Steel Cobras MC Complete Box Set: Books 1-6

by Evie Monroe

  He hasn’t changed, I told myself as I sat at the bar and ordered another double vodka. He’s the same person I left. I have to stay strong. Move on.

  Easier said than done. It was amazing to be independent and able to take care of Alena on my own. But I was twenty-eight now. I wanted to find love, someone who would love us both and complete our family. And I hadn’t been with a man in over two years.

  I was lonely.

  I sat at the stool at the end of the bar as a surly looking man bumped my shoulder. “Sorry, darlin’,” he said with a big smile.

  I looked over at him and waved him away. Typical American asshole, all bravado and machismo. He was small and weak looking, with a too-tight t-shirt. Not my type at all.

  “I’m waiting for someone,” I mumbled, waiving him off.

  “You foreign?” he said, eyes widening with excitement, as if he’d just struck gold.

  “Wow. You must be a rocket scientist.”

  “Aw, come on, baby. Let me buy you a drink,” he said, leaning in so I could smell the whiskey on his breath.

  “If you are looking to be kneed in the crotch, you’ve come to the right place,” I mumbled to him, motioning to the bartender for another drink.

  Not listening to me, he started to put down his money. I took it, ripped it in half, lifted the front of his shirt, and shoved it down there.

  “I said to leave me alone. You understand?”

  The man lifted the hem of his shirt out of his too-tight jeans and released the pieces of his twenty. He picked them up before they could flutter to the ground and scowled at me. “You’re a crazy fucking bitch, you know that?”

  I nodded, not hurt in the least. “That’s nothing. Leave me alone before I show you how crazy I can be.”

  After that, there were a few more who tried their luck. All of them bothered me. I was lonely, but not desperate. I wanted a man who wasn’t lacking in confidence. And every single one of the men reminded me of Viktor—meaning they intimidated women, probably to hide a small penis. They disgusted me.

  I wondered if that meant I’d never be attracted to another man again. Maybe my experience with Viktor had ruined me, and I’d never meet one that excited me like he had.

  Sighing, I ordered my third vodka double, downing it the second the bartender placed it in front of me. I’d had quite a tolerance for vodka back in Russia, but that had been a long time ago. I didn’t do that kind of drinking anymore. Now, my vision swam a little.

  I spun around on the barstool to see if all the men in the bar were losers like the first one who’d approached me. That was when the door opened and I saw him.

  He walked inside, confidently, like he owned the place. He waved at the bartender and a couple of other people, but his eyes never landed on me. My eyes widened. He wore a leather vest and his bulging muscles strained across his tight t-shirt, and tattoos covered his arm. Dark hair, longer on top, cropped on the sides sent a message across the room: Don’t fuck with me.

  I smiled at that thought. He was all man. I studied his short beard and decided he had an angry, scowling look on his face. Had someone done him wrong?

  He was, without a doubt, the most beautiful man I’d ever seen.

  And he had confidence, too. He walked in like he was someone special, and the entire room reacted to him. Tilted toward him like flowers in the sun. He ignored it all, as if he was better than everyone else in the room.

  Someone like him would probably be sure of himself. He wouldn’t have to belittle a woman to make himself feel better.

  I whirled back around, facing the bar, and pressed my thighs together, thinking to myself, Dear God, if he comes and talks to me, what would I say?

  Then I ordered another vodka. I had a very good feeling I was going to need it, if I was ever going to get up the courage to flirt with this God among men.

  Could I do that? I hadn’t talked casually to any man since Viktor, and that was going on six years.

  I brought the drink up to my lips, letting the taste settle on my tongue a little before tossing it back. With any luck, that would help calm my nerves. Maybe I’d have the courage to give him a few sultry looks.

  The second I downed my drink, feeling the cool liquid slipping down my throat like water, I heard a low deep voice grumble, “Your next one is on me pretty lady.”

  Pretty lady? Oh, God. Oh, God. Oh, God. I couldn’t look. But I could feel him beside me. My skin prickled with goosebumps and my body shot straight up like an arrow.

  I didn’t look at him. I remembered a little from my bar hopping days in Moscow: Play hard to get. Men love the chase. Gathering my courage, I said, “I am very capable of affording my own drinks, thank you very much.” Squeezing my legs together to stop them from trembling.

  He tensed a little, and I wasn’t sure if it was in reaction to my accent or something else. I waited for him to leave. But he didn’t.

  “Didn’t say you weren’t.” His voice was as smooth and delicious as melted chocolate. I fell in love with it at once. “I’m just being friendly.”

  I glanced over at him. Friendly?

  Not him.

  This man was all kinds of trouble.

  And sexy.

  And all those good naughty things.

  Did I really think I’d never meet a man that thrilled me like Viktor used to?

  This stranger, though nothing like Viktor, was quickly eclipsing him. I smiled. Viktor who?

  He was even better looking up close. His hair was dark and thick, something I’d love to run my hands through, but his eyes were swimming pool light and endless. He had that same superior, cocky look to him, the look of a man who got what he wanted. But this time, I wasn’t annoyed.

  I was mesmerized. I must have been a sucker for a bad boy. And happy to give him whatever he asked for, on a silver platter.

  “Friendly? Is that what you call it?”

  His eyes almost sparkled. “What would you call it?”

  “I think,” I said carefully, spinning the shot glass on the bar, “you’re trying to flirt with me?”

  The corner of his mouth curved up in a smile. “Maybe.” He pulled away a little and studied my legs.

  I let out a shuddery breath. His flirting conjured up so many wicked thoughts, I was sure he could see the thump, thump, thump of my pulse under my skin.

  He reached out and smoothed a strand of hair back. “So you want me to stop?”

  “I want you to be careful. I’m not sure you could handle this,” I said, batting my eyelashes at him.

  He chuckled again. God, it felt good to flirt. Everything with Viktor had been so tense lately.

  He put a palm flat against the bar and leaned in, and I could smell the cigarettes on his breath. Viktor smoked, and I never minded it, but on this man, it was an instant aphrodisiac. He breathed into my ear, “Try me, pretty lady.”

  My heart pounded in my chest. It’d been so long since I felt like this. Beautiful. Wanted. It was like a dead part of my body was suddenly springing to life.

  He motioned to the bartender, and said, “Give us two of whatever she’s having.”

  I smiled as the bartender placed two shot glasses in front of us and started to pour the Vodka. “Sure you can handle that, gospodin? That’ll put hair on your chest.”

  He drew his glass closer, his eyes drifting over my breasts. My nipples puckered. “You have hair on your chest?”

  I giggled. “Maybe. I suppose you’ll never know.” I held up my glass. “Vashe zdorovie.”

  He easily tossed the drink back and motioned to the bartender for another. “I have no idea what that was but it sounded good. Did it mean you want to take me home?”

  I smiled. “It means, to your health.”

  “Oh, okay,” he said, tapping his fingers. “It sounded so fucking sexy. I’m a sucker for foreign girls. So where are you from?”

  I gave him a coy bat of my eyelashes. “Right here.”

  “Now you’re really shittin’ me. That ain’t a
n Aveline Bay accent. Hell, that ain’t even American.”

  “No, I am an American citizen,” I said, taking the next glass in my hand. This was my fifth and I was feeling a little buzzy all over. “But I came from Russia seven years ago.”

  He stroked his chin. “Yeah? Why?”

  My mind flashed back to Viktor, but I quickly squelched the thought. I didn’t want to go into that. It would ruin my mood. I leaned into him, held out my hand, and said, “I’m Sasha.”

  “Sasha? Fuck, that’s a sexy name.” He took my hand in his big one, and I swear I felt something like lightning, passing between us. His eyes all but devoured me. “Zain.”

  “Zain?” I’d never heard that name before, but it was sexy, too. Just like him. “Do you come here a lot?”

  “Some.”

  “And when you come here, what is you looking for?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Are you looking for . . .” I searched my head for the right English word. “How do you say . . . obshcheniye . . .companionship?”

  “Companionship?” He laughed. “You mean like a dog?”

  I flushed. The alcohol was making my brain fuzzy. “I’m probably not thinking of the right word. Friends?”

  “Ah. Friends. Well, today I came in looking for a six-pack but then I saw something I liked a lot better,” he said with a grin, motioning to the bartender again. “And now I can’t get her out of my head. Especially the thought of wrapping those legs around my waist.”

  Now my nipples were really puckering. I looked down and sure enough, they were beading, visible under the thin sweater. I crossed an arm over them.

  The bartender started to pour two more. I held out my hands. “Oh! No! I can’t drink anymore.” I waved my hand in front of my flushed face. “That was my fifth.”

  “Your . . . fifth?” He sounded impressed. “How are you still upright?”

  I touched my cheeks. They felt a little hot. “Five is nothing. I’m fine. I just need a little time.”

  He ordered a beer from the bartender and his eyes scanned over me, probing. “Yeah? If you say so.”

  “I do.” I gave him a sideways glance, my eyes catching on the image of some tribal feathers all down one arm. He had another one, too, on the side of his neck, a snake-like thing.

  I took his wrist in my hand and turned it over suddenly, admiring it. “You like painting pictures on your body,” I observed. “It’s called in Russia . . . tatu?”

  “That’s right. I do,” he said, admiring them himself. “It’s the same in English. Tattoos.”

  Right. I’d heard that word before, but never tested it out here in America because I never had a reason to. “Tattoos.” I repeated, smiling, stroking the smooth skin of his forearm. “Yes. They’re very pretty.”

  He was even prettier. Like a piece of artwork. Not just the tattoos, but the whole package. He had to know it. Didn’t he look in the mirror? So undeniably good-looking, I was sure people could stare at him all day. Like me, making a fool of myself, all but drooling over his skin, his eyes, his . . . tattoos.

  “Pretty? They’re supposed to be badass.”

  “Bad . . .ass?” I’d never said that word before. I laughed. “I guess they are badass.”

  “But those ain’t nothing compared to my other ones. The hidden ones.” He winked at me.

  I raised an eyebrow. “True?”

  From the way he nodded, I believed him.

  “What about you?” he asked, his eyes raking my body.

  “I might . . . or might not . . . have a tattoo.” I winked back at him.

  He chuckled. “So what’ll it take for me to find out?”

  I laughed. “You mean, to see if I’m a badass, too?”

  “Oh hell. I can already tell you’re pretty damn badass, girl. So what’ll it take to let me find your tattoos?”

  I hitched a shoulder. The vodka was going to my head now, making me feel not only fuzzy, but sexy and brazen, too. “Probably . . . not very much. Honestly.”

  His had slid over on top of mine. He leaned in, and I smelled the hint of cologne. The pure male smell fired up all of my senses. When he said, “Want to get out of here?” I nearly jumped from my seat.

  I answered with a look toward the door.

  He took his wallet from his back pocket, threw a couple of bills on the bar. Then he took my hand and led me across the room, waving at some men who were by the old jukebox.

  Night had fallen, and I shivered a bit in the chill outside, but the cool air felt good on my skin. Holding tight to my hand, he walked me away from the entrance to a line of bushes.

  He pulled me flush against him so fast that all the air left my lungs. And then he devoured my mouth with his, like he’d been practicing all his life. Are all American men this good?

  I opened my mouth and his warm tongue slid inside, probing, flicking, making every part of my body come alive. I moaned. “Oh, God.”

  He pulled on my hair, yanking my head back to have access to my neck. He licked his way down and said, “I don’t see any tattoos here, but I’ve got to do a more thorough check.”

  I breathed out a yes. Yes, I was ready for anything.

  He motioned behind him. “My bike’s over there. My house isn’t far away.”

  I had a better idea. Looking around, I noticed a small, dark alley behind the bar. Taking his hand, my eyes never leaving his, I led him toward the back of the building, into the darkness.

  Chapter Five

  Zain

  I could’ve taken her out back, and wrapped those legs around my waist, like I promised.

  It wasn’t like I hadn’t fucked girls outside The Wall. The place was set back far from the road and backed up to a solid white fence. There was a little alley there, with a lot of trees, and the dumpsters blocking it from the parking lot made it pretty damn private. The generator outside made a lot of noise, too, so it didn’t really matter how loud we got. It was good for a nice quickie.

  But suddenly, I wanted more than just release.

  She’d given me my second wind. Now, I wanted to play. And I wanted to see how far my little Russian princess would go for me.

  I kissed her, pressing her against the wall as I slowly lifted her tight skirt up to her waist. She let me without a second thought.

  She spread her legs, allowing me to cup her pussy. Did she really want everything I wanted? She seemed so ready. I slipped her panties aside and plunged my finger inside her. She was nice and wet. And so fucking tight.

  I wanted to push it further. I lifted her sweater up, baring her bra. I bit at the nipples through the lace, making her nipples bead.

  Fuck, her tits were perfect. I snapped the front bra clasp open and freed her tits, licking and sucking hungrily. She moaned and threw her head back.

  I stepped back. I had to take in this sight.

  Goddamn, she was gorgeous. Her skin was cool and inviting and smelling like candy, for God’s sake, screaming to be tasted. It made my cock twitch in a way it never had. “No hair on this beautiful chest,” I said, licking my lips. “No tattoos, either.”

  She shivered a little. “I’ll let you in on a secret. I don’t actually have any—”

  “Hey. Don’t tell me that. I’m having fun finding out on my own.” I sank down to my knees and bit into tight abdomen, tasting her skin.

  It was incredible, sweet and yet salty. The taste of pure woman, which I’d never be able to replicate, even with all the money and the finest restaurants in the world at my disposal. Add to that the way her soft, perfumed skin pebbled when my tongue flicked over her, and the soft, delighted little coo that escaped her mouth, I knew I wouldn’t be satisfied with just one taste.

  Her tiny panties, if I could call them that, were no protection from anything, merely a couple of little strings, certainly no obstacle for my tongue. I nibbled my way down, and she started to move her bottom closer to me, urging me to where she wanted me. I pressed my hands against her thighs, and yes, they were gorgeous
thighs-- femininely shaped but sculpted so I could feel the muscles straining underneath.

  I lifted one of her leg. She fell back against the wall as I hooked it over my shoulder, baring that perfect pink slit to me. Dipping my head down low, I pushed aside the tiny bit of fabric, and slid my tongue along her clit.

  Her mouth slid open, and an “ah,” escaped.

  Goddamn, she was even sweeter here, a feast, all laid out for my taking. Already wet and trembling. I knew I wouldn’t have to do much to send her over the edge.

  But where was the fun in that?

  I wanted to take my time with her.

  I licked, slowly, thoroughly. Circled her clit, then lapped into it. Her noises came faster and she started to convulse, rocking her tight little body onto me. Fuck yeah. She was close.

  I pulled away, sitting back on my heels, beholding the most beautiful sight. Her pussy, with the natural, fine brown hairs curling around her lips. Not shaven or waxed, like most of the women these days, but real, and unspeakably gorgeous. Her tits were high and yet had a perfect sway to them, with large, pale pink nipples. Predictably, she strained to lift her cunt toward me, pleading for more. Her face was contorted in desperation. “Please . . .”

  My cock strained against my jeans. This sweet, sweet sight was almost too much for me to control. “What do you want me to do?”

  She whimpered a little. “I don’t . . .” she breathed.

  “Yes, you do,” I growled at her.

  There were ridges of worry on her forehead now. I doubted I could hold true to that promise, as much as I wanted her, but she seemed to believe it. She whispered, very softly, “Fuck me.”

  “Fuck me, who?”

  “Zain.”

  Just wanted to make sure she was listening. I’d make sure she never forgot my name, as long as she lived. I leaned forward. “I can’t hear you.”

  “Fuck me, Zain,” she said louder, but still not loud enough for my liking.

  “What did you—?”

  “Fuck me, Zain!” she screamed, unleashing a torrent of sexy Russian curses. “Please!”

  And there it was. I smiled, satisfied. At that moment, I could have taken down my pants and fucked her there, hard, against the wall, with no regrets whatsoever. God, how I wanted to.