Judgment Road (Torpedo Ink #1) Page 11

  “What are you doing slumming in a biker bar?” Czar asked, leaning his elbows on the back of Blythe’s lawn chair.

  She took a step away from Reaper and he caught her around her ribs, with one thick arm, just under her breasts and pulled her back to lock her tightly against her body. A claiming hold. She almost dropped her bottle of beer. Around her, the others gave one another looks she couldn’t interpret. What the hell? Just because she hadn’t seen him with anyone for the last month didn’t mean he wasn’t the resident hound dog. She’d seen the others, especially his brother, with women, so why hadn’t she thought he was all over them?

  A month of watching him didn’t mean anything at all. He was too smooth. Too good at seduction. A touch. His mouth pure fire. Why did she ever imagine that she was special? What had given her that idea? The night before, he’d made it clear he didn’t even like her. He’d called her a bitch and tried to get her fired. Now, suddenly, he was hot for her? It was sex. Pure sex. She had to keep her head in the game and her heart locked up tightly.

  “You don’t have to answer,” Czar assured her. “You don’t owe me an explanation.”

  Had she looked panicked? No, she’d just taken too long to answer him. She tried to shrug, to be just as casual as all of them. “I needed a change. Cities got old. I needed to breathe.” That sounded good. It didn’t explain her beat-up Honda or the campground, but he just said he didn’t care if she didn’t want to explain.

  Reaper put his mouth next to hers as Czar straightened to go flip the burgers. “Better to stick to the truth, or just plain don’t answer, than to lie.”

  She stiffened, tried to pull away, but his arm locked tight. He took another swig of beer, ignoring the tension in her.

  “There’s a chair right here,” Blythe said, patting the one beside her.

  “She’s fine where she is,” Reaper said.

  Anya turned her head, one arm curving up and around, so she could put her hand behind his neck, looking affectionate. She put her lips against his ear. “She can answer for herself,” she hissed, and bit his earlobe.

  He didn’t so much as flinch. He kept his arm around her body, caught her hair with his free hand, yanked her head back and took her mouth. This kiss was different. There was no gentle. This was rough. Hard. Wet. Fire poured down her throat. Not just fire. Magma. It felt like a volcano erupted and burst through her, spreading through her body, engulfing every nerve ending she had.

  She felt him shift her in his arms, but her body burned for his and there was thunder in her ears. Blood pounded in her clit. His hands were on her bare skin, and she badly wanted to get to his bare skin. The roaring in her head was desperation. Need was intense. Brutal. So sharp and terrible she couldn’t think straight.

  Reaper walked her backward and voices faded. She found herself up against the side of the house, his hands cupping her breast, his thumb sliding over her nipple, brushing her with flames. His mouth devoured her. She heard herself give a little sob of need and then his mouth was on her, and the world felt like it exploded. Fireworks. Colors burst behind her eyes. His tongue and teeth never stopped, and then his hand was opening her jeans and sliding down.

  Through the loud drumming of her heart in her ears, that booming thunder, she heard the faint sound of a child’s laughter. Instantly she caught his wrist and dragged air into her lungs so she could speak.

  “We have to stop.”

  He lifted his head, looking into her eyes. “Not happening unless you don’t want me.” His hand slid farther into her jeans, one finger curling into her. “You’re hot and slick, Anya. Tell me you don’t want me.”

  She looked around. They were on the side of the house away from the others. Foliage shrouded them, but she still didn’t want to take the chance that Emily might walk up on them. She was a little ashamed that she would have gone for it even if the others were around, taking the chance, but not with a child.

  “Emily.”

  Immediately he jerked his hand out of her jeans and licked his finger. “We’re getting out of here.”

  God. Yes. She’d go anywhere with him.

  SIX

  Anya ducked into the kitchen to retrieve Reaper’s shirt on the pretense that she needed it to stay warm on the back of his bike. It kept her from having to face anyone. Neither spoke as they hurried out, but right before she climbed on behind him, he caught the front of her shirt and kissed her again. Another blinding, fiery kiss that melted her stomach and had her kissing him back with everything she was. Giving herself to him completely. She hadn’t known she could kiss like that. She hadn’t known anyone could kiss like that.

  She slipped behind him, her arms tight, and they were on the road, the big bike vibrating like a monster between her legs. One of his hands dropped to cover both of hers, pressing them tightly into his waist, the moment they were back on Highway 1. She couldn’t have said how long it took to get back to the compound. The ride was a haze of need. Of dark, carnal desire. It pulsed between her legs, blood pounded in her clit and roared in her ears.

  He had her off the bike and was dragging the flannel over her head as he pulled her toward the building, bunching it in his hand. He had the new top off by the time they hit the common room. She barely noticed that the two newer prospects were sitting at one of the tables, but Reaper did. He grunted something to them, reached down and caught her, tossing her over his shoulder and striding to the room he’d allowed her to stay in.

  She caught at the hem of his colors, holding tight, her heart pounding. He kicked the door shut and tossed her on the bed and threw the flannel into the corner. Putting one knee on the bed, he reached for her shoes. She couldn’t breathe, the need was so strong. His face was dark, cut with harsh lines of pure carnal lust. That took any breath she had left in her lungs away. She’d never seen him any way but in complete control.

  His hands were strong as they peeled away her jeans and panties in one swift motion, leaving her sprawled out on the bed, naked except for her bra. Dropping to his knees at the end of the bed, he dragged her body to him, using her ankles. She had no chance to do anything to prepare. He jerked her thighs wide, tossed her legs over his shoulders, and his mouth was there. Right where she needed it the most.

  She bucked, the world exploding, fragmenting as the orgasm rushed over her that fast. He didn’t stop. He didn’t even seem to notice. He devoured her. Ate her. Took complete control of her body so that she felt helpless against the onslaught of his mouth and teeth and tongue. He knew exactly what he was doing and he gave it all to her, so much that her mind turned to mush, so that there was no thinking person, only a wild, out of control woman, head thrashing back and forth on the sheets and her hips riding his mouth.

  The third orgasm had her entire body shuddering with pleasure, but her hands fisting in his hair, trying to pull his head away. “You have to stop.” He had to or she was going to go insane. She’d lost the ability to think properly or reason, she could only feel, and her body couldn’t keep up with his wild tongue.

  His head came up as if scenting something trying to deprive him of his prize. She looked into those blue eyes, so dark now, so wild, and he looked terrifying in his intensity. His face was slick with her, and that just added to the sensual, wanton lust stamped so deep in the lines there. “Belongs to me. All of this body. All of you. You take what I give you.”

  She couldn’t. She couldn’t . Anya shook her head, and then his mouth was back and he was once again taking control of her body and mind. Every word reverberated through her mind, bouncing off the walls until she was wailing again, his teeth raking her clit, sending her flying.

  He stood, still wedged between her thighs, his eyes holding hers as he leaned down, caught her bra in one hand and ripped the stretchy lace right off her, exposing her breasts. Keeping his eyes on hers, he began to slowly pull his colors off, folding them neatly and setting them aside.

  “Understand what’s happening here. You’re in my world. That means you live by ou
r rules. This is done, you don’t whine or cry or give me grief. When I say it’s over, it is. You got that? I need you to say you understand.”

  She did. She so did. He was on board with the one night of pure, blazing sex, although it was daytime, but what difference did it make? This was so perfect. She needed this desperately. All those nights of looking at him, wondering what it would be like, and it was so much better than she’d imagined. Better, and yet, terrifying. She couldn’t possibly keep up with Reaper’s sexual needs. He was truly beyond her imagination.

  “I understand. No whining. I promise.”

  She couldn’t look away as he stripped. She felt exposed, vulnerable, her body throbbing with aftershocks, shuddering with anticipation. His body was rock hard, but covered in scars. So many. Tattoos slithered up his chest and curved over his arms. They were beautiful. Exquisite work. She wanted to explore every one of them, taste his skin, trace his muscles with her tongue. His cock was amazing. Beautiful. She wanted that too.

  He didn’t remove his boots or jeans, just pushed them down, caught her ankles and rolled her over, yanked her hips up so she was on her hands and knees, and then drove into her. Hard. Pushing through tight folds, so her body was forced to accept his invasion. The feeling of fullness was shocking. Stretching, burning, streaks of fire, it all was the most amazing sensation she’d ever felt. Her heart pounded. Her breasts jolted with every hard thrust.

  He wasn’t gentle. Not his hands, fingers digging into her hips, controlling every movement, forcing her body back into him, pushing her away and then slamming deep. Over and over. Her arms couldn’t hold her and she dropped to her elbows, but he held her hips mercilessly, his cock a ruthless piston.

  The fire was scorching hot. Every stroke hit a spot deep inside that sent waves of pleasure rolling through her. There was no air to breathe, but it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered but the way his cock ruled her, the way it sent fire storming through every cell, building, building. He was so hot. His heartbeat thundered through her, felt through her tight muscles as his body raged in hers.

  There was no holding back when the tsunami came, roaring through her, sweeping him along, his cock swelling, pushing at the sensitive tissue, striking like a hot iron, branding his name deep as she cried out, nearly sobbing as he emptied himself, as her orgasm drained him, milking every drop.

  She lay there, her head on the sheet, eyes closed, fists tight, while her heart pounded out a wild rhythm. It had been the most insane, perfect storm of pleasure, and she couldn’t move. She’d heard of that. Sex so great one couldn’t move, but it had never happened to her. No one had ever taken control of her body like that.

  Reaper lay over top of her for long moments, recovering his breath, his hands still tight on her hips, his cock pulsing as the little aftershocks shook her. Then he withdrew and she collapsed forward. He let her, standing there, pulling up his jeans. She heard the zipper. She opened her eyes and saw his back. The tattoo that covered it, that same scary tree with so many branches, crows and skulls that was on his jacket. He caught up his jacket and without a word, left the room.

  Anya lay there on the bed. Alone. He hadn’t even looked at her. Not one glance. She reached for the pillow and pulled it to her, holding it tightly. She knew what she was getting into. He’d told her. She’d seen enough of club life. The women vying for their attention. She’d just become one of them. He’d spelled it out for her too. It wasn’t like he hadn’t. He’d said not to whine or cry. She’d wanted this.

  She rolled over, wrapping her arms around her middle, staring up at the ceiling. She’d wanted this. So, would she do it all over again? Hell, yes. It had been that good. She’d wanted her one night of perfection, of wild, primitive, savage sex, and she’d gotten it with whistles and bells, and a million thundering orgasms. It wasn’t like he hadn’t been generous. She was a big girl and refused to cry over the abrupt way he’d left.

  Reaper wasn’t a nice man. She’d known that too. He wasn’t a hearts and flowers man. He’d made that very clear. She’d said she understood. She had to be okay with the fact that it was a one-time deal. It didn’t matter how great the sex had been, probably for him it was like that every single time. For her … She put the pillow over her head. For her, it was the best sex of her life. So worth it. No talking, no bossing her with his attitude. She scored. Hot. Hot, hot sex with no strings. Hell no, she wasn’t going to whine.

  She wasn’t certain she would ever walk again. Every step would remind her of him. She felt like his name was burned deep inside her. Her breath caught in her throat. Had he used a condom? He had to have used a condom.

  Oh. My. God. “Tell me he used a condom,” she whispered to the universe, trying to remember if she’d heard him tear the wrapper off one. Her blood had been pounding in her ears, roaring so loud she hadn’t heard much of anything.

  No. She’d felt him. Every thick inch of him stretching her. Hot. Scorching hot. Burning her raw. Scraping her raw. She groaned and threw the pillow against the wall. She knew by the way his seed seeped out of her and coated her thighs that she’d been so irresponsible.

  “Damn it!” she yelled and rolled over, burying her face in the sheets. There was no getting away from that shame. She’d been too crazy, too needy. Too desperate for his cock to think about protection. To think about modesty. She’d acted just like the women who hung around the club, eager to be used.

  He’d carried her through the common room in just a bra and her jeans. He’d said something to someone, which meant she’d been seen. Did that mean, when she went to work tomorrow night, they’d all feel as if she were a fair target? Before, she’d been off-limits and no one in the club hit on her. She wasn’t all that modest. She’d lived in shelters where there was very limited privacy, but she didn’t want anyone to think she was going to be available to any other member of the club.

  She sat up, groaning as her body protested. What if he went back to the barbecue and everyone was talking about her right this minute? She couldn’t blame them if they did, but she wasn’t sticking around and waiting for one of the others to walk in and expect her to have sex with them.

  Anya reached for her bra and saw it was ripped to shreds, into two pieces, the scraps lying near the top of the bed. Sighing, she looked around for her top. He’d thrown it off of her. Where? She couldn’t remember. She groaned again and buried her face in her hands.

  “You’re a big girl, Anya. You knew exactly what you were getting into before he even spelled it out for you, so no whining. No regrets. You want every minute of this time to be burned in your memory.” It was burned deep inside of her for all time. She would probably have a spontaneous orgasm just thinking about it. “Okay, think.” She whispered it aloud because she had to keep her brain working when her body was still in meltdown. He’d kept hold of his flannel, and she spotted it scrunched up in the corner. Very slowly, she climbed out of bed.

  She’d keep this memory, not because Reaper had made her feel special, just the opposite, but because she knew she’d never have sex like that again. Never. She pulled on his shirt. It was long enough to cover her and she didn’t want to put on her jeans until she washed up. Washed him off her. Out of her. For a moment she stood there, pressing her thighs together. Squeezing her inner muscles as if she could keep him.

  “What are you thinking?” That was dangerous. That would lead to whining, and she’d promised. She’d meant that promise. She might want only one night for different reasons than Reaper had, but they both wanted the same thing.

  She washed, brushed her teeth and dressed in her jeans, shoes and his shirt. She’d need to get to her car, get money and purchase a decent bra somewhere. She had a couple of T-shirts that were clean, folded and stacked with another pair of jeans on her backseat right next to the two sketch pads that had Reaper’s image drawn in a hundred ways. She left the bed smelling of sex and them. Reaper and Anya. Let his club deal with the sheets; however they did that sort of thing, they had far more experience th
an she did.

  She walked through the common room and thankfully it was empty. She spotted her shirt on the bar, where someone had picked it up off the floor and placed it in full view for everyone to see. She left it there. Everyone knew anyway. If they could be casual about sex and whatever else they did, so could she.

  Anya walked out into the bright sunlight, blinking a little. The two prospects who had been in the common room earlier straightened as she came out, but she just sent them a vague smile and kept walking. Hopefully, the next time she saw either of them, she’d be behind the bar working. She was safe there. She knew how to deal with anyone from behind the bar.

  She walked fast toward the garage. It was early in the day still. She could collect her money, hopefully the car, and get out to the Egg Taking Station. Thankfully, she had the night off. That was part of the reason she’d allowed herself to kiss Reaper the first time. She thought they’d have all night for his kind of glorious sex. Well, okay, if she was strictly honest with herself, she’d have to admit that once he put his mouth on hers she hadn’t thought about anything but getting to a bedroom. Well, and getting into his jeans. Fast. Anywhere they were. She hadn’t thought at all. She’d just felt, and that feeling had been spectacular.

  She had to get to a clinic. Fast. What the hell had been wrong with her that she’d been the world’s stupidest woman and had unprotected sex with a biker? He was clearly very experienced. You didn’t get that kind of experience by being careful. When she’d run, she’d left behind everything, including her birth control pills. She never had unprotected sex. Never. Pills against pregnancy and a condom to be doubly sure as well as protection against STDs.

  She pushed at her hair, reached into her jeans pocket and took out a scrunchie. He’d pulled her hair free the moment they were off the bike and she’d put down the helmet. He liked her hair. He seemed to like her body—until he was done with it. She pushed those thoughts away. She hadn’t wanted a relationship any more than he did, and she wasn’t going to blame him for something they had sort of mutually agreed on.