by Romi Hart
That ignited a spark in him, his pupils dilating until they swallowed the color of his eyes, and he took her by the elbow, guiding her through the throngs of people who had gathered. Every damn member of the Devil’s Flames must have come, and there were so many women here Regan thought there had to be two for every man. She’d never seen it so tight in here, and she knew there were more outside.
That was probably a good thing. With so much noise, no one would hear her screaming Corey’s name.
Corey slammed them into the bunk room and wasted no time hoisting Regan up, his hands under her thighs as he braced her against the wall. She was just as desperate, tearing at his shirt to get it over his head, only stopping when reason took hold long enough for her to remember he’d donned his cut, and it had to come off first. She shoved it off his shoulders and yanked the shirt over his head, kneading her fingers into the hot, hard muscle of his chest as he bit and licked at her neck and shoulders.
She arched her back, grinding her core against his hard cock, wishing there weren’t two layers of denim between them. She needed him, with greater desperation than she could remember feeling in her entire life. “Get your jeans off,” she gasped.
He lifted his head, tossing it back and staring at the ceiling, like a vampire trying to gain control of his thirst for blood. When he seemed to have his wits about him, he carried her to the bed and set her down, working the fly of his jeans while she removed her own, peeling them down her legs. “I should have worn a damn skirt,” she muttered to herself as her impatience got the best of her. She kicked hard, finally releasing herself from their grip, and Corey was on her instantly, his cock at attention and brushing against her thigh while he climbed up her body.
Regan stroked him with a light grip, then squeezed the base of his shaft, eliciting a groan from him. “You’re killing me, woman,” he growled, and she chuckled, reaching back and taking down that long, luxurious hair of his so she could run her fingers through it as she nibbled his bottom lip.
“No, I’m saving your life, just like you save mine. I think we might die without each other,” she purred.
“You’re goddamned right,” he agreed, pushing her legs apart and settling between them. And then he pushed into her, with force but not violence, thrusting in a long, deep motion.
Regan trembled, wrapping her legs around him and urging him on. Normally, she’d let him take his time, but tonight, she couldn’t wait. Something about the feel of the cold air of the coming winter and the victory over her past, as well as eagerness for the future, made her need for Corey stronger than ever. It didn’t matter that they had fallen in love and made a commitment. This was everything. This was somehow the pivotal moment where it all came together and solidified the bond.
She arched her hips, taking him deeper, and she cried out with the orgasm that blasted through her. It seemed to drive the same urgency in him, and he found a hard, fast rhythm that proved frantic and beautiful. She met him, thrust for thrust, her ecstasy heightening with each drill of his cock and the friction as her inner walls convulsed around him. His shaft swelled, and she knew when he was ready to go.
At that moment, she ran her nails down his back deliciously, scoring his skin ever so gently, and he roared, pumping into her erratically and then coming hard and hot inside her. She found another release with him, reveling in the mutual bliss as they clung together like one of them would otherwise fade into mist.
It was a perfect union, heated and delightful, with a heady afterglow.
“Regan?” Corey’s voice was close enough to her ear that his breath tickled over her skin, but it was still muffled in the locks of their hair, tangled together on the mattress.
“Hmm?” she asked, not quite trusting her voice yet.
“Promise me you’re not going to leave again.” It sounded like a command, but she heard the vulnerability behind the words, the need for reassurance.
“Corey, I love you, and I’m not scared anymore. I’m not going anywhere,” she told him in a low voice. And she meant every word of it. She no longer worried about ‘what if’. David was behind bars, and if he ever got out, she’d let Corey take care of things, or do it herself. This relationship gave her a particular courage she’d never possessed. Sure, she’d escaped the danger, and that was brave, but now, she was prepared to face it. And that, she felt, was true courage.
“Good,” he replied, shifting and raising his head to gaze down at her. “Because I’m crazy about you. And I never thought I’d say this, but I had a little conversation with Shawna about it, and I’m certain I’m right.”
Regan laughed. “You had a talk with your motorcycle?”
“Of course,” he said, quite seriously, resting his head on his hand and leaning on his elbow as he met her eyes. His free hand brushed circles over her stomach, making it coil and long for more. “I always consult her in matters that concern her.”
“Really? So, what was this discussion the two of you had?” she asked, playing along.
“Well, we’ve always agreed before that no one belonged on the back of her. You know, she’s always been a one-man bike. But lately, she’s been a little lonely, and I’ve been thinking that having that seat warm seemed appropriate. She’s been happier, and when the seats empty, she pouts. And so do I. So, we talked, and we both realize we were really just reserving that seat for someone worthy of being called an old lady.”
The discussion was amusing, his tone light, but Regan wasn’t fooled. This was a big deal, a hefty admission for him, and it was going to mean a lot if he finished his little speech the way she thought. Her heart sped up a little, and she held her breath, waiting for what came next.
“Since you came along, Regan, we’ve both been happier. And I think maybe I’ve been reserving that seat, just like I’ve been reserving my heart, for you.” His smile faded, and he searched her face, looking a little nervous. Regan didn’t blame him. She was suddenly anxious, too. “Listen, Regan, I want you to be my old lady. But that’s just a formal title for what you’ve already become to me, in my heart and my soul.”
She nodded, beaming at him. “I accept. Corey, I can’t imagine life without you. I don’t know how I did it, other than fate guiding my feet down the right path to find you.”
He chuckled, his face alight with happiness. “Well, then, I guess I can keep going.” She frowned at him, not sure what he was talking about. “I don’t have a fancy ring, but I have money, and I’ll take to choose whichever one you want, if you’ll marry me.”
She gaped at him. “Are you serious?”
He rolled his eyes. “I know it’s not traditional for someone like me. But I don’t want to run the club forever. Now that I have you, I want a family. I want to have time for my woman, and I think it’s only fair to make that woman an honest one. My parents were married, and they loved each other. I want my kids to have that example.”
She shook her head in disbelief. She’d never imagined she’d get a proposal. She’d thought about being an old lady, sure. But the formal marriage? A family? And Corey considering stepping down from the position of president to do it. “Oh, god, Corey, I’d love nothing more. But don’t step down unless you want to. I’m proud of who you are and how you handle this club.”
He smiled and shrugged, sitting up and pulling her with him. He kissed her soundly, and then he told her, “I like it, but I don’t want to work myself into an early grave. All of this shit with the Ravens has taken it’s toll, and I’m in no hurry to deal with another crew like that one. I have my hands full with my own guys and local skirmishes. So, I knew I have a few years in me, but then, down the line, I have no trouble handing over the top spot to Rafe. Or Eli. Or Zeke or Harrison. I have men I trust that can follow through and keep things going down the right road. For me, the right road is with you.”
And Regan supposed he had a point. Fate had a way of moving things in the right direction, and she had a feeling that, as long as she and Corey were together, it would guide them
to a beautiful future.
Sinner MC Romance - Special Preview
The ride isn’t over yet…
Jasper
To be fair, the guy following me had it coming. He didn’t even bother ducking his head when I glanced his way, and he wasn’t very low key. I didn’t like having a tail, either. It kept me tense, and I’d been tense long enough – eight years, to be exact. What’s the point of freedom if you don’t feel free?
I had to do something about it. He was more than a cramp in my style, which had apparently gone out of style while I was in the joint. He was a burden, and he was dangerous. I needed to know who put him on my detail, partly to find out if I should be worried and partly so I could let them know they’d wasted their money on an amateur.
So, Sam and I got up from our barstools, walked to the other end of the bar where Mr. Suit sat looking out of place in the leather dive, and grabbed him by his cheap tweed jacket. We moved him to a table in the back and straddled a couple of chairs, facing him. I smiled and glanced at Sam, who had put on at least fifty pounds over the years. He had jowls, and I wondered if I’d been better off with three squares that tasted like shit and nothing to keep me busy but the gym.
I cleared my throat and motioned with my hand. “Give me your wallet.”
His eyes were cartoonish – huge and bulging out of his head. He stammered, “I-I’ll call the cops.”
“Hear that, Jasper? He’s not a cop,” Sam chuckled, his jowls and beer baby shaking.
“I could have told you that. Even cops can afford a better suit.” I sighed. “Just give me your wallet. If you’ve been hired to follow me, you have to know I’m not one to play games.”
He fumbled in his pocket and slid the wallet over with a trembling hand. Sam grumbled something under his breath and said, “Calm down, jackass. We don’t want to hurt you. Yet.”
I opened the wallet and took out his ID and business card, frowning at them. “Wesley Morton, Private Investigator. Apparently not a very good one, either. You live in the bowels of Harlem.” I returned the ID and kept the business card, tucking it into my shirt pocket.
“What do you want?” he asked, shifting in his seat like he was about to piss his pants.
“That’s my question for you.” I took my time lighting a cigarette and blew the smoke in his face, snorting when he coughed. “I want to know who hired you and why you’re tailing me. Which, by the way, you suck at.”
“I can’t tell you that.”
It was a brave and stupid thing to say. Sam leaned forward with his arms crossed on the table. “Do you have family, Wesley? Maybe a mother or a girlfriend? Strike that. I don’t see how your pathetic ass could get a girl.”
But beads of sweat broke out on the guy’s forehead, and I knew we had him, if we just muscled a little harder. “I’d hate to have to come to your place and tear it apart, looking for a name. All you have to do to save yourself a whole lot of trouble is tell me who wanted you to follow me.” I had several ideas, but one stood out, and I needed confirmation.
The smell of fear was thick enough to surpass the stale booze and smoke in the place, and my heart pounded. He pressed his lips together, like that would keep him from talking, but then he blurted out, “Wilhelmina Cohen.”
My blood froze, and I nodded slowly. I knew who she was. What I didn’t know was why she had an interest in what I was doing now. I pointed at Wesley Morton and glared at him. “Get out, and don’t let me catch you following me again. If you so much as step foot into an establishment I’m at, I’ll tear up that ugly jacket of yours and use it to tie you up so my friends can beat the shit out of you. Do I make myself clear?”
He all but ran for the door, and Sam slapped me on the back. “I thought you might have gone soft, Jasper. Nice job.”
I nodded but didn’t say anything. I didn’t like it. I had enough to deal with and didn’t need some stonehearted bitch sending little monkeys to keep tabs on me.
“So, who is she?” Sam asked. “Some chick who wrote you letters in the pen? Wants to have your babies or something?”
“No,” I told him, standing. I hadn’t even finished a beer, and I didn’t care. I had things to take care of. “It’s bigger than that.”
“You leaving already?” Sam hefted himself to his feet, nearly knocking his chair over. “Anything I can do?”
“Not yet, but I’ll let you know.” I slapped his chest amicably and turned to leave. “I’ll call you tomorrow.” My social graces had never fully matured, but they definitely lacked a certain finesse now that I’d been institutionalized with limited contact. When your only company is a bunch of felons, most of whom lacked the brains to escape capture, you tend to lose what little charm you might have managed to build before getting locked up.
Had I gone soft? Definitely not, I thought as I strode down the street in the warmth of the summer night, reveling in the rancid smell of the city I’d grown up with. I hadn’t gone soft at all. In fact, if anything, I’d become harder and colder. And I wasn’t going to let some spoiled little girl ruin my second chance at living outside the bars. Wilhelmina Cohen could kiss my ass. I’d rid myself of the problem quickly and move on.
* * *
Mina
Cover compromised. Returning retainer.
I read the text over and over, growing more furious with each pass. I’d paid a pretty penny for Wesley Morton to keep tabs on that horrible man, and he’d failed. He’d quit like some simpering little fool in less than two weeks. Even I knew there was little chance of a felon screwing up so soon after his release.
I thought seriously about sending back some choice words, but it wouldn’t do any good. I was back at square one and didn’t know where else to go for help. I’d always found it difficult to trust people, and I’d heard horror stories of private investigators turning the tables to get more money from the subject, which led to people like me getting hurt. And I didn’t put it past Jasper Cunningham to do just that.
I’d managed to put a little faith in Wesley, since he had dated my cousin in college. At least that was a familial connection. And look where that got me. At this point, I was better off digging up dirt myself.
I stared up at the portrait of Daddy above the fireplace. Maybe that was the key. If I did this myself, I didn’t have to trust anyone else, and I really did feel like I could avoid whatever mistakes Wesley made that got him ‘compromised’. I flung myself back on the Italian leather couch, trying to decide the best course of action.
Wesley had already provided me with some very basic information, most of which I probably could have found myself. I had an address, a list of acquaintances, and a workplace. Surely I could use that information to find him and follow him. And I didn’t have any obligations in the foreseeable future that I couldn’t pass off to Becky or Chastity. They could handle the charity auction and the gallery showings for a few weeks. In the long run, when I explained the situation, they would understand if I went off the radar for a while.
After all, Jasper Cunningham had killed my father.
Maybe he hadn’t used a gun or a knife, but what he’d done had just as surely killed Stephen Cohen. He’d had a weak heart, and he’d been under a lot of pressure trying to acquire the de Kooning painting for his private gallery. And for some reason, Jasper Cunningham decided he absolutely had to have one of my father’s favorite works, Le Rêve. The Picasso had cost nearly $160 million by the time my father had it repaired, and it wasn’t like Cunningham came from that kind of money.
He’d nearly stolen it. And the Shots Marilyn. And the Police Gazette.
The last, a de Kooning had just arrived a week before the Picasso, and my father had, as yet, not been publicly recognized as their new owner. I had no idea how Cunningham had known or why he’d chosen to target my father’s art collection, but the whole ordeal had caused Daddy’s heart attack, which had dislodged a blood clot and led to a stroke that killed him.
As far as I was concerned, eight years behind bars was
n’t enough for a murderer, and I just knew Cunningham, that disgusting pig, would try something again. He’d target some other poor soul or find some other way to make the money he would have made if he’d actually absconded with the paintings. I didn’t know if he planned to ask ransom for their return or to sell them anonymously at auction, but he would have been a good $400 million richer. That was a lot of money to lose, and I didn’t doubt he still wanted it.
I’d done a little research of my own, and I knew that prison had strict schedules and routines that included getting up early. I had a feeling that Jasper Cunningham would continue that routine now, trained to do so for eight years. If I wanted to get on his tail, I’d have to be up and waiting outside his apartment even earlier.
I knew what he looked like. Even if I hadn’t seen a recent photo, that man’s face was burned into my mind from the trial. I checked the grandfather clock and winced. I hated going to bed early, but if I wanted to pull this off, I didn’t have a choice. I needed my rest. So, I set an alarm for 4:30 in the morning, hoping I wouldn’t be a complete zombie, and hauled myself into the bedroom. I had a plan for tomorrow. That was all I needed at the moment. Everything else would fall into place over time. I was sure of that.
Jasper
Sam Pendleton had put the gang together when we were just juniors in high school, and at the time, it hadn’t been serious. But as we grew older and took our turns enlisting and spending time overseas, we needed something we could come home to, a group of people who understood us. So, even as we’d started adulting – with jobs and families – the Wildcats had clung together, looking for all intents and purposes like a weekend warriors motorcycle club.
