Excerpt
from Silver Bastard
By Joanna
Wylde
www.joannawylde.com
Prologue
California
Five years ago
Puck
Motherfucker
that burned.
The shot was a double, and the fact that it’d come cradled
between two beautiful, giant tits attached to a stripper with endless legs and
a tight ass didn’t hurt one goddamned bit. Tequila hit my stomach, the alcohol
shocking my system, and shit finally got real.
Freedom.
Fourteen months since the last time I’d had a decent
drink—all but forgotten what it felt like, too. That sweet, harsh pain that
comes from losing the surface layer of skin all the way down your throat?
Gorgeous. Never felt better in my life, and that’s a fact. Helped that the
queen of body shots had sucked me off right after we’d pulled up to the party.
Spent the last year trying to decide what I’d do first
when I finally got out. Kept going back and
forth between getting laid and getting drunk, but God apparently has a soft
spot for assholes because we’d found one hell of a good compromise.
I’d been free nearly four hours now. Still felt like a
dream. The California Department of Corrections took its own sweet time with
everything, up to and including processing a man out. I’d spent half the wait
wondering if the cockwads would change their minds or if the club lawyer had
forgotten something. Figured they’d find some way to fuck with my head.
FBI, state cops, even Homeland Security—they all wanted a
piece of my club, the Silver Bastards MC, and not a week went by inside that
they didn’t try to cut it out of my hide. Guess they figured a prospect made an
easy target.
Not fucking likely.
My old man died for the Bastards. If I turned, he’d haunt
my ass the rest of my life because that shit does not stand in my family. I’d
been born to wear a Bastard cut. And tonight? For the first time I finally had
the right to show those colors off.
A hand slapped my shoulder, then a burly man caught me up
in a hug so tight it hurt. My fucking ribs creaked.
“That patch feel right on your back, brother?” asked
Boonie. He was the president of the Silver Bastards in Callup, Idaho, and I’d
heard him call me a hell of a lot of things—but never brother. Felt good. Damned
good. Until an hour ago, I’d been a prospect and I’d never gotten any special
treatment because of my old man.
That’s how I wanted it.
“Best night of my life,” I admitted. He pulled back, and
his face grew serious.
“Proud of you,” he said. “You did what you had to.
Protected the club, took care of business. Painter told us how things were
inside, how you took his back. You earned this, earned it with your life and
your blood. I know you won’t shame this patch, Puck.”
“I won’t,” I replied, his words almost too much. Boonie
grinned suddenly, then grabbed my arm and turned me toward the bar again.
“Drink up,” he told me. “Then find yourself some pretty
little thing to play with, because tomorrow we’re ridin’ home. Your bike’s in
good shape—took care of it for you.”
“Thanks.”
“Another shot, baby?” the stripper asked. She rolled onto
her side, reaching out to catch my neck with her hand, pulling me in for a
kiss. That brought me a little too close to her face. She was sweaty, and her
mascara had started running. Didn’t smell that great, either.
“More shots,” I said, pulling away. I’d appreciated the
blow job, no question. But she wasn’t exactly the fantasy I’d been jacking off
to the last year and I’d promised myself I wouldn’t settle once I got out. I
wanted someone fresh—someone clean and soft and sweet enough to eat. I’d play
with her for a while before letting myself go, punching through all that
softness until she screamed and begged for mercy.
Mouth, cunt, ass.
That’d been what got me through those long nights
wondering why the fuck I’d let myself get caught.
Ignoring the bitch on the bar, I reached across and
grabbed the bottle of tequila, chugging nearly a third of it down. Christ,
there went the rest of my throat. Then I turned to look out across room. Four
of my new Silver Bastard brothers had come down from Callup—Boonie, Miner,
Deep, and Demon. Joining them were four Reapers and two Reaper prospects. They
were here to welcome Painter, who’d gone down with me on a weapons charge. This
sucked, but such is life. We’d been fighting for our clubs, so no regrets
there. Through a combination of luck and well-placed payoffs, we’d managed to
stick together for the duration of our time served. The clubs provided the
funds and the attorneys—to protect them, we matched that investment with our
silence.
Painter caught my eye from across the room, grinning.
After so much time together I could almost read his thoughts. I gave him a nod,
one of those chin jerks that speaks volumes.
Congrats to you, too, asshole.
“You havin’ fun?” a man asked. I looked down to find a
painfully skinny, greasy little man missing half his teeth standing next to me.
Tweaker called Teeny. His face was just a little too eager, his eyes a little
too bright. Unfortunately, Teeny was our host for the night so I had to be nice
to him. We were out in the middle of nowhere, tucked back in a canyon where
this douche had somehow acquired a house. The Longnecks MC—one of our “allies,”
although their loyalty was questionable—had a warehouse set up in a shop right
next to this guy’s house.
This Teeny asshole wasn’t even part of the club . . .
Apparently his brother Bax was patched in, though, so they used him as a pit
stop. Something didn’t quite add up about the situation, but fuck if I cared.
In the morning I’d be riding for home. With luck my future association with the
state of California in general and Teeny in particular would be extremely
limited.
“See anything you like?” he asked. “That’s my old lady,
there. “You want her? She’s real good, welcome you home right.”
I shrugged, glancing over toward his woman. She was
probably in her midthirties, I decided. Pretty enough, but she had a hard,
tired look around her eyes that didn’t appeal. Not only that, she was wiry and
skinny as fuck. Probably smoking meth to block out the fact that she had to
live with this dickwad.
“No, she’s great but not my type,” I said, casually taking
another drink of tequila. Wasn’t burning so much now, which in retrospect
should’ve been a sign to slow down. Maybe things would’ve turned out different.
Shitty thing about time—only runs the one direction.
“What’s your type?” he asked. I shrugged. The day I needed
some tweaker to find me pussy, I’d cut off my own cock and get it over with.
Swallowing another drink, I glanced across the room, pointedly ignoring him.
That’s when I saw her.
Now, I fuckin’ hate clichés, and shit like this only
happens in movies . . . but I swear to fuck, I think I fell for her in that
instant. She was small, with long brown hair in one of those knot things on top
of her head. Not dressed to show off her figure, either. I could still see she
had a tiny waist, though, along with generous tits and the kind of round,
healthy curves you just know will cradle your hips perfectly when you’re
pounding her.
I had to have her.
Like, needed her. Now.
“Good call,” Teeny said. I ignored him, focusing on the
angel I had every intention of owning just as soon as I talked her out of her
pants. God, she was pretty. Kind of out of place, too. Not flirting with
anyone, and not a ton of makeup. Just wandering around, picking up empties, and
avoiding conversation. Fascinating.
“I’ll introduce you.”
Teeny walked across the room toward my Dream Fuck. I
started after him, because I didn’t want the asshole speaking on my behalf.
Then Boonie caught my arm.
“Heads‑up,” he said, his voice pitched low, difficult to
hear through the noise of the party. “We think somethin’s going on with that
guy. Don’t be afraid to talk him up, okay? Can always use good information.”
I nodded, wondering why the fuck Teeny had to pick me to
buddy up with. Tonight was for relaxing, enjoying myself. Just looking at him
made me feel dirty, and considering some of the shit I’ve pulled in my life,
that’s an accomplishment. Another hand slapped my back, then Painter caught me
by the neck, squeezing me as he laughed.
“Never ends,” he said. “Boonie cock-blocking you?”
I punched him in the gut—not hard. Just enough to make him
back off.
“No, right now you
have that honor,” I muttered, glaring at him. “Christ, we just spent a year
together in a fuckin’ cell. Think we’ve covered everything, so let me get laid?
Please?”
He answered by punching me back, and I reeled . . . damn,
hadn’t realized how drunk I’d gotten. Still, I wasn’t about to go down easy. I
swayed, watching him as our brothers started crowding around us. The wild gleam
in his eyes—a mixture of almost manic happiness and pent‑up energy—matched my
own.
“Take it outside,” Boonie said. “I got fifty on Puck.”
“Hundred on Painter,” Picnic Hayes, the Reapers’
president, answered and then we were bundled outside for the fight.
I couldn’t wait.
We’d sparred before, of course. Nothing but time to kill
in the pen, so I knew Painter’s moves like they were my own— and he knew mine,
too. We were a good match, could go either way. Neither of us had much in the
way of formal training but we’d both picked up a fair amount along the way.
Hell, I’d gotten caught in my first bar fight when I was fourteen years old,
seeing as my pop wasn’t exactly Father of the Year material. Still loved the
old bastard, though.
The sun was fading as we stepped outside, painting the sky
in pinks and oranges shot through with smudged clouds. I paused a moment,
struck by the incredible beauty all around me, and smiled, breathing deep. So
fucking good to be outside again. Nobody knows what it’s like, trapped in a
cell like an animal. Nobody but the guys who’ve heard the sound of those gates
closing behind them.
Fortunately for me, I wasn’t exactly the first Silver
Bastard to do time for the club, which meant my brothers got me. They knew what
this was like.
“Okay, we got a circle here,” Pic was saying. I blinked,
starting to process the fact that maybe boxing with Painter while I was drunk
might not be such a hot idea. Of course, he was drunk, too, and the booze would
numb the pain . . . “Fight goes until one of you is down or taps out. Time to
make your bets, brothers.”
Boonie caught my arm, pulling me to the side and looking
into my face.
“You ready?” he asked. I nodded sharply, because drunk or
not, I wasn’t going to pussy out in front of my president on the same day I got
my colors. I glanced across the dusty circle to see Painter, who gave me a
friendly sneer. Laughing, I flipped him off, then shook my arms out, loosening
up.
That’s when I saw her again. Off to the side, standing
next to Teeny, who was talking rapidly and pointing to me. I frowned, because I
really didn’t need or want that asshole on my side. Knowing my luck, the fucker
would send her running. I nudged my brother, Deep, who was standing next to me.
“See that girl?” I asked, jerking my chin toward her.
“Make sure Teeny doesn’t scare her off, okay?”
“Sure,” he said. “I’ll keep an eye out.”
“Thanks.”
Painter and I stepped into the circle together, and I felt
the thrill of adrenaline cut through the haze of alcohol. My blood started
pumping, pounding through me until I could all but taste it. Christ, but I
loved to fight. Always seemed to clear my head, and I’d gotten good enough over
the years that I won more than I lost. Inside, those skills had saved our
asses, and I’d picked up my fair share of pointers from the very man I found
myself facing.
Painter moved first, coming in with an experimental jab
toward my stomach. This wasn’t a real attack, just him testing my limits. I’d
had a lot to drink, which would slow my reflexes. So had he. That changed the
baseline, something we both needed to feel out.
“Can’t believe they gave you a top rocker,” he said,
taunting me.
I grinned.
“Try harder, old man. I know you too well.”
Painter laughed, then came at me again, suddenly. He
punched me square in the stomach and I doubled over. Shit. I fell back and
almost stumbled out of the ring, catching myself at the last minute. I heard
the shouts of my brothers urging me on.
Oh, hell no.
No fucking way I’d lose a fight tonight. Painter could
fuck right off, because he’d had his colors for years. This was my night. I owned this bitch and he’d
just have to suck it up and deal.
Still staggering, I lurched forward toward him like I was
out of control. Then I attacked, and this time I caught him. One hit, two.
Three. Right in the gut. Painter gasped and I moved in for the kill.
Somehow he pulled himself together, catching me across the
chin. My entire head rattled as I staggered to the side. I felt blood in my
mouth, then found a loose tooth with my tongue.
Asshole.
I thought of the pretty girl I’d just seen, which pissed
me off. The anger was good. Cleared my head. Didn’t matter if I won or not, she
wouldn’t want to suck face with someone bleeding like a stuck pig. This wasn’t
a fight—it was a cock-block.
Time to end it.
Painter waited for me, swaying. I’d gotten him pretty
good.
He was definitely favoring his left hand, which was great
news because he was left-handed. Lucky me. I was ambidextrous.
I launched myself at him, turning that to my advantage.
He tried to block me but his arm was weak. I landed a blow
to his gut followed by one that caught the side of his cheek. Pain seared
through my hand, parting the fog of alcohol.
“Dick,” he managed to gasp as I danced back, flexing my
fingers. That last one had been bad—if I’d been any more off-center, I’d have a
fist full of broken bones.
“You got him,” Boonie shouted. I stretched my hand again.
Did I want to risk another head blow? I hadn’t even wrapped my knuckles. . .
Fuck it.
I caught his chin again and Painter went down, falling
hard. Blood dribbled from his nose and for long seconds I wondered if I’d
actually hurt him for real.
Then he managed to roll onto his stomach, tapping out and
flipping me off, all in one gesture.
“Congrats on getting your colors, Puck,” he groaned. “I’ll
give you this one. Enjoy it while you can because next time I’m killing you.”
I staggered back, grinning and raising my hands once I
realized he wasn’t seriously hurt. It’d been a lucky shot and we both knew
it—we were well matched, could’ve gone either way. As I heard my brothers
shouting in victory I didn’t care. This was my night. I had my freedom and my
patch.
Still needed that girl, though.
I looked around and spotted her standing next to Deep. Teeny
stood on the other side of him, looking all sorry for himself. She was hugging
herself with both arms, obviously nervous, and I felt my smile fade. Shit. I
hadn’t wanted her scared. I shook my head, wishing things weren’t moving so
fast. Waving off the men crowding around me, I headed toward her, half
expecting her to run off.
She didn’t, though.
As I came to a stop in front of her, she gave me a
wavering smile, then spoke. “Can I help you find another drink?”
“Fuck yeah.”
I took her arm and pulled her into my side, exchanging a
satisfied look with Deep.
“Let me know if you need anything!” Teeny yelled after us,
and
I felt the girl shudder.
“Christ, but he’s a nasty little shit, isn’t he?” I asked
her conversationally, and she gave a startled snort of laughter. I liked the
sound. Sweet and sort of innocent. Made my dick happy, that was for sure.
Still, I didn’t want to fuck things up and push her too hard, because the
skittish vibes were intense.
“Yeah, he is,” she agreed quietly, and I leaned down to
kiss the top of her head. She smelled good—fresh and clean, just like I’d been
fantasizing all those months inside. Fresh and clean and perfect.
I wondered what she’d taste like.
“They’re lighting a fire out back,” she told me, her voice
soft. “By the kegs. Maybe we should go over there?”
Hmmm . . . I could work with that.
“Okay.”
She tried to pull away from me then, but I caught her hand
playfully, tugging her back toward me.
“I can’t get you a beer if you don’t let me go,” she
pointed out.
Fuck. She was right. Still, I wasn’t about to let her get
away that easy—knowing my luck, Painter’d swoop in and take her, just to fuck
with my head. If anyone could pull it off, he could. Fucker was pretty in his
own weird way—even I could see it. I couldn’t compete, not with the nasty scar
on my face.
I’d just have to keep a close eye on her, I decided.
Protect what was mine.
* * *
An hour later I found myself leaning back against the wall
of the house, wondering how I’d gotten so lucky. My girl’s name was Becca, and
she was rapidly turning into my all-time favorite female. Not that we’d talked
much—she was pretty quiet. But she was soft and warm, and now I had her tucked
between my legs, leaning back against me.
“Skittish” hadn’t been the right word for her, either.
She’d been nervous as hell, so nervous I’d been afraid at first she’d pull a
runner on me. Beer helped with that, and now she was relaxed into me, eyes
closed, head turned toward my chest so that my chin brushed her forehead. I’d
have said she was asleep if it wasn’t for the little noises she made every time
my fingers circled her nipples under her shirt, or slid down her stomach.
We’d pushed up the bra about ten minutes ago, and I’d
explored down below just enough to know she wasn’t sopping wet for me yet . . .
but she was getting there. This was a good thing, because my dick was harder
than a rock and ready for more. I shifted my hips, sliding my erection against
her back, and groaned.
Feeling her up in the firelight was great, but time to
move things along.
I pulled out one hand, catching her chin and tilting it up
for a kiss. God, she was sweet. She tasted like sunshine and beer, with a hint
of tequila mixed in for good measure. I could tell she didn’t have a ton of
experience, because when I slid my tongue into her mouth she wasn’t quite sure
what to do with her own.
Turned me on in a big way, gotta admit.
“Becca, you should take him on upstairs, don’t you think?”
Teeny’s voice cut through the kiss, and Becca stiffened.
She pulled away from me, shutting down so hard I could practically feel the
arctic chill. Fuck. For an instant I
gave serious consideration to killing Teeny. It’d taken me nearly an hour to
get her to this point, and he was not
going to fuck it up for me.
I stared him down, eyes narrow.
“Is there a reason you’re talking to her?”
He smirked.
“Just making sure it’s all good here.”
“Go away.”
“Take him upstairs, Becca.” If anything, she got more
tense, and I groaned. Sure, I could just go find someone else. But I didn’t
want anyone else, and this asshole was ruining things for me. I wrapped my arms
around her and pulled her into me, tight, making it clear that she didn’t need
to worry about Teeny.
“Now would be a real good time to disappear,” I told him,
my voice full of a quiet menace designed to convey one message—fear. Becca
shivered, which pissed me off. Been hard enough to get through to her, and now
she had to see this. “Otherwise I’ll make it happen. Got me?”
Boonie came to stand next to us.
“We got a problem here?” he asked.
“No,” Teeny said, glaring at me and Becca. Then he turned
and scuttled off like the fucking roach he was. She shivered, and I rubbed my
hands up and down her arms.
“Don’t worry, babe,” I told her absently. “Thanks,
Boonie.”
“No prob,” he muttered looking after Teeny. “Glad we’re
leaving in the morning. There’s something wrong here—been a very educational
trip.”
I nodded, although I didn’t have the full story. They’d
fill me in later, so until then I’d just follow Boonie’s lead.
“Let’s go inside,” Becca said. “Find some privacy.”
She pulled free and stood up. This startled me, but I
wasn’t exactly unhappy about the development. I lurched off-balance as I rose,
and things were a little hazy around the edges. Wasn’t messing with my dick,
though, so all good where it counted. She led me into the house and up the
stairs to a small room in the back. It had a twin-size bed that was rumpled and
stained. There was a puddle of beer spilled on the floor next to a turned-over
bottle. More cups and bottles littered the area, and an ashtray was half full
on the bedside table.
“Guess we aren’t the first ones looking for some privacy,”
I commented, but I didn’t really care. Nope. I just shut the door and locked
it. When I turned back, she’d already stripped down to her bra, and was busy
unzipping her jeans.
Holy shit.
Becca was gorgeous.
I mean, I’d seen how pretty she was outside, but those
sweet little boobs I’d been groping the last hour were even more perfect than
I’d imagined. Somehow the fact that a plain cotton bra cradled them just
enhanced the experience. Then she slid her pants off and I nearly died because
I’d never seen anything sexier. I wanted to tie her down and take possession of
every hole in her body. Twice.
Becca saw it all written in my face—clearly it scared her.
She took a step back, and held up a hand. A deeply disturbing question
flickered through my foggy brain.
“Are you a virgin?” I asked, the words tasting strange in
my mouth. She gave a harsh laugh, then shook her head.
“No, I’m not a virgin.”
She reached behind to unhook her bra and I saw her nipples
for the first time. Pink and pointy and gorgeous, exactly the right size for my
mouth . . . I stepped toward her and she surprised me, dropping to her knees
and reaching for my fly.
“How long has it been?” she asked, her voice almost
businesslike. I groaned as she pushed down my jeans and briefs, cock springing
free. I’d never been harder—wasn’t entirely sure I’d survive the next ten
minutes. Fuck, would I even last ten
minutes? Then her hand wrapped around me and I closed my eyes, reaching out to
lean against the wall because otherwise I would’ve fallen flat on my ass.
She started out slow and steady, wrapping her fingers
around me and rubbing up and down. After a minute she paused. I opened my eyes
to see her peeking up at me as she licked her palm, looking older and more
seductive than I’d pegged her before. Fuck. Fuck. Then her other hand reached
down to cup my balls as she started working me again with all ten fingers.
I gasped, falling into the sensation again. Definitely
wouldn’t be lasting that long, I realized. No way. But that was just fine,
because tonight I had a lot more than one load saved up and ready to go.
“Use your mouth.”
She obeyed, opening up and taking me in, her tongue
flicking at me expertly. Almost too expertly . . . weird, and a little
surprising, given how she kissed. Then she sucked me deeper and I stopped
thinking at all. Everything was warm and wet and fucking perfect.
Thirty seconds later I blew up in her mouth without
warning. Hell, it caught me off
guard, it happened so fast, and I cringed. Reaching down, I caught her hair in
my hand, pulling out the rubber band holding it so the long, brown strands fell
around her face. She stood, wiping her face with the back of her hand, soft
brown eyes meeting mine.
She looked like an innocent little angel again.
“Becca, that was . . .” I didn’t have the words. God, I’d
missed sex. Real sex, not just jacking off in my hand. Nothing in the world
quite as sweet as the feel of hot wet woman wrapped around my dick.
She turned away, reaching down to grab a half-empty fifth
of rotgut vodka off the bedside table, taking a big drink, and swishing it
around her mouth. Then she spat it out on the floor so it mingled with the
pooled beer before taking another swig.
Okay, not a total angel.
I reached out, and Becca handed the bottle to me
wordlessly. Then she slid off her plain cotton panties and laid back on the
bed.
“You ready?” she asked. I drank deep, my head spinning
because I’d never been more ready for anything in my life. She didn’t look
ready, though. Her eyes were distant, and when I kicked off my pants and
stepped between her legs, I could see her body wasn’t with me, either.
Fortunately I knew how to fix that.
Pulling off my cut, I looked for somewhere safe to put it.
The only available flat surface was the little table, but in the back corner
was one of those hanging racks with some clothes on it. I walked over and
grabbed a hanger, hung up the leather vest, and turned back to Becca.
She’d closed her eyes, and I’d have thought she was asleep
if I didn’t know better. Fuck, maybe she’d passed out.
“You awake?”
She nodded her head.
“Yeah, just sort of drunk,” she muttered. “Don’t worry
about it.”
Shrugging, I pulled off my shirt, then knelt down beside
the bed and caught her legs up and over my shoulders. She squawked as I spread
her pussy lips, giving her a long lick straight up to her clit.
“What are you doing?” she demanded, suddenly awake and
alert. I licked her again, and Becca squirmed and gasped as her little nub
started to harden for me. Nice. “Oh my God! I can’t believe how good that feels
. . .”
She fell back on the bed as I got going. I love pussy. Of
course, most men do, but not all of them love going down on a nice, juicy cunt
as much as me. I licked and tickled, every once in a while giving a little nip
as Becca came to life under me. I think she was trying to keep still at first,
but no way was I having any of that shit. Nope. I wanted her soaking wet and
screaming, because I planned to ride her hard the rest of the night.
Then I slid two fingers deep inside, searching for just
the right spot as I sucked on her clit like candy. Found it on the first try,
and she blew up around me, crying out and sobbing. I pulled away, grabbing a
chunk of loose sheet to wipe off my mouth, and she moaned, little shivers
running through her body.
I’d been hard for her before—almost constantly, even right
after I’d come in her mouth—but that was nothing compared to my cock now. Fluid
seeped from the tip, and I reached across the floor for my pants, pulling out a
condom. Along the way the vodka caught my eye and I took another drink,
following her lead as I swished out my mouth and spat on the floor.
The place was truly disgusting, but I’d spent fourteen
months in prison so a little filth was the least of my concerns. Tilting back
my head, I sucked down the rest of the booze, swaying as I stood. I caught her
under the arms and scooted her up the bed before I slipped on the condom.
Seconds later I pushed deep into her. Fuck, this had been the right call
tonight, because—I shit you not—never felt anything that good before in my
life.
She moaned and I caught her mouth with mine, kissing her
hard and claiming her. This time I didn’t hold back. Nope. I just took as much
as I could, savoring her sweet taste and wondering if she wanted to see Idaho .
. . We’d be leaving in the morning, and the thought of throwing her on the back
of my bike and taking her along worked for me in a big way.
Then she squeezed down on me hard and I stopped thinking
altogether.
* * *
We slept for a while. Maybe we passed out. Dunno. Same
difference. When I woke up, Becca was tucked into my side, one leg thrown over
mine. Her hair trailed across my chest and her breath tickled my skin.
That’s all it took.
I rolled her over onto her stomach, sliding a pillow under
her hips and spreading her legs before grabbing a condom. She murmured, not
really talking, but the sounds coming out of her mouth weren’t unhappy when I
found her clit again. Seconds later I pushed into her. I’m sure some
man—somewhere in history—had enjoyed the feel of a woman’s cunt more than I did
in that moment. Hard to imagine how, though.
I’d taken off the edge earlier and now that I had her nice
and warmed up, I was ready to do this thing for real. Grabbing her hips, I
pulled back and slammed deep. Becca screamed and stiffened, now well and truly awake.
Fuck, so hot and slick . . . I started pumping in and out of her hard, loving
how she convulsed around me. Her arms reached out, clawing the sheets, and I
lowered myself across her back, using my knees to spread her legs out even
wider. Then I caught her hands in mine, nipping at the back of her neck before
groaning into her ear.
“Reach down below and finger your clit.”
“I can’t,” she gasped. I paused, catching her hand and
shoving it down beneath her stomach as I lifted my weight. We found her clit together,
then I shoved back into her roughly.
“Oh my God . . .” she moaned. “That’s incredible.”
Damn straight.
“Now keep it there,” I ordered. “You’re going to come for
me at least twice, got it?”
She nodded into the sheets and I pulled my hand free, bracing
myself as I started moving again. It wasn’t gentle, but that was okay because I
felt how wet and slick she was around me. Tight, too. Even better than I’d
imagined back in my cell, and I have a hell of a good imagination. I leaned up
on my elbows, catching her hair and jerking it back because I get off on that
shit. Each twist of my hips took me closer, and when she started convulsing
around me and crying, I nearly lost it. Not quite, though. I wasn’t finished.
Mouth. Cunt. Ass.
I’d planned it all out in my head, dreamed about it for
months . . . Now I finally had the staying power to finish it. As she shuddered
and trembled, I pulled free and sat back on my heels. Becca’s ass spread wide
in front of me, and I smiled because it was fucking gorgeous. Heart shaped,
pretty. Not too big, but not fucking skinny and nasty like a half-starved
donkey, either.
Christ, I wanted to fuck her there.
My cock was still wrapped tight and dripping with her
juices, but I spat into my hand a couple times for good measure, slathering it
on for a little extra lube. Then caught her hips and pulled her up and onto her
knees.
“Brace yourself.”
She nodded, stretching out her arms in front of her like a
cat, which was cute but totally inadequate under the circumstances. I caught her
hair again, yanking her head to the side. Becca gasped.
“I said brace yourself,” I repeated. “Gonna fuck your ass
now.”
She squawked, and her entire body stiffened.
“That a problem?” I asked. She shook her head quickly.
“No, do it.”
Shit, could she sound less enthusiastic? I stilled,
realizing my prison dream girl might not be up for the full porno fantasy in
living color. Fuck.
“It’s okay,” I said, pulling back. I closed my eyes,
running a hand through my hair and shuddering. I’d just fuck her cunt some
more. I could do that. Then she shocked the hell out of me by reaching around
behind to grab my cock. She pushed back with her hips, awkwardly trying to
guide me to her asshole, which was funny and pathetic at the same time.
Because I’m a shitty human being, I went for it. Not a
complete dick, though. I could see the tension radiating off her.
“You never done this before?” I asked her. She shook her
head violently, not looking at me.
“Okay, we’ll go slow.”
She nodded this time, but she still didn’t give me her
eyes. It bothered me for some reason, although why, I had no fucking idea. I
dug my fingers deep into her hair, twisting her head around enough to kiss her.
Hard. My tongue dug deep, forcing her to kiss me back and, I shit you not, I
felt like fireworks were going off in my head. Clichéd as all fuck, but there
you have it. After long seconds we came up for air, and I stared into her eyes,
seeing how her pupils grew wide.
Slowly, steadily I found her opening with my cockhead,
pushing in as she gasped.
“You okay?”
“I’m fine,” she said, eyes wide, her lips trembling. I
held her there, my heart beating so hard I thought it might come right out of
my chest as I pushed down deep. She was tight—really tight. Sure as hell hadn’t
been lying when she’d said she’d never done this before. I sank into her for
what felt like forever before I hit bottom, balls resting against her pussy.
Her heartbeat pulsed around my cock and I realized that I would be happy to die
in that moment. That’s how good it
was.
Becca closed her eyes and turned her face into the covers,
spasming around me. I didn’t like the position—I wanted to watch her face— but
she seemed to need some privacy. I got it. I’ve never been a nice, vanilla kind
of guy, but this was a different kind of intensity than even I was used to. No
screaming, no scratching, no fighting with each other until we both lost our
minds . . . No, this was powerful on a whole new level, and looking into her
eyes the whole time was probably too much for me, too.
I pulled back out, then slid in again. She gasped.
“Play with your clit some more.”
She nodded without speaking, burrowing her hand back down
until she found her target. I started moving, going slowly and carefully at
first. But it felt really good, and I’ve never been one to take things slow and
careful.
Looking back, I can’t decide if that’s when things really
fell to shit, or if they’d been falling to shit all along and I was just too
stupid to see it. Never have figured that one out, but what happened next was
not my finest hour. I started moving faster. It felt fucking amazing. She felt fucking amazing. Then I was
pounding her and she was shuddering and I thought she was coming and it was
perfect.
Becca sobbed suddenly. Loud. Not a pretty crying kind of
noise, and not one of those moans bitches give when they’re getting off so hard
they can’t quite control themselves.
No.
This was the kind of noise a puppy makes when you kick it,
and I felt it all the way down to my gut like a knife ripping me open.
Big. Fucking. Mistake.
I pulled out and caught her up and into my arms. She
flinched and I hated myself, because even like that she was soft and pretty and
I just wanted to keep nailing her ass. Becca knew it, too, because she tried to
pull away from the press of my cock against her back. More sobs escaped and
tears rolled down her face and I knew for a fact that I’d burn in hell for
this.
Rubbing her head, I tried to think of soothing noises.
Instead I was full of questions. Why had she let me do it?
‘Cause you’re a pushy, scary bastard.
Fuck.
“I’m sorry,” I told her, my head starting to spin.
Shouldn’t have drunk so much. I had no idea what time it was, no idea how long
we’d been up here . . . I heard noises outside, the sounds of music and the
party still going, but that didn’t mean much. A good party could last all night
and into the next morning.
“It’s okay,” she finally managed to whisper, and I bit
back a harsh laugh because that was a huge fucking lie and we both knew it.
Then she did something that blew me away. Becca turned in my arms and pushed me
down onto my back. Seconds later she had the condom off and was sucking me deep
again, which made no fucking sense at all.
Unfortunately my dick wasn’t the sensitive, caring type
because it really didn’t care that she was clearly so scared and drunk off her
ass she’d lost touch with reality.
I could’ve stopped her.
I should’ve stopped
her.
Instead I sank my fingers into her hair and blew up into
her mouth and it was even better than the first time. The room was seriously
spinning all around me as she tucked into my arm and stroked my chest.
“Tell him I did
good, okay?” she whispered. “Just tell him I did good. Please?”
I passed out, wondering what the fuck she was talking
about.
* * *
My bladder was about to explode.
Needed to pee. Maybe rinse out my mouth, too, because it
tasted like something died in there and that was not an exaggeration. Shifting,
I realized that Becca was still tucked into me, sleeping heavily. I managed to
crack my eyes open, blinking. Faint light was creeping in through the window,
although even now I could still hear music down below.
Great. Gonna be a long ride home with no sleep. Sliding
carefully out from under Becca, I stood and pulled on my pants. My shirt had
fallen into the sticky puddle of beer and vodka, so I stumbled out of the room
half naked. The door across the hall was locked, although from the smell it had
to be the bathroom—either that or people had started pissing and vomiting in
the bedrooms, which I supposed wasn’t entirely impossible. Felt great to be
back with my brothers, but our hosts kind of sucked ass. Bunch of assholes and
meth heads, so far as I could tell. No wonder Boonie didn’t trust them.
I walked down the stairs into the living room, where
despite the fact that music still blared, people were passed out all over the
place. My brother Deep leaned back against the bar separating the living room
from the kitchen area, arms crossed, a look of faint disgust on his face.
“Hey,” I said, keeping my voice low.
“You look like death. Have fun up there?”
I shrugged, feeling like an asshole.
“She’s perfect,” I said. “But I think I hurt her.”
His eyes narrowed.
“We got a situation? Should I go get Boonie?”
Shit.
“No, not like that,” I said quickly. “I mean, I think I
pushed her too far. Tried to fuck her ass, and it didn’t go over so well. She’s
okay, but I still feel like a douche.”
“We got a girl who’s gonna cry rape?” he asked quickly,
and I snorted.
“Probably should,” I replied. “She told me to do it,
though. Afterward she sucked me off. Feels wrong, somehow.”
“You want another drink?” I turned to see Teeny standing
there, his beady eyes bright and full of something I couldn’t quite follow.
God, I hated him—he was like a cockroach that wasn’t smart enough to stay out
of the light.
Anger replaced my disgust. He needed to leave me the fuck
alone.
“Are you serious?” I asked him, turning and cracking my
knuckles. The fight with Painter had taken off my edge, but it’d come back
again as I told Deep about Becca. Hitting someone— anyone—would feel good, but
hitting this guy? That’d be a flat-out pleasure. “God, don’t you ever go away?
Fucking piece of shit!”
I started toward him, but Deep caught my arm, pulling me
back.
“Careful, bro,” he said quietly. “This isn’t about him.
You’re pissed about the girl. Pick your battles, because there’s a lot more
Longnecks than Reapers and Bastards combined. All he did was offer you a
drink.”
Fuck. I breathed deep, looking at the scared little shit
and wishing desperately he’d do something—anything—to give me an excuse to take
him down. My brothers would back me no matter what, but I wasn’t stupid enough
to think there wouldn’t be a price for my actions.
“I’m going back to bed,” I said after a tense minute or
so, pulling free. “Talk to you later, brother.”
Deep nodded, watching Teeny as I turned and stalked back
up the stairs. This time the bathroom door was open. Sure enough, someone had
missed the toilet, and I felt my own stomach heave sympathetically. For a sec
there I thought I might lose it. Then I pulled it together enough to piss
without barfing. Afterward, I turned to look at myself in the mirror. As
always, the face looking back at me was ugly as fuck. Dark, ragged hair. Scar
cutting across my face. Nose that’d been broken at least four times now . . .
Shit, no wonder Becca had been scared of me—I looked like
a fuckin’ serial killer. I wanted to punch the mirror and break it into a
thousand pieces, which would accomplish even less than beating the shit out of
Teeny.
Instead I went back into the room and found her still
sound asleep on the bed. Her skin was pale and fragile, dark shadows ringing
her eyes. Still gorgeous, but younger and more frail-looking now. Christ. What
had I done? I crawled back into bed with her, sure I’d never get to sleep. I’d
underestimated how much booze was still floating around in my system, because
everything went dark again.
* * *
This time the sun was bright and harsh. I blinked, trying
to remember where I was . . . Then it all came back and I looked around,
wondering where my girl went.
Shit. Becca was gone.
What the hell really happened last night?
I sat up, spotting my
colors hanging from a rack next to . . . school uniforms? Fuck, some kid must
live in this room, I realized. That’d suck, coming home to a mess like this. I
turned and lowered my feet on the far side of the bed, figuring I’d open the
window to air things out, check the lay of the land in the process. I stepped
on a pile of books, which fell over. I reached down to pick one up.
Textbook.
I picked up another. Shit, it was another textbook, and
under that was a notebook. That’s when I started to get a very bad feeling in
the pit of my stomach—something I wouldn’t have pegged as possible, given how
shitty I already felt about how the night had played out.
The notebook opened in my hands, and I saw the name Becca Jones written on the top of the
front page, along with English: First
Period and the date.
Below were notes.
Maybe she was in college, I thought desperately. Please,
fuck . . . let her be in college. A piece of colored paper fell to the ground,
and I dropped the notebook to pick it up.
What I saw nearly made me throw up.
It was a flyer for a dance—a high school dance.
Becca was still in school. Jailbait. The fuck? It didn’t add up . . . Then her last words to me sank in,
and it all added up far too well.
“Tell him I did good, okay? Just tell him
I did good. Please?”
* * *
I flew down the stairs half dressed, my boots thudding
loudly. My shirt was filthy from her floor, but my cut was still fine—safe and
sound after a night spent hanging next to Becca’s little school dresses.
Fucking piece of shit pimp Teeny.
Had to be him.
This was his house. Who the hell was she? His kid? What
the fuck kind of asshole pimped out his own daughter? But shit, I guess it
happened all the time, all over the world. About halfway down I heard her
scream, which should’ve woken up everyone all over the goddamned house. Most of
them were still passed out drunk, though. I heard more shouts outside and knew
my brothers were probably coming.
That turned out to be a good thing, because I came damned
close to ending a man’s life that day—fucking craptastic way to start parole .
. .
Teeny stood in the center of the kitchen, Becca huddled at
his feet as he kicked her. Then he whacked her across the head with a fucking
soup pot, of all things, and I lost my shit.
“You cocksucking asshole!” I shouted, launching myself at
him.
“Fucking twat! I’ll kill you!”
My fists destroyed his face with a crunch. It felt good—
cathartic.
He fell like a bag of concrete and some part of my brain
noted vaguely that Becca was scrabbling away from us, chunks of her long hair
torn loose and left on the floor. Blood, too. Another woman shouted and tugged
at her, but I didn’t turn to look.
Nope. I had work to do.
Specifically, I needed to kill Teeny with my bare hands.
Then I’d tear him apart and eat his heart. Raw. He screamed like a bitch the
whole time, and I heard Boonie yelling in the background. Then they hauled me
off his ass, kicking and fighting because I’d well and truly lost my shit.
“What the fuck is happening here?” Picnic Hayes demanded.
Beside him stood one of the Longnecks, a guy who looked a fuckuva lot like
Teeny and I realized this must be the brother who was part of the club. Bax.
Bax wasn’t a happy camper. Fair enough. I was pretty
fucking unhappy myself.
Teeny moaned on the floor, rolling onto his back, and I
spat at him. Then I heard a sobbing noise—one that’d already been burned into
my brain. Becca was crying, and I looked over to find her huddled up against
Teeny’s old lady.
Shit. I hadn’t seen it before because the woman was so
nasty and used up, but under that scrawny, tweaker body was an older copy of
Becca. Had to be her mother . . . Even with the meth eating her, though, she
seemed too young. If that was the mother, she must’ve had Becca really fucking
early.
“She his daughter?” I asked her, my voice like a knife.
The woman shook her head quickly, lips quivering. “You let him pimp her out?”
She looked away.
“Damn,” Picnic said. “This is a hell of a clusterfuck.”
“I’m not leaving her here. He’ll kill her.”
Pic shook his head slowly, thoughtfully, but I could see
it in his face—he knew I was right.
“Yeah, she can come with us,” he said. “You up for that,
Boon?”
My president nodded, eyes never leaving the huddled mass
of blood and human filth crying on the floor.
“We’ll head out in twenty minutes,” Boonie said
decisively. “Anyone got a problem with that?”
He looked around the room in challenge, and several of the
Longnecks glanced away—apparently they weren’t going to stand up for Teeny.
Said a hell of a lot about them in general and Teeny in particular. I mean, I
was glad that we weren’t fighting our way out, but that’s just pathetic. They
were happy to party with him. When it came time to take his back, they were
out.
“C’mon, let’s go upstairs and grab some of your shit,” I
said to Becca, reaching toward her. She gave a little scream and pushed back
with her feet, sliding across the floor to get away from me. Fuck.
“I’ll get her ready,” her mother said suddenly. Her voice
quavered, but her eyes were resolute as they met mine. “She’ll go with you—just
get her away from here. He’ll hurt her bad for this. Real bad.”
I nodded, watching as she drew her daughter to her feet,
then pushed her toward the stairwell.
“Jesus, you can sure pick ’em,” Boonie said. “How old you
think she is?”
“She’s still in high school,” I said, my voice grim.
“Fairly certain I’m up for statutory if this goes down wrong.”
“Damn,” Painter said, coming up behind me. “That’s fast
work—usually takes a little longer to violate parole, bro.”
I met his gaze, and for once his face didn’t hold even a
hint of mockery. Fuck. This was really bad.
“Outside,” Picnic said sharply. “Horse, Ruger—you stay
here. Make sure the girl gets out safe, okay?”
He caught my arm and pulled me toward the door. Boonie
flanked us, and I sensed real danger beneath their calm expressions. We walked
over to the bikes as the others scrambled to grab their shit and pack up.
“I won’t leave her,” I told them again. “I know she’s
scared of me, but I don’t give a fuck. That girl’ll die if she stays here.”
“Not gonna leave her,” Pic said. “But we do need to get
out fast, before they have time to figure out what happened and get pissed off.
They decide to fight for her, things’ll get ugly. Not sure we can take ’em.”
“Thanks for standing with me.”
Boonie snorted.
“You’re our brother, Puck,” he said, his voice casual.
“This is what we do. You went down for us, you think we aren’t prepared to do
the same for you? Now pull your shit together. We can put the girl in the truck
with the prospects, or you can take her on your bike. No time to fuck around.”
* * *
Fifteen minutes later, I watched as Horse, Becca, and her
mom walked out of the house. At least thirty members of the Longnecks MC stood
watching, talking quietly among themselves. I kept waiting for one of them to
reach for a gun or challenge us, but they didn’t.
No sign of Teeny.
Becca had stopped crying, but her face was still covered
in tear-smeared blood, and nasty bruises were popping up all over. Her breath
sounded wheezy, too, and I hoped to hell she didn’t have broken ribs.
“I don’t want to
go,” she whispered, catching at her mom’s arm. “I want to stay with you.”
“You’re getting out,” the woman replied, her eyes hard and
calculating. “Let him cool off, then we’ll talk. Figure something out.”
Becca shook her head, but when I caught her arm gently she
let me pull her away.
“You want to ride in the truck or on my bike?”
Becca glanced at the truck, eyes widening at the sight of
two Reaper prospects. “I’ll stay with you.”
I nodded and climbed on my bike, eyes alert as I monitored
our audience. She climbed up behind me, and then her mother gave a satisfied
nod. Becca wrapped her arms around me and I felt her tits press tight against
my back. My cock stirred to life. What the fucking hell was wrong with me?
“How old are you?” I asked, my voice low.
“Sixteen.”
Shit.
“Like, you’re almost seventeen?”
“No, I turned sixteen last week.”
Double shit.
Boonie kicked his bike to life, and we followed his lead,
pulling away from the house in formation.
So that’s the story of how I committed
statutory rape less than twenty-four hours out of prison—on my birthday, no
less. In retrospect, I probably should’ve stayed inside, served out my full
five-year term. Would’ve been less work for everyone.
Meet Puck & Becca on April 7th!
Amazon US: http://amzn.to/1L800mj
Amazon
UK: http://amzn.to/1Jo5nlE
Barnes &
Noble: http://bit.ly/19pOdnS
Blurb
First in the new Silver Valley series from the New York Times bestselling author of the
Reapers Motorcycle Club Novels.
Fourteen months. For fourteen months, Puck Redhouse sat in
a cell and kept his mouth shut, protecting the Silver Bastards MC from their
enemies. Then he was free and it was time for his reward--full membership in
the club, along with a party to celebrate. That's when he saw Becca Jones for
the first time and set everything in motion. Before the night ended he'd
violated his parole and stolen her away from everything she knew.
Five years. It was five years ago that Puck destroyed
Becca and saved her all in one night. She's been terrified of him ever since,
but she's even more terrified of the monsters he still protects her from... But
Becca refuses to let fear control her. She's living her life and moving
forward, until she gets a phone call from the past she can't ignore. She has to
go back, and there's only one man she can trust to go with her--the ex-con
biker who rescued her once before.
Puck will help her again, but this time it'll be on his
terms. No more lies, no more tears, and no more holding back what he really
wants...
Additional Teaser
About the Author:
Joanna Wylde is a New York Times bestselling author and
creator of the Reapers Motorcycle Club series. She currently lives in Idaho.
THANK
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