No Saint (Blood Legion MC Book 3)

by Rie Warren

  Most of the introductions over, Honoré nursed her drink.

  “What’s with the . . .” She waved her hand in the general vicinity of the hipsters and hookahs.

  “The Man Buns.” I leaned back against the bar, keeping one hand loosely around her waist. “Guess they’re like our MC mascots or somethin’. Can’t get enough of the genuine biker vibe. Great for business though.”

  “Trendsters with top knots.” Chase snickered.

  “Should be top nots, n-o-t-s,” Honoré mentioned.

  I laughed, almost choking on my beer.

  “This definitely isn’t like any biker bar I’ve been to before.” Sliding closer to me so her hip butted against my thigh, she glanced at me with those unusual eyes of hers.

  “Oh yeah? Been to a lot of MCs?” Somehow I didn’t picture her as the type.

  ’Specially considering the way she’d frosted me over the first several times I tried to talk to her.

  Stiffening up, she firmed her lips closed.

  Huh. Looked like I wasn’t the only one hiding something.

  I’d definitely untangle that thread . . . later.

  After I got her on my cock and gave her one rip-roaring orgasm after another.

  Chapter Eight

  HONORÉ

  I DIDN’T WANT SAINT asking questions.

  Hell, I’d already told him more than I meant to.

  The strange thing was, despite his gruff sexy appearance, he was too damn easy to talk to.

  And far too hot for his own good.

  I pushed my empty bourbon glass back toward the younger man holding down the bar and went back to my beer, trying to relax again.

  While everyone so far had made me feel welcome at Thunder Road, Saint’s close proximity—his hand ever so slightly stroking along my waist and hip—kept me on the knife-edge of wicked arousal. I found it hard to pay attention to anything but that shivery touch, which made heat tighten in my pussy.

  Flushed and feverish and on fire, I could barely concentrate enough to sip my beer and take in the odd scene again.

  All those hipsters made a strange complement to the big burly bikers, most of whom wore the standard MC uniform of black and leather and tats and rings. Thunder Road Bar was definitely loud but not obnoxiously so. Rowdy but not violent.

  Crowded but not in a menacing way.

  “You wanna play pool?” Saint asked, his eyes delving into mine.

  I shook my head.

  “Darts or something?”

  “No.”

  “How about another beer?”

  “Saint”—I lifted up to whisper at his ear—“I came with you so you could take me to bed and give me what I so desperately need.”

  His lips parted. I watched his throat bob. His fingers flexed on my waist, wrapping all the way around to the top of my ass.

  In the next instant, his bottle crashed to the top of the bar.

  He yanked me even closer to him.

  “Come with me.” Voice gravelly, he just about hoisted me off my feet and marched me through the busy bar toward a back door.

  Finally.

  My eyes flew to Mercy. I’d barely had a chance to say hi to her. She watched with eyes wide and a hand across her mouth where a smile peeped out.

  Next to her Angel looked about to say something, but he was quickly silenced when Mercy slapped her hand against his ribs.

  It was Revenge who shouted, “Y’all want us to turn the music up louder down here?”

  “Keep that shit up, and I promise you a world of pain tomorrow, brah,” Saint flung back.

  “Fucking bring it. I got a new bowie knife I wanna try out,” Revenge challenged.

  Suddenly the pseudo trendsetters with the top knots hushed down.

  And Revenge chuckled darkly, brandishing a long, wicked looking blade. “Any other takers?”

  When we passed Angel and Mercy, Angel pressed something into Saint’s palm.

  He halted, rolled his eyes, and tossed the Durex back at him with a smug, “Wrong size, prez. I need extra-large. Why don’t you give those extra-smalls to the probie?”

  Chase—who I surmised to be the youngest member of Blood Legion—glared with color boiling up to his face. “None of y’all have ever seen my dick, so how do you know?”

  “That it’s tiny?” Revenge made a buzzer sound. “Wrong answer, boug.”

  “So now they all know we’re going to have sex,” I asked as Saint hurried me to the back hallway.

  “Ignore them. They’ll be ripping on Chase for the next few minutes anyway.”

  “And you all live here at the bar?”

  A frown crossed Saint’s face. “Just Lennox, Revenge, Sol, and me now.”

  “Basically a biker frat house then.” I tried to keep my expression serious, but my lips curved up.

  Suddenly he growled. “You are so asking for it, baby.”

  “You bet I am.”

  Without warning, Saint scooped me into his strong arms and started sprinting up the stairs to the second floor.

  He moved so fast, it was like I didn’t put any strain on his body whatsoever.

  He only stopped after entering a room, booting the door shut, and flicking on a light.

  Setting me down so I slid over his whole front and pressed against his unyielding muscles, he spun me. “The presidential suite.”

  “A presidential suite no less in a biker frat house.” I turned my head so I could nibble at the strong cords of his throat.

  The vibration of his groan fluttered across my seeking lips, and the substantial thickness of his groin settled right at the base of my spine.

  His arms looped around me, but he held me loosely. Loosely except for the long fingers climbing up to the plunging V of my dress so he brushed against sensitive bare skin.

  Breath held in my chest, I glanced around in surprise.

  His room was fairly clean. Some boots stacked in a corner. Some jeans and T-shirts thrown across a chair. A sketchpad and pencils next to a crumpled rag covered in colorful splotches on top of the dresser.

  The whole place smelled of him, as if leather and ink invested the very air molecules.

  I’d had enough of sightseeing by the time he turned me around again and dipped his mouth to mine.

  His tongue tasted my lips then drilled inside . . . no longer asking but dominating.

  I could only hold on, completely swept away when he gripped my hair and hauled me closer, higher, tighter and kissed me longer, deeper, wetter.

  Wilder.

  Breaking free, Saint pushed me back a couple paces.

  I could only watch, dizzied, while he ripped off the tie that seemed to have offended him all night long then popped open all the buttons down his shirt. He yanked wrinkled tails from his jeans then rolled the fabric from his shoulders until the shirt lay in a dark heap at his feet.

  I whimpered, biting my lower lip so hard I thought I’d draw blood.

  Never in my life had I seen such a male specimen in the flesh, and he wasn’t even naked yet.

  Just pure heart-stopping, pussy-drenching golden skin filled out like sacks of grain from all the straining muscles of his large frame. Ink everywhere, a new design everywhere I looked—his arms, his bulging biceps, his upper chest . . . and the Blood Legion backpiece when he turned to quickly rid himself of boots and socks.

  Facing me again, Saint tabbed open the top button of his jeans and stopped there with a thoroughly unwholesome grin.

  Whimper and gulp.

  “More,” I asked, breathless.

  “More of me?” The look he gave me was absolutely filthy dirty all framed by his dirty blond hair and his tightly trimmed goatee.

  “Please.”

  “Not yet. I don’t wanna be that guy.”

  “What guy?”

  Stalking to me, he pushed me onto the edge of the bed, and I gasped.

  “The one who loses his wad within seconds of getting to touch you.”

  “Got it that bad for me?” I asked,
sitting there as he towered over me, those muscles on his torso teasing me into a sexual frenzy.

  Nodding his head, he looked at me fiercely. “You have no idea, Honoré.”

  His raw words, his rumbling voice, the searing intensity of his hooded eyes masked in heavy-lidded lust made me feel achingly sensual. Feminine and wanton.

  When I leaned back on my hands on the bed and parted my thighs, the top of my dress opened to reveal even more of my breasts.

  “Jesus, Honoré. That dress.”

  Feminine, wanton, and so very much wanting him.

  “You like it?” I tossed my hair back, rolling my hips toward him so my skirt inched higher.

  “Gonna show you just how much.” He dropped to his knees between my legs. “Something I’ve been wondering about all night though.”

  “Just one thing?” My breath came faster and faster.

  “Hmmm. All the things, but first . . .” Hands reaching, he pulled one of my heels to the lee of his jeans.

  “First?” My nipples drew up tight as his fingers stroked along my ankle.

  Instead of answering, he bent over my foot. His fingers strolled over the straps until he discovered the bow tied halfway up my calf in the back.

  Glancing at me, he chuckled in a growly tone when he fumbled at first with the shimmery ribbons.

  Then the high heel came free and, for one moment, he pressed the sole of my foot against the solid cock fighting to break free of his jeans.

  He was faster with the second shoe, placing both side by side then kneading my ankles with a light touch that made butterflies swarm to my belly.

  Then those long strong fingers with the heavy silver rings skimmed up, up, up my legs.

  “First, I wanna know how long these sexy stockings go.” He watched my face as he traced patterns from behind my knees to the sensitive flesh of my inner thighs.

  I spread even wider for him, and my head fell back on my neck.

  His lightest touch created a maelstrom inside me, and my panties became saturated.

  When he reached the top bands of lace that hugged the silky stockings to my thighs, he grunted.

  I raised my head to look at him again.

  He licked his lips, and his hands pushed higher, taking the bottom of my dress just to the edge of my panties.

  “These things have been driving me insane all night long.”

  “My legs?”

  “Mmmm.” His voice grumbled out. “And the top of these stockings.”

  He snapped one band against my flesh, the hot zing radiating lush heat to my insides.

  Then his head dipped, and his tongue played all over the lace of the stocking and the tautness of my skin.

  He bit the inside of one thigh, and I moaned.

  He nosed right up to the edge of my panties, and I thought I’d burn up in a burst of fire.

  His broad shoulders flexing, he rolled down the first flimsy piece of hosiery, fingertips coasting along my flesh the entire way. With the smoky material off, he studied it as a look of craving crossed his face.

  Glancing at me with heavy lids, he murmured, “Maybe I should tie you up.”

  I inhaled sharply at the idea of being tied up, held down, opened up . . . forced into savage pleasure as he slaked his need with me . . .

  “Next time,” Saint muttered darkly.

  He tossed the scrap of sheer material aside and removed the second stocking with just as much touching and teasing and . . . worship.

  I quaked in my skin, arching my hips, raising myself to him.

  Willing him to use me.

  His mouth and chin and nose disappeared beneath the last barrier of my skirt, and all I could feel was his big hands cranked around my legs as his hot breath painted along the frailest barrier between his lips and my cunt.

  Torture.

  This was torture.

  Moaning, I leaned back.

  At last, Saint yanked me even farther until my ass hung half off the bed and my dress finally lay up around my waist.

  His eyes devilish, he bit at the wet gusset of my black panties.

  “Ahhh!”

  He licked and gnawed and nudged and opened his entire mouth over my center, taking both pink flesh and black fabric into his mouth.

  Until I drummed my heels against his massive shoulders, begging, “Please. Please, Saint. Touch me.”

  “You’re goddamn lucky I waited this long.” His timbre low and harsh, he ran both thumbs up and down the saturated material.

  Then he hauled the panties down my legs and off.

  My entire sex exposed to him, and I didn’t make a single move to cover myself.

  Roughly palming my thighs way up high, he swore, “Fucking knew you’d be like this for me.”

  “Like what?” Whimpering, I tipped my hips higher, but he kept his mouth just out of reach.

  Again, his words were the only thing touching my wet core and making me tremble all over. “Pink. Lush. Swollen . . . fucking mine.”

  His mouth descending, he covered me everywhere, all at once.

  Overwhelmed, I arched and bucked for more of that insanely erotic hunger.

  The heat of his mouth, the coolness of his rings, the bristles of his goatee made me melt and moan into mindlessness.

  He pulled his mouth off me and stared right into my dazed eyes, thumbs separating my labia so my center dripped down to my ass. Fingers toying softly along my inner flesh, he licked, licked, licked the tidy strip of blonde fluff. And just that touch—his tongue almost reaching the hood of my clit with each pass—made me cry out.

  As soon as he thrust a finger inside me and slurped the bud of my clit between his lips, I came all over his face. Wracked in slippery pleasure, I rocked and shuddered, the orgasm seizing me from inside and tightening all the way up to my breasts.

  I came all over his face, and I was still wailing when he started licking again.

  “Fuck.” His words pulsated into me. “Can’t stop.”

  His mouth plucked at me. His tongue plundered into me. Two more fingers joined the first, drilling me slowly as I convulsed and writhed and panted.

  Part of the sexiness was his eagerness. He seemed to love eating my pussy.

  And the silky whiskers of his goatee added to the illicitness of what I was letting him do to me.

  So long.

  It had been so long, and sex had never been like this.

  I came again, thrashing because it was too much pleasure . . . the explosion had me screaming. I grabbed his hollowed cheeks, the wideness of his wrists, the mountain of one shoulder.

  To pull him to me.

  To push him away because . . . “Uh . . . uh . . . uh,” I stuttered as the waves trebled again.

  Finally getting a grip on him, I shoved him from between my legs.

  I just couldn’t take it anymore.

  A tremulous laugh left my lips, and I rested my hand on my belly. When I opened my eyes, Saint loomed there, in front of me, on his feet.

  He licked across his lips—eyes cruising from my pussy to my breasts to my face.

  A sheen of sweat made his skin look even more bronze and his muscles even larger.

  I raised to sitting, the top of my dress still barely covering both beaded nipples and little else.

  My hands roamed up his jean clad legs, and his muscles flexed beneath my fingers. When I reached the waist, I tugged him closer to me. The line of darker hair bisecting the planes of his stomach and the arrows of deep muscle from his pelvis were just teasing glimpses of what lay lower, beneath the faded denim.

  Peering up at him lids, I rubbed my cheek against the long hard length of his cock. “My turn.”

  Eyes slanted down, he groaned. “I didn’t bring you here to blow me.”

  My fingers at the tabs of his jeans, I opened the next one. “I want to.”

  Quickly plucking the rest of the buttons free, I pulled the fabric wider.

  All I could see was the nest of hair framing the wide base of his cock that thr
obbed with veins.

  “Off. Take these off!” I tugged hastily, my mouth already watering.

  With one of his wicked grins, he finally complied. Not one ounce shy, he kicked off his last article of clothing and stood there in front of me, all bold muscular masculinity . . . no apologies, and no apologies needed.

  I felt limp with wanting him, especially when my gaze roved from the strapping sinews of his legs to his . . . to his cock.

  He was fit. Hung. Huge. Inked.

  And that long thick dick was . . . pierced.

  Ohhhh.

  Another trickle of juice drizzled from my slit as I imagined Saint—big, pierced Saint—driving up inside of me.

  Precum slickened his completely erect, completely huge cock, and the Prince Albert piercing gleamed too.

  I perched closer, dress still hiked around my naked waist. “You’re pierced.”

  His head notched down, he nodded once.

  “You’re big.”

  “Touch me,” he ordered in a rugged voice.

  My hand on him, I tried to encircle the hot male flesh.

  His cock stood rigidly upright against his abs, and I anchored the heavy rod down slowly. Another drop of precum drizzled from the bloated crown to my fingers.

  Saint grunted, rocking closer to my face.

  Every muscle in his body tensed, and I ran my tongue over his clear jism, taking his essence into my mouth. Then I set my lips against the underside, rubbing my lips all over the turgid veiny flesh.

  I loved the taste. I loved the heady musky smell.

  “I’m gonna suck you now, Saint. And if you say no again, I’m going to tie you up.”

  Chapter Nine

  SAINT

  GODDAMMIT.

  Honoré could tie me up, tie me down, do any fucking thing she wanted to me.

  I’d told her I didn’t wanna lose my load the first time I touched her, and I hadn’t.

  But I wasn’t so sure about being able to hold off with her sucking my cock between those luscious lips.

  Christ.

  Had she put more lipstick on? Because her mouth was plump, juicy, red . . . all the things her tasty little gash had been.

  Couldn’t believe those goddamn stockings she’d been wearing or how sexy it’d been to take them off her. To tease her. To see her soaked panties painted against her tight pussy.