He hasn’t done you too yet, has he?”
“What?” Reeling back, Honoré looked between me and Mercy.
“The ink.” Mercy laughed and grabbed one of Honoré’s hands. “He did my tats.” Her voice dropped. “All the new ones . . . he covered the brand on my chest.”
Angel was right there, hooking an arm around Mercy. “I stood bodyguard over my woman the whole time she was at Saint’s hands.”
“You don’t need to boast about it. Ah’m your wife now, aren’t I?” Mercy leaned up to kiss him. “And you’re my husband.”
Their kiss turned blistering hot, and I felt the pounding pressure in my jeans.
Honoré accepted the beer I handed her. “You did all that for Mercy?”
“’Course. She’s been through hell and back. Least I could do.”
“You’re just full of surprises, aren’t you?”
I was probably gonna surprise her with a few things just as soon as I could get her up to my room, but I just shrugged, rapping on the bar for a couple glasses of bourbon.
Chase served up, and I couldn’t resist yanking his chain.
“Hey, you sprout a new hair where you’re trying to grow a man beard?” I pulled my hand over the full goatee at my chin, rankling our prospect.
His cheeks heated, but he came back at me with, “Hey, you sprout a pair and finally ask out the woman you’ve been hankering over?”
I was gonna make sure the probie never got patched through.
Honoré tipped back her bourbon, giggling. She looked out over the bar as I ran a hand across her shoulders—still very fucking mindful of her tiny sex-black dress and the huge dip between her tits that had me stiff and drooling.
“So, more of the red-carpet treatment?” she asked.
“Like I said, nothing but the best for my woman.”
“Your woman?” Arctic blue eyes strayed to mine, a new lightness to her unusual irises.
I shuffled my feet, giving her a half smile. “Uh . . . well.”
“I’m just kidding, Saint. Lighten up.” She sank the rest of her bourbon.
Pretty damn hard to lighten up when I wanted to bend her over the bar. Damn. Thunder Road was a totally different animal to the classical concert and upscale dinner, but Honoré could’ve been a regular the way she took it all in stride.
Revenge was especially interested in the new blood in the house.
Maybe he’d gotten tired of his Doublemint Twins?
Doubted it.
He ambled over, without babes in tow.
He clapped me on the back then fist bumped me then took a good long gander at Honoré who studied him in response.
“Now I get it.” Revenge leaned his elbows back on the bar, smirking at me like the dick-hole he was.
“You get what?” Honoré asked Revenge, my best bud.
Riiiight.
“Why Saint ain’t been dipping into the honey around here.”
I gave him my most lethal Gonna murder you glare.
Honoré’s eyes widened.
Revenge tried to look sheepish. “Meant it as a compliment, cher. H
e’s obviously been thinking about someone else. I mean, you.”
“You’re not helping matters, man,” I muttered.
“Revenge, isn’t it?” Honoré shook free of me and stepped up to him.
He nodded, silvery eyes narrowing.
“The last time I saw you, weren’t you in the company of identical twins?” she asked.
“Keeping tabs on me, were you?” He got that smug I’m the man look.
And she wiped it right off him when she said, “Not especially. I just remember you getting called out by a certain someone for ass-play at the fais do-do.”
Revenge looked flabbergasted. Chase reared back and crowed out a laugh. Then the rest of us broke up in guffaws too.
“You’ve got some damn spirit.” Revenge grinned, giving Honoré a high compliment amid all the hubbub.
The noise factor only died down when Slade entered the bar. He stalked behind the counter, silent as ever, which made it hard to tell if he was in a good mood or not.
Revenge was quick to corner him. “Any word on Grace? I bought a couple things for the baby. When can I bring ’em over?”
Slade, used to Revenge’s unlikely investment in all things having to do with Grace’s welfare, crossed his arms over his chest and looked about amused as he ever got.
His lips even twitched. Once.
“You don’t need an invite to the house. I’m sure Grace would like the company. So long as you mind your manners and shit.”
Revenge puffed up his chest like he was the dad-to-be.
And Honoré watched the interaction with total curiosity.
Hell, so did I.
Then Slade noticed the woman at my side.
“Honoré. Nice to meet you for real.” That was all Slade said, but he smiled, for real that time.
She shook the hand he held out.
And he grinned at me. “Aren’t you looking all preppy tonight.”
“Oh, fuck you.” I snarled, but my face heated, and I yanked at my tie again, opening another button on my shirt.
“I think Saint looks handsome.” With one gracefully inked hand, Honoré slid fingers up my chest to caress along my jaw.
I tried to act like her one simple touch hadn’t set my balls to boiling point.
Then I hit Slade with a take that, asshole glare.
