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!
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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.
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