Renegade Souls MC

Tracking Luxe – Sneak Peek

Hi, biker babes!

I’ve been busy in the writing cave, and hopefully will have Tracking Luxe for you in November *crosses eyes and toes* more on release date soon.

But here is a scene I posted exclusively in a FB group, but wanted to share with those who didn’t see it yet.

xoxox

 


 

Heat penetrated his ribs, his arm tightened around Luxe. “Hey, love, you’re shaking, you okay?”

“I need….” he heard mumbled into his shirt. Damn she really was trembling now.  Cupping the back of her head, he tipped it up. Every fiber of his body came roaring alive, his dick began to twitch and grow because he recognized the heat in her dark eyes, didn’t he? It was, after all, every fucking thing he was feeling all at once as well. “Tell me what you need,” he grated through clenched teeth, a second away from giving it to her without her saying a word, he crowded her back against the alley wall.

Say it. Say it.

“I need…” she was shaking hard, clutching fingers into his shirt, her gorgeous face angled up. Fuck it. He already knew. She began to rub her little body on him.

Back and forth. Hard, soft. And she moaned. Oh, fuck, did she moan.

Grinder nearly lost his mind, he knew his dick almost begged for her.

“God, baby, don’t tease me.” Tease me, please. Fuck. she’d warned him, hadn’t she? That she was a little tease. Couldn’t say he didn’t know, but here he was on his proverbial knees wanting to lick that wet patch on her little cotton panties, to drag the material tight over her clit making her scream for it. If Grinder didn’t like her already, then watching her palm her own tits just about did it.

I’ll do anything you want. What a fucking jackass he’d been to agree to that because now he was watching the blaze of gloried fire in her thieving eyes. She had him right where she wanted him.

And Grinder loved it.

His cock hurt. But he wanted more of her teasing. There was no way he was yanking his rapt gaze off her.  “You’ve never had a man quite like me. It’s okay to be a little afraid at first.”

Was that a blush he saw? He couldn’t quite tell in this light but he smirked as she laughed in his face. “Dios. What an ego you have. There’s countless men out there like you.”

“Not as special as me, love.”

Their faces drifted closer. Breaths shared. “I need …”

A grunt ripped from him. “I know, Luxe.” Adrenalin was a great motivator for letting the walls down and the sexual longing in. “You wore yourself out resisting me, didn’t you, baby?”

“Just shut up talking, chico. And give me … something. I need it now.”

Bombs went off behind his eyes. Grinder was about to embarrass himself and come in his fancy pants.

Before that could happen, he concentrated fully on the woman in need. “You want a fuck right here, baby?” he would have unzipped for her.

“No.. I …“ her forehead puckered, fingers went back and clutched in his shirt pulling him closer, her hips rubbing on him driving him crazy. “I can’t come that way.”

Everything in him stalled. Eyes didn’t even flicker focusing on her face twisted in want. He cupped the back of her head. “What do you mean?”

“I just need your hand in my panties.”

“Luxe…You’re telling me you’ve never had an orgasm?” incredulity stained his voice.

“I’ve had orgasms. Just never that way.”

“Never?”

Ay dios. What part of never do you not understand? It’s just never happened for me, it’s no big deal.”

Lust swirled around his torso. Made him harder. He wanted to be her first. Possession tripled. “Oh, baby. It’s a big fucking deal, rubbing one out yourself and getting one from a thick cock inside you is a whole other thing.”

Coño, chico. Stop all that talking.” Grinder grinned. That told him. Hungry kisses drew over her cheek. He began to pull up the dress, he traced the back of her panties, moved around the front, found her soaked through the material, oh shit, swallowing a groan when she popped her pelvis forward, seeking what she needed, he edged past the material, found heat.

Jesus Christ. He was ever closer to coming like a teenager.

“Do you hurt between your legs, love?”

“Yes.” she whimpered.

“Ask me to make the ache go away.”

Copyright © 2017 V. Theia. All rights reserved.

TrackingLuxe

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Renegade Souls MC

EXCLUSIVE: Chapter One PREACHER MAN

Hi biker babes!

With the release of Preacher Man only hours away now I wanted to share an exclusive chapter with you all before that dirty biker manwhore is out in the wild. I hope you enjoy his journey with Ruby. For me it was a story of healing, dealing with mental illness and coping with the pressure of grief and learning to lean on someone else, to know the right people will always have your back no matter what. It was a rough road for Preacher and Ruby for a lot of years, until they meet each other and then the epic dirty love began.

—- V. xox

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CHAPTER ONE
“The only good advice my mama gave to me was never eating mayo with fries, and stay away from a man who treats his bike better than you.” – Ruby Steele.

“Hey, God. It’s me, Ruby Steele. I know, it’s been a minute since we last talked, no excuses, I avoided coming back. You got time to chat?” Sitting in the fourth pew from the front of the Gospel Baptist Church in the heart of Armado Springs the dark-haired woman sighed like she had the weight of the world on her slim shoulders. Ruby might as well have for all the good her choices were right now. She had diddly and squat to choose between.
Turning to God in times of need was for the stupid and the desperadoes, both of which she was, but she was out of options and what could it hurt, she’d thought, as she’d turned into the parking lot on a whim. The church was a beacon in the early morning skyline and she’d headed towards it before reasoning had sunk in. Sins clung to her like a rosary bead necklace trapped around her neck.
Sins she could deal with, it was every other problem that weighed her down.
Thanks to the state of the economy Ruby found herself up that proverbial shit creek without a paddle. Not that she minded so much being poor, she could eat ramen morning noon and night, and she wasn’t a MAC freak, didn’t want designer clothes, okay, she did, but was fine living with knockoffs, but no health insurance, for fuck’s sake, thank you, America.
The money she was sending to her sister was drastically going to have to be cut somewhere unless she could find a second job in the next minute that worked around her bar hours.
Praying to God might not be the best solution for time management when she could be home filling out job applications, or better; winning the lotto. But that would mean buying a ticket and really when it came down to it, ramen won out, she was overly fond of eating every day.
Ugh, she hated that despondent feeling that festered in her belly day and night, it was never ending and altogether annoying at the same time, not having a solution plucked from thin air was quickly becoming her least favorite foe.
Now she was turning to Him like the hypocrite Christian she and most of the population was. He only became relevant when people needed something. Healing, wealth, a nice pretty face. She’d make do with the elusive happiness.
Ruby sighed until her lungs were full to the brim of old stale musty church air, a touch of candle wax, incense and pure despair. Sitting back in the pew, the harsh wood bench biting into her butt, she gazed up at the front of the church with the epic sized stained-glass window depicting the last feast, and in front, a wooden statue of the man himself on the cross.
Rather than bringing her any comfort, her belly tightened. Anxiety in 3..2..1.
This was what her life was coming to, expecting miracles in a fucking church.
“I’m not asking for anything for me,” she said finally, looking directly at cedar oak Jesus. Was He listening? Was He even there? Her faith had waned so much, all mixed up in her mind for a long time, but if she didn’t put her problems into the ether so she could focus on what needed to be done then she might go insane.
Not literally insane, because she didn’t have the damn medical cover for that.
Go fricking figure, you even had to have a fat bank account for a six-week stay at the funny farm.
Those celebs with their vacations at rehab didn’t know how good they had it.
Ruby’s desperate plea was made worse by the fact she hadn’t missed going to church. Sure, it was something to do on a Sunday, and she always enjoyed Pastor Danny’s sermons, he was never a fire and brimstone man of God, rather, he spoke of kindness and love to one’s fellow neighbor. But even that was not enough to have her rolling out of bed at the butt-crack of dawn on a Sunday to listen to him, not when she’d worked until four AM. And not when she’d had an existential crisis and lost her faith.
For that reason, He should probably kick her out of His house.
After a long silence staring up at the statue, serene and terrifying, she supposed she best get on with it if she was to use some of her day off to look for second employment. She could hear a vacuum somewhere in the back rooms. But other than that, she was blissfully alone.
“If you have time, do you think you can look in on Sebastian? He’s not having a good time lately and I…” She inhaled, wishing some of the tension on her shoulders would dissipate as easily. “He means everything to me. If you can do something to make it better for him, I’d be grateful and do my best to not be a bad Christian as I have been.” Understatement. Sebastian was her life. God knows what would have happened to her these past six months if she didn’t have him to get out of bed for.
It might be May, but some days it was November again and she was up at that cabin with a psychopath for five long days.
Kyle. She shuddered with revulsion.
What a piece of shit that lunatic had been.
And better off not in her mind. Ruby popped up from her seat, made her way down the pew, only to come face to face with the pastor carrying a stack of bibles in his arms.
Daniel Murphy — Yes, those Murphy’s. Which Murphy’s Ruby was yet to know but it seemed to be a running joke for the Irish-born pastor — was the reverse of what you expect from a man of faith when he looked like Tom Hardy and Chris Hemsworth, on an ugly day, had a very good time together and spawned something very Irish and steeped in religion.
She smiled, hoping to slip out without much conversation because if she knew anything the pastor would use his skilful charm and godly guilt for her to return to church this coming Sunday.
“Can’t stop, pastor Danny. It’s good to see you.”
“That is a shame. It’s been but a minute since we last saw you, Ruby. You are well?”
Internally sighing, she smiled. Caught in the Irish gaze. Who could tell God’s bestie she had things to do without being a rude bitch?
The short answer she couldn’t.
“I am.” Lying to God’s emissary, shit, she really wanted that ticket to hell. “How’s it going with you, still playing the guitar?” It was known Daniel Murphy was a disastrous guitar player, could hardly carry a note, and what notes he did know were never in any order, thrown out at random, but his Armado Springs parishioners adored him so they suffered his musical contributions when the mood struck him.
He grinned a roguish smile that did not belong on his face, more like a movie set. “Aye, that I am, though I have a sneaking suspicion no one has missed me at choir these past weeks.” Rich Irish tones, as if from the valleys of Galway, glided through his amused voice. “Ruby.” That same tone changed to something serious, she saw it wash across his face before he went on. “I couldn’t help but overhear your conversation with Him. I wasn’t eavesdropping but sound travels in a building this old. Is there something I can be doing for you?”
Ruby frowned. That’s the blessing about people of faith, it didn’t matter the time lapse, they would always offer a hand.
The guilt multiplied in her breastbone.
It was on the tip of her tongue to lie and say she was fine and walk on.
What was it her uncle Silas said; God moves in mysterious ways, we often miss the signs for looking. Uncle Silas also said there was always a rattlesnake in the grass, so who could truly believe him.
It couldn’t hurt, maybe this was her sign.
“You seemed troubled. Can I help?”
She’d be there all day if she offloaded her issues to the pastor. Instead she smiled and answered vaguely. “Just dealing with unneeded anger.”
“Ah.” He replied, nodding. “You know, if you hold onto hate, it will eat at you. You alone have the capacity to forgive and to shed angers skin.”
Easier said than done these days.
“If you could put a good word in for me with.” She looked up. Pastor Danny chuckled a deep noise, walking to slot bibles in the pew seats. “I don’t think I’m his favorite person lately.”
“Aye, I can do that, but if you ever took note in Sunday school, Ruby, you would recall He loves all his children every single day through good times and struggles. Don’t underestimate His understanding to know when one of his children steps away for a time and why. And to have the grace and patience awaiting their return.”
A sharpness in her chest caused her to inhale quickly. God 1 – 0 Ruby.
“Surely some of us test that endless patience though?”
He grinned brushing a mop of straight brown hair from his blue eyes. In his simple black clothes and the superhero roguish looks, Pastor Danny was a test of many poor women’s eternal souls.
Fortunate for her she didn’t get even a tingle of attraction in his direction.
“Oh aye, that we do, but He has eternal endurance in these matters.” Beginning her walk back down the aisle, she turned and smiled. “I’ll keep that in mind if I ever rob a bank. Have a nice day, pastor.”
He chuckled, maybe he thought she was joking. “Don’t be a stranger now,” he added and waved her off.
Having done what she set out to do, Ruby was about to head to her car when fluttering paper caught her eye.
She detoured to the right where the bulletin board hung outside. It was used for bake sales, choir practice, or yard sales and lost puppies.
All of which didn’t interest Ruby, what she was hoping to see as her eyes scanned each A4 size notice was a nice fat job that made a thousand bucks an hour.
It could happen. She’d just had words with the big guy.
The way irony works, life screws you over and then you assume it can’t get any worse. Fat chance. Life made her bend over ready to take it up the ass one more time as her eyes drifted to one notice with a photocopied face of a man who instantly turned her blood to ice.
A greasy tension coiled in her belly, that unease she hated, the constant dreaded companion in the back of her mind, not allowing her a full restful night’s sleep in weeks. If she had the time she’d totally give into an anxiety disorder, but as it was too many people relied on her to keep her shit together, so she indulged in marginal freak outs before she pulled up her big girl panties and got on with things.
But this…
It was him.
Oh, god. It was him.
Kyle. That fucking lunatic from her cabin was blazed on a wanted poster. Or more accurately Be on the Lookout poster.
She hadn’t realized she was backing up until the print of the notice became unreadable. She forced her feet to stop, to breathe, to read it again.
He was called Kyle Williams and a biker with the Raging Rebels. Didn’t they sound like a basket of kittens? All bikers should come with warning labels if it was up to her.
She heard about it, of course, the local cops on a wide manhunt for a dangerous guy responsible for the fire and mass murder over in Westbank a few months ago, but it hadn’t penetrated her life so hadn’t given it much thought after that.
What vomit inducing kind of coincidence was it being the same lost hiker she’d helped in the woods that night and paid for it by being raped? Fucking hell. The weight of her baggage was growing heavier by the second. You don’t realize how heavy it is until your back is broken.
Letting air into her lungs, she ripped the poster down and tore it into a million pieces, eradicated that animal for good, let the police catch him, she wasn’t afraid, if anything she was livid. He’d done something terrible for her sympathy in a time she’d wanted peace and quiet, she’d allowed a stranger into her domain because she was always taught to help those less fortunate and how did the fucker repay her, by forcing her to enjoy something no women asks for.
It was that fact that chewed up Ruby’s mind more than anything.
Maybe she was sick in the head.
In any case, she didn’t plan to do anything about this new information.
She had that thousand bucks job to find.
Halfway back to her car an almighty roar drew her attention, recognizing the sound before it came in sight, it was one lone Harley. Ruby felt a clutch catch in her belly when she saw the guy turn slightly. Unable to gauge it was him for sure, but she was sure he swiveled his head and looked her way for a second before he took the curve.
Ridiculous. How would the legendary manwhore Preacher know to gawk at her? All bikers were bad news, she repeated, the Harley thrum drifting off in the distance.
She shrugged and slid into her car, it took three tries before the engine turned over with a lot of coaxing from her to just damn well work already.
Yet another hard-fast reason she needed money five minutes ago.

******

There was no better feeling than to ride up through those steel gates into the Renegade Souls MC compound. Known to his family and ex-army as Asher Priest, but to buddies and club brothers as Preacher, felt the air of satisfaction as he brought his bronze and chrome Harley Davidson FLSTF Fat Boy to a purring stop, his girl had gotten him home on the long journey from Nebraska in record time without one hitch. She deserved the good juice tonight.
But man, was he hurting inside his old bones like a motherfucker.
Friends came out of the bike shop, a thriving business now, slapping his palm in turn, welcoming back their road captain.
“The prodigal bastard returned at long last, what is it, Preach, you went through all the chicks in Lincoln and now there’s a national shortage of orgasms?” Joked Snake, toothpick held in his teeth, eyes lit up with humor as he advanced forward and met Preacher’s outstretched hand. Both men went in for that fast bro-back slap lasting no longer than three seconds because then it was a cuddle fest.
“Something like that,” smirked Preacher. It was far from the truth but he had a reputation and why ruin Snake’s fun. “How’s it been around here? I heard the Russians had gone quiet. Let’s hope they got buried in a snow drift back in the cold country.”
On Snake’s left came Grinder from inside the shop dragging an oil rag over his stained hands, a smile on his bearded face, the familiar black beanie hat on his head. Preacher met him halfway their hands connecting in a loud slap of deep friendship between the two men. “Bro.”
Preacher had missed his boy. Having been in Lincoln Nebraska sorting out some finance issues for the chapter there, technically it was their deal if they were in the red, but Rider being the kind of mother chapter president he was couldn’t and wouldn’t see any part of his club go down the toilet, he’d asked Preacher to take a ride through, this was only the third time he’d been back in Armado Springs Colorado in six months, once for his mom’s birthday, the second time being when Rider called him back for a weekend before Preacher and Red Light came to blows and killed one another.
But enough of that earache in his tired mind the better.
He grinned at his friend, got the lay of the land for a few minutes before he unbuckled his saddlebag and prowled his six-foot-six frame inside the clubhouse.
The usual noises and smells greeted him, like a hug to the face of everything that meant home to him.
Doing the rounds of greetings with more club brothers and prospects, he was dog tired and therefore unaware when a pair of slim arms tackled him from behind, tits and face squashed into his spine.
“Preacher! You’re back!”
“Hey, Marietta, darling.” Untangling himself from the woman he smiled down at her beaming face. Dark hair, tight jeans, and wearing a shirt that said ‘I don’t mind your screaming kids. You don’t mind my dick sucking.’ His lips twitched. “Nice shirt.”
“You like it?” She was a sweet groupie. He couldn’t attest for her dick sucking … that he could remember. “Slider got me it for my birthday. Are you back for good?”
“For now, darling. I’m dead on my feet, catch you later, okay?” He winked and set off to let Rider know he was here before he face-planted directly into his bed. He should ride home and fall into his own bed, and if his legs and brain would get him there he probably would, but his flop here would do.
He caught up with the boss in the kitchen making out with his old lady sat on his lap. Rider and Zara were disgustingly in love he noted, watching them unawares with a grin in his eyes. Good shit had happened to the prez and his old lady the last year, and Preacher was glad for them. Clearing his throat alerted to his presence before a dick was exposed. As he knew, he watched pink fuse onto Zara’s face. It didn’t matter that the entire club had heard the pair going at it like cats in heat, if she was caught making out it embarrassed the hell out of the MC queen. He smiled at her and slapped hands with Rider. “Still knocking around with this one, Z-girl? I thought you would have grown some taste in my absence.”
Always fun to rile the boss who glared at him. Zara chuckled.
Seeing the change in her these past months, there was strength in Zara’s eyes now. Her core was all club queen. Good for her, he thought. He’d known there was a fierce woman underneath her scared skin. And now the cock-for-brains Hades was well and truly out of the picture, thanks to Hawk’s samurai skills with a flick knife.
“Someone had to take him on, Preacher. I volunteered as tribute.” Lifting off Rider’s lap, Preacher was pouring his coffee and caught the tender moment between those two as she kissed Rider’s forehead and murmured something only for her man’s ears. “I’ll leave you boys to your catch up.” Zara touched his arm on her way out and smiled that Icelandic smile of hers. “It’s really good to have you home. Stop by the house, Rider will charcoal you a burger, it’s his new thing.”
“I don’t know whether to punch you for the sickening sight or feel jealous, Prez.”
Rider smiled smugly. Preacher took the bench opposite, not really wanting the coffee, he could hear his bed like a siren, but he had to catch Rider up on everything from Lincoln first.
“You’re a big bastard, but I’ll take you down, Preach.” Unfazed, Rider’s smirk had a give-a-fuck quality about being ragged for his sappy love.
Being hooked to only one woman for the rest of … ever. Talk about your common disease of the dick. Preacher couldn’t comprehend it, not when there was so much pussy to try out. He liked all pussy, but single pussy was his favorite.
“H is happy as a pig in fresh shit. Already the repair shop has a mark-up of more than sixty percent this quarter.”
“That was Red Light’s doing.” Offered Preacher slurping on the hot brew. “I just scouted around for the competition to see where we could undercut and made a few calls for supplies.”
“How was it, with Red Light?” Rider’s tone was easy enough, but he knew of what had gone down years ago with that nomad. He made a shrug look like a meh and left it at that. What was he gonna say, that Red Light still hated his guts and they’d nearly come to blows more than once? Old news with the same shit on a different day.
Preacher was coasting thirty-three years old, too damn old to be having school yard fights with kids who didn’t like him.
He’d once been good buddies with Red Light.
Not anymore.
Not ever again from the way things appeared between them now.
He’d accepted it and moved on.
“I gotta get my head down for a few hours, Prez. Me and the boys are gonna head to Otis’ tonight to welcome the prodigal handsome fucker home, that would be yours truly. You coming, or you prefer the smooching on the couch these days?” For a tired motherfucker, he could still move fast and out run Rider when he made to get up and kill Preacher.
A minute later, fully clothed, he was face down on his bed, legs dangling over the edge and he let sleep claim him.

This was what he needed, he thought, striding into Otis’ bar and grill hours later, with his boys in tow, and a bar full of chicks. While he’d had some forgettable action down in Lincoln the last couple of months, that town was scarce on women he wanted to spend a few hours fucking, so he’d returned home, hungry and wanting.
He’d get laid tonight before settling back into his normal routine tomorrow, clear his fucking cobwebs out before his dick assumed he was a corpse.
“Nice to see things don’t change too much,” he noted watching every waitress’s eyes turn his way, he smirked at Grinder who only rolled his eyes at Texas. Brothers be hating. Not Preacher’s fault the ladies liked them big and built.
He slid himself into a booth, sitting in the far corner, all the better to survey the bar.
Some Pat Benatar song was playing on the jukebox. His tattooed fingers tapped the table.
The place wasn’t so busy yet that he couldn’t see everyone on a slow scan, mostly his green eyes browsed over the heads of people, didn’t even stop for the guys, but oh, shit… he’d forgotten about her.
Nah, that was straight up lie.
She was not the type of woman you forgot easily. The popping curves made a man thirsty.
His eyes drifted to the bar and stayed there, barely aware of a perky little red-haired thing bouncing over to the table to take their order, he vaguely remembered asking for a bourbon, but he couldn’t be sure until she brought his order, maybe it would be a cola, because fuck him, Preacher’s eyes were glued to Ruby’s slender back behind the bar.
She was stretched up on her toes trying to reconnect a fresh bottle of booze, the motion had the hem of her shirt riding up to reveal a patch of slim column of caramel colored spine and two of the cutest back dimples right above her butt where her jeans lay dangerously low.
His mouth went bone fucking dry. Straight up Sahara city.
No, he hadn’t forgotten her at all, though the last time they’d spoken she was a bitey thing snarking his head off for no damn reason.
Without realizing, he was mentally undressing her like a deviant while she was unaware his eyes were on her. Fuck, stunning.
“Yo, fucker, you wanna re-join earth any time?” Grinder punched the top of his arm to grab his attention and Preacher broke the spell between him and Ruby’s biteable-kissable-fuckable ass.
Damn. What an ass she had. All peachy shaped and made for squeezing hands. He was going to take that ass.
He remembered the last time they spoke, how she’d breathed fire and brimstone out of her eyes at him, so maybe he’d scratch fucking her ass…for now.
“You’re such a needy chick, G. What next, you want to start a book club?”
“Oh! I heard the new Chris Brookmyre is worth taking a look at,” announced Texas. Scotch in one hand. Under his leather cut, he wore a pristine white shirt and a fat blue tie. If Preacher wasn’t used to seeing the model attire on his brother he would have rolled his eyes a couple dozen times. But it was Texas. He was slick hair, slick clothes, and a slick manner.
“Let me guess. You and Lawless have actually got a fucking book club together … didn’t we talk about this; do we have to revoke your outlaw membership?”
His eyes were magnets with only one directional pull and they strayed behind the bar time and again. Damn, she was back on her toes, hiding that perfect ass from him.
He followed her, a dirty slick gaze watching as she served and smiled at people, leaning over the bar, showing off the mounds of perfect tits under her shirt. Fuck.
Preacher licked his bottom lip.
“It’s not a club per say.” Texas’ cultured voice explaining whatever new bullshit he was into now. “Lawless just tells me what to read and I read it. He’s never led me wrong yet.”
“Sounds peachy.” He added absently.
And now he was back to thinking of Ruby’s ass. He was up out of his seat before he realized. “I’ll be back.”
Or not. Depending on how it went.
Long legs took him across the bar in a few steps, through the food smells and the noise of the customers getting drunk out of their minds. It was pay day for most, what else did the masses do? Preacher fucked.
“Good to see you, baby.” A tiny blonde waitress attached herself to his hip out of nowhere, Preacher moved her easily, his path already chosen like a damn missile. “You want some company later?” Hope in her saccharine voice. What was her name? no clue.
“Sorry, darling. Not tonight.”
“Aww. Keep me in mind, baby. Any time. You know my number.” He didn’t.
It paid to be taller than most when Preacher easily got a spot at the bar, straddling a stool he waited.
Not even twelve hours back in town and he knew he’d missed two things; his club and the woman currently walking towards him trying to set fire to his eyebrows with her glare.


Book One: Dirty Salvation.

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Renegade Souls MC

Saturday Teaser from the upcoming Preacher Man

Do you remember the first kiss to knock your socks off? Ruby does. Here’s an unedited sneak peek into RS’s road captain Preacher’s first kiss with Ruby.

Preacher Man is book two in the Renegade Souls MC Romance Saga series coming Soon!

You can add it to your TBR here on Goodreads:

 

pREACHERmAN

Disclaimer: Picture found on the interwebz and edited.

She all but scowled at him. What in the good hell had that been, shoving her behind him like he expected the big bad ogres to gobble her up? Really? The man was crazy. She’d seen worse than a few drunk men. “I have perfectly good working legs, Preacher man. You all but threw me over your shoulder, frightened I might smile at your buddies? god, forbid. You can relax, I don’t go with bikers.”

His entire body swerved. A mass of muscle towering over her, keeping her locked into the side of the bar. “Is that so, beautiful?” his voice said he was about to prove her wrong. She sighed and waited for it, the glint of his green eyes backed up his unspoken claim.

Why did she keep saying these things, she already pegged he was competitive.

“No, I take it back. I want to do them all. Line them all for me.” she clapped like he was her manservant. Preacher laughed, the noise had the desired effect and tingled between her legs. “I’ll start with the handsome blonde one in the blue T-shirt, he looked like a Hollywood movie star researching a role; When bikers go rogue. A smash hit for 2018.”

He brought his stare to hers. His mouth curved with the hint of a grin. “Pretty-boy will like that if I ever told him, which I’m not.”

“You’re making him forbidden? don’t you know what means to a woman? you did it now, he’s looking mighty good, move out of my way, let me go work my siren song on mister Hollywood.” she joked but he still towered in her path stopping her from moving.

His head came down so they were eye-to-eye.

How could he look like a straight up axe-murderer and an underwear model at the same time? by rights he shouldn’t appeal to her, he wasn’t classically beautiful, his face had white scars, skin tanned from too much sun and he had lines under his eyes like he wasn’t sleeping much, but, Jesus in heaven, he appealed on that primary most obvious level of she was very much attracted to this man.

And that pissed her off.

Bikers were off limits.

Dangerous men were a no-go.

And Preacher, the notorious thinks with his dick man, he was all the bad decisions a woman could ever make and a lifetime of regret all wrapped up in a six foot six rock hard package.

He didn’t get the earlier message, not from the way he moved or gazed hungrily down at her, eyes glinting. One finger reached out, he gave her enough time to reject the touch, he really did. Ruby just stood there stunned, braced to be touched by him. And when it came, a stroke down her cheekbone, subtle, barely there and over in a second she let go on the air trapped in her nervous lungs.

“Don’t you feel it, beautiful, when we touch, doesn’t it shift something in you?”

Woah.

He stepped further into her space sucking all the oxygen out of the atmosphere.

“Dammit, Preacher. You can’t say that.”

“You don’t know how badly I want to fuck your mouth with mine.”

“I don’t even like you…” Weak. Lame. Lies. It was all she had to offer because she feared if given the choice right then and there she’d spend her rent money on one kiss. Just to see how good it would be.

“Then, you better throw out a protest while you can, because I’m three seconds away and you’re reaching up on your toes…”

Was she?

Fuck. She was. Too late. His mouth crashed down on hers, he swallowed her gasp and took the moment of her surprise to slip his tongue inside.

After that any feeble attempt at a protest died with his amazing taste filling her mouth, corralling her in its web and enticing her to fuck his mouth back.

She did. Until she ran out of oxygen.

Hot grabby kisses. Kisses to stain her soul.

Preacher was a good foot taller than her, Ruby was encased by him, helped along by the grip on the top of her arms pulling her higher on her toes so he could take more of her lips, she helped sucking on his lower one until he groaned, her arms wound around his shoulders doing some of her own dragging.

Just this.

Just a little more.

Allowing herself to ride the intoxicated sensation until her blood fizzled threatening to explode like a volcano. How could she assume he wouldn’t be very good at kissing?

The man was a kissing master.

Sending her crazy. Making her crave like never before. It was a throb.

A desperate ache began in her belly, blooming outwards, reaching all corners and god, he pushed her into a wall and if it was possible he kissed her deeper, all tongue and teeth working in tandem until her body was a ball of flames controlled solely by him.

“Preacher. Wait..wait. Hold it.”

“No. Kiss me.” He groaned licking over her tongue.

Oh god. Yes. That.

She loved tongue in kissing. If it was done right and some men needed to go back to square one, what with the thrusting and the slurping. Preacher was a damn tongue maestro.

Hard. Slow. Just how she guessed he wanted to fuck her.

When they parted it was only because air had become a necessary need. His hands bracketed her neck, holding her steady, his mouth taking nips.

He invaded her mouth with a forcefulness that was completely out of line and yet she leaned into him, opened her lips and moaned the second his tongue was in contact with hers. It was an odd sensation, a stirring in her belly, like excitement and dread all mashed into one amalgamation of lust. He didn’t give her time to think before he swooped and plundered and how sexy is that, that tiny part of her that is submissive and wants to be dominated takes over, grabs his shirt and she enjoyed the kiss of the century.

It suggested forbidden.

It should be wrong.

He’s everything she’d avoided and should continue to swerve. She’d seen him casually screw countless women for god’s sake, recognizes clearly he’s trying to make her number nine billion in that list.

She couldn’t stop kissing him. His mouth was skilled, moving this way, that way, dipping to deepen, backing off to nibble, but always keeping strong contact. Her lips were swollen.

Kiss swelled by Preacher. Now there’s a poster slogan.

In any case Ruby did go on kissing him, her fingers clutched the front of his shirt, he was so damn tall her neck was almost broken with the awkward angle, his taste is explosive, strong, masculine with a hint of mint in the background, he tasted so damn good she practically purred for more of his tongue stroking hers, he laughed against her lips.

The sound sexy as hell.

Her core clenched hard enough she practically orgasmed where she stood. His fingers trailed to the base of her spine where she was sensitive, not many men knew that about her, but he seemed to hone in on that spot, drawing circles, making her melt into a feline purr against his tongue.

She’d thought kissing a man with a beard would be ghastly, not pleasant.

It was the complete opposite. He kept his goatee part of his facial hair trimmed close to the skin, and it was silky soft as though he tended to it like a garden.

The man was sexy as the devil himself.

******

 

Book One: Dirty Salvation.

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Renegade Souls MC

Teaser Tuesday – Dirty Salvation

It’s only TWO WEEKS until this bad boy is released into the world on April 3. Here’s a sneak at a good girl unable to resist a very bad man.

 

It was Oscar Wilde who said to yield to temptation or forever yearn for the forbidden. And it was Scrooge McDuck who said more is better.
How could anyone truly resist Rider and not go back for seconds and thirds? Zara could ponder on that question for a decade and still not have an answer. He was a tall drink of biker water in a long lean glass with an added bad boy straw she just wanted to slurp on for hours. For weeks, he had broken her resolve, placing himself in such a way she’d began to drop her fear. Or maybe he’d just battered it down.
She didn’t know which.
The longing had become unbearable to the point she had to give herself pep talks ‘don’t lick his face’ ‘you can’t rub on him like a cat in heat’
Why she put these restrictions on herself she’d hadn’t examined that far, she knew from the look in his eyes whenever they landed on her he had been more than up for … rubbing and licking.
She’d been scared and he still was a dangerous man.
The only guy she’d wanted from the moment she’d seen him, that instant electric attraction, had wanted for forever afterwards, it seemed as so, the only sexual experience she’d enjoyed and the dense moment she realized he wanted something with her again she’d been apprehensive that if they tried to pick up where they left off she would be launched back to the days of the Rebels and recoil instinctively away from Rider’s touch.
Fear was a wicked monster clinging to every insecurity, whispering the harshest things.
And salvation could also be dirty.
It was better not to have then to be afraid of the could be’s she’d told herself all the while keeping him at arm’s length and yet using him for his uncompromising protection. She’d passed the previous days growing stronger understanding Rider watched her not only to keep her safe but for something altogether more personal and carnal, her mind whirred through its normal cycle of guilt and self-loathing even as she was as intrigued by him in return, coloring her thoughts in shades of black.
Circling each other like animals.
With one kiss Rider, had knocked her resigned undertaking on its bony ass and now she lay under him panting out of breath, her heart pounding behind her ribcage, pleasure so acute she was still feeling it through her system minutes later as she tried to grab onto any sane thought.
The man knew sex. Wow.
Jesus, who knew good sex could make a woman lose her mind? If Zara ever caught her breath again she was going to patent whatever voodoo sexy magic Rider was playing with because he’d reached inside and took every insecurity she had until all she craved was him in this naked sweaty form drenched in their pleasure.
It had been impossible to get away from her own darkness. Or so she thought.
Here she was basking in the light of a beautiful bad man.
Rider had taken it all, every secret corner of her broken being, and burned it down into the hottest passion.
Her skin sizzled.
She felt … glorious.

Dirty Salvation. Copyright © 2017 V. Theia. All rights reserved.

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Renegade Souls MC

Sneak Peek; Sunday Smutday

Here is an exclusive scene from the upcoming DIRTY SALVATION. Released April 3.

 

When they’d pulled into the driveway Rider waited until she’d climbed down off his Harley before throwing his leg off and standing at his staggering height, setting his bike right there. Holding her hand up the pathway towards the door, still, he didn’t speak. She gave him long sideways glances, gnawing at her lip.
“I can make some food. Pasta would be quick, you hardly ate a thing today Rider.” Maybe after that, they could watch a movie, get back into a regular routine.
He gave a noncommittal grunt.
They stepped into the dark house, he clipped on a hall light. She’d make him pasta and insist her got a good night’s sleep if only so he could—– omph. Out of nowhere, he’d kicked the door shut, rounded on Zara and bodily lifted her under the armpits, throwing her up against the wall using his entire hard body to keep her there. What choice did she have but to wrap her limbs around that long lean body and consent to her mouth being swept open, to accept the slide of his tongue, seducing his taste into her mouth until she was consumed in their shared blistering kiss.
Hearing him emit that husky, breathless sound and accepting that he’d rushed her home because this was so a sex thing, Zara, clung to his wide shoulders, kissing him back just as ferociously.
She knew how he liked it. A lot of tongue.
Lust twisted her insides, filling her every breathe with him, he was such a tireless lover when he got going.
They hadn’t even taken off coats and here they were making out like horny teens in the hallway, his mouth owning hers, hips pumping together causing delicious friction.
On the opposite wall to where Zara was suspended like aged wagyu beef, stood the entryway table, with its carved wooden legs and two drawers that held little odds and bits with no proper home they all got shoved into those drawers, it was usually where they dropped the house keys on entry, she’d thought to place a vase of something pretty on top one of these days, she’d always loved seasonal décor. Above it was a large mirror showing their images, decor was far from her mind as her neck arched, head cracking against the wall as Rider’s hot mouth scraped down her throat with savage obsessive kisses, it was an animalistic frenzy, his grunts reached deep inside and melted her into liquid, her eyes flipped open and stared at their reflection.
Not only were his sounds savage and needful, his hands raked down her sides grasping her even tighter into him, his head burrowed to the side of her neck dragging wet starved kisses, dry humping her madly, her pussy had its own heartbeat of want, his hands everywhere all at once, overwhelming her in the sexual power that was all Rider.
It was possibly the sexiest caress of her entire life, and it wasn’t even skin-to-skin. The man undid her with the simplest of things. A kiss here, a smile there and she became a puddle on the floor.
She moaned and undulated, his driving tongue kissing down to her spleen. She sucked and pulled him into her mouth.
Maybe the pasta could wait. Her libido couldn’t. She helped him drag her coat off dumping it on the floor. The hard bulge poking her belly dictated they rush.
“Want you, Icy.”
“I’m right here.” starved of oxygen she spoke against his rough lips, his beard grazing her skin.
“Need you now.”
Those words. He had no idea how they affected her, how they chased the ghosts from her heart and replaced them with light and love. She’d give him anything.
“Take me then, Rider. Take me how you need to take me, don’t hold back. I want you just as badly as you want me.” With her hands shoved hard into his hair she pulled back and did some of her own attacking, their kiss this time was feral, moans clashed the same way their tongues did, Rider was practically eating her with sensuality, drowning her in it, so close to an orgasm she just wanted out of her clothes already, for him to fuck her as wild as he was possessing her lips.
The sight of them wrapped around each other hit her hard, it was a wild press of heat deep in her breastbone, burrowing into her heart, the want of him clawing at her. She saw how her eyes were glazed looking back at herself, consumed with lust, she was making her own noises of encouragement, garbling his name in gasping pants while her blood, warm and fizzy boiled in her veins.
He did this to her.
Three seconds was all it had taken for her to catch up to his level of demand, to match it as she fisted his hair pulling him back and then did her own attacking of his mouth, tongues slicked wetly together.
It wasn’t the prettiest of kisses but it was the hottest. A kiss that started as one thing and morphed into something new, something real and dark and wanton. A kiss that could addict her in seconds. No one tasted like Rider did, he was spice and danger.
“Right here. Fuck, gotta get inside you, baby. Right now.”
“Do it. Do it, Rider. Fuck me.”
“Fucccckk.”
Hands began ripping at her clothes. His hips kept her pinned to the wall, legs just dangling in mid-air. Hoisted like she didn’t weigh a thing. She didn’t care, she wanted him out of his mind.
Her needful man.
They’d all had a terrible shock the last couple of days, fraught with grief and anger as well as being locked in together. It brought their own mortality raging to the surface, she understood why Rider wanted her so badly, the proof of life was strong, to know they were alive and together and no one was coming between them. She helped rip their clothes away and when his long thick cock sprung from his jeans into her hands she moaned in the back of her throat.
A dirty needy noise.
Hungry.
She initiated the next kiss.
Dazzling scorching pleasure.
“Now, Ambrosio. Fuck me, please, right now, I need you inside me. You need to be inside me.”
He broke their kiss long enough to reach down, to grasp his cock, to drag it through her wetness, no matter how desperate he always was for her, he made sure she was ready to take him. Her heart sped up, flopped around in heat and love, melting more for this great bad man. There was something so primal in his movements. Precise and unfettered.
She wanted this second to go on and never end.
And then with a lunge, he shoved deep and hardest inside Zara then he ever had before, roaring a glorious noise, causing her entire body to go rigid before loosening in that slow release of pleasure as he settled in, her walls accepting him.
He was huge, it always hurt at first.
A good hurt.
“That sound right there, in your throat. It’s mine.” he was panting in her face, eyes dark fogged by pleasure. “fuckin’ love that noise, like you’re gonna come any second for me, so tight grasping around me. Needed this, Icy.”
What a sight they made in the hallway mirror, Rider with his jeans halfway down his strong hairy thighs, most of his butt on show, Zara’s hair crazy messy from the forceful threading of his fingers, she wore jeans only on one leg and her shirt was torn open so his mouth could find her nipples.
It was beyond decadent that she watched how he fucked her, his pumping becoming frantic, their images echoed in the mirror like a movie scene. Both of his hands held under her thighs, working his hips, grunting against her lips, churning himself, whispering starved obscene, evocative encouragement to her, they hadn’t needed any long teasing foreplay, having Rider inside her was life itself. “Oh god. Please. Harder.”
she whimpered grabbing around the back of his nape taking the solid slams, each one hitting her in that special place of madness. Pleasure blinded her.
“Going to.”
And he did, for long minutes stood in the brightly lit hallway, he fucked Zara into oblivion, until her bones were weak and her lungs shook from calling out his name.
This, she mused, slack arms around his shoulders, coming down from the bliss while he peppered her in kisses, was one of life’s rare moments of completion. She breathed him, and kissed him back. When you thought about it, the small things were what mattered, that collection of tiny happiness moments all added up to this.

Dirty Salvation. Copyright © 2017 V. Theia. All rights reserved.

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Renegade Souls MC

Teaser Tuesday – Dirty Salvation

Another Teaser Tuesday and another look at those Renegade Souls MC boys. Sometimes they do really bad things… for good reasons.

On Sale APRIL 3.

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“Prez. All set?”
Tension rode down Rider’s spine as he gave the single nod to his boys. This was not his first kill, he’d done a lot of bad shit in his life if his path was traced back to when his went awry then it would travel back to when he was fourteen, the day his father decided his boy would become a Souls prospect.
It wasn’t though Rider was made bad, he just decided on that path, there wasn’t any stumbling the wrong way, he deliberately, meticulously made all his decisions, knew exactly what he was doing.
The standard doesn’t always have to be a bad person who makes the bad decisions, sometimes a bad decision is all you have because of situation you are in.
Rider never believed in luck, or fate, or destiny. You got what you put in and by god from the age of fourteen he had put in his all, to get where he was, to own his small part of the world.
Rider was a legend in his domain for what he’d achieved in such a small amount of time.
And he wasn’t going to let one dickbrain like Hades try to take it away from him.
History books never told the truth of wars, and battles, not really.
It was a condensed version of heroes who won in the end, never telling their journey.
Whatever Rider’s choices, those bad decisions that turned him into the bad man he was today, all led him to tonight.
He felt it in his bones, the way calmness came down over him when he and his men forged forward, breaking and entering like the criminals they were.
Each one of his men had a role to play and it was executed beautifully.
Murder was an ugly business to be in. But some bad men had to do it.
Rider’s men were the worst.
As he moved through the unkempt building the Rebels called home, the stench of weed and unwashed bodies from every corner, the darkness enveloped him, he listened to sounds of death, his boys didn’t waste time.
There was only one he sought.
The dicksucking president.
So far, his office stood empty, cocaine scattered over a desktop, piles of waste paper on the floor, the guy lived in a dump, the bedroom marked PREZ was barren. There was no way Hades had known the raid was going to happen, Rider had kept it so tight not all of his club knew about it, his core men who he trusted with his life.
When Death happened to knock on your door, the fight or flee came into play.
As it was, noise escalated as the Rebels tried to fight back.
Too little too late, death would come even as they struggled.
He smelled blood. A lot of fucking blood.
I know you’re here, you shitfuck. Rider prowled. A grim reaper stride, weapons gripped in his hands.
A streak of darkness slipped by Rider in a hallway, he recognized Hawk’s leather coat flapping at his hips. A second later the distinct sound of death, a startled gargle of noise before the wet noise of a knife being plunged harder into a body.
Hawk exited the room, his teeth gleamed brilliant white as he smiled at Rider, his voice was low “Another one bites the dust. Fun times at the zoo.”
Murder always put his VP in a good mood, he slapped Rider’s shoulder and moved out.
Get in. Get out. No lingering.

Dirty Salvation. Copyright © 2017 V. Theia. All rights reserved.

 

Renegade Souls MC

SNEAK PEEK – Chapter One; Dirty Salvation.

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CHAPTER ONE
“I carried a watermelon…” – Zara Freeze.
Three years ago.

Oh, for fucks sake, what level of hell was this? Bodies writhed in one mass debauching undulation, men and women in varying stages of undress, everyone drunkenly enjoying themselves. All but one. Zara was clearly in the wrong place, like she’d taken an incorrect turn on Pleasant Avenue straight down to Death row no passing go or collecting $200.
I thought this was meant to be a party not an orgy.

Looking at the people dry humping and puffing on long cigarettes, she was ninety-nine-point six percent sure this was where good girls came to die. Not that she categorized herself in that way, but on the scale of them and her, yep, she tipped the scale to good just because having sex in public would never occur to her as the thing to do. Ever.
Sex was private, something to do behind closed doors, not with a damn audience watching on and if she was to ever actually have sex one of these days, she sure wouldn’t be doing it while sweaty men jeered nearby.

It wasn’t as though Zara was unsophisticated, but knowing what dinner fork to use at a fifteen-course banquet was not going to come in useful right now, nor was the very limited experience in anything physical going to help process what she was seeing without extensive embarrassment coating her face. It was just all there in eyeline wherever she looked.

Zara gulped past the lump in her throat, doing a little hand wringing in that Jesus on a cracker can’t believe what she was seeing way, her pulse thumping loudly in her ears over the music and the loud base of voices.

Out of her comfort zone.
Hardly wearing a brush of nude lip-gloss, and even that was ballsy for her, her sun gold hair swung loosely in perfect waves around bare shoulders, her style was not something that fit in with this party scene, everyone else was in denim and leather, bras and panties. She knew absolutely she was in the wrong place with these overtly tawdry and overtly sexual bikers enjoying their carnal party.
For god sake, she was wearing a strapless yellow summer dress that hugged her breasts and fell to her ankles whereas everyone else was in mini’s, tube tops and dirty leather. Glaring bullseye right there for the interloper.
She was all country club in Hell.
The noise from within the Renegade Souls MC clubhouse was deafening. Loud thumping rock music came from several speakers hung high on the walls, making every surface surrounding seem as if it vibrated with its evocative pulse. She felt the base of it in her chest. Thump-thump-thump. Fingers clutching the red plastic cup was anything but relaxed.

Out of her element. Uncomfortable.
What was she meant to do now? It wasn’t as though she could even approach anyone for a conversation, she could small chat for fun, but this place had her inner cowardly lion cowering behind silence.
The Soul’s motorcycle clubhouse presented more of a feel of a storage warehouse than that of a home someone would live in, though taking a longer look around, trying desperately to avoid her eyes hitting any nakedness again, it did have the makings of just that at first glance, though she couldn’t imagine a decent human being ever wanting to step inside.
What was she doing here?

It boasted modern interior fixing and fittings, extremely high ceilings, wide windows but the furniture was less than desirable. Through the crowd, she saw several corridors leading to god knows where, she didn’t dare venture from the spot her feet were glued to, scared to bring attention she was actually present, god forbid someone might notice her, she’d found a place over in the corner between a pair of speakers taller than she was.
So, what if she was deaf by the time she got out of it, it would be worth it not to have anyone’s attention.
Hidden out of sight.
Observing with wide pale Blue eyes, she could see no possible outcome to this party other than rape and or murder and call her stupid but she wasn’t keen on either. She was going to punch Morgana for leaving her. Back soon, my ass. She’d been gone over an hour already.

Zara was a painfully young twenty-three, she accepted grudgingly, probably naiver than she cares to admit, her shyness forever an obstacle in her way, if she saw the good in life and people, whose fault was that? She’d barely had any experiences worthy of a diary entry. She was more Eeyore than Tigger. And that right there was as exciting as Zara got, describing her life in terms of cartoon characters.
Jeez. She was pathetic.

To be in one of the roughest parts of town within the sprawling compound among the legendary Renegade Souls MC … well, she was a little sick with nerves and began to search out the nearest exit. She’d wanted to spread her wings, to have some fun, but this was too much flight for a first outing. Morgana had laughed, told her to relax, to grab a drink or four and to mingle. How did you mingle with these kinds of people? They’d laugh their asses off at her. There was no mingling here, just— Zara’s cheeks flushed, letting her gaze take the sights in.
Everywhere she looked her eyes hit another disturbing scene. Not that she was a prude or anything. She was definitely a prude.
Bikers of all ages openly pawing at women, fucking them, and the women were no better, grabbing crotches like it was the normal way to say hey.

Every table top littered in empty condom wrappers and the acrid stench in the air could only be marijuana. Was it polite to stare? Cause she was staring.
Yep, wrong place for her to be, she was a fish out of water and felt awkward as hell. She knew it a second later.

“Aren’t you a sweet piece of soft candy, and all alone. And so frightened. I can smell it. Mmmfuck. Who brought you for me, girl?”
Zara’s head flipped around to see a tall male who owned the sinister sounding voice. Incredibly tall he had to have part giant DNA at least, a beard too long and scraggly hung off his face, and what she and her friends called Jesus hair dangled around a severe jawline. There was nothing easy in the smile of his, but it revealed even white teeth. Predator’s teeth, all the better to eat you, my dear. Zara took a step back. He leaned forward and blew smoke in her face, she tried hard not to cough, she already stood out like a sore thumb, without adding weak to her resume because she couldn’t handle a bit of tobacco smoke.

God. She hoped it was just tobacco. Her lungs revolted and began to heave. The man laughed loud, dirty and darkly.
His leather vest … his cut, she amended. Bikers called them a cut because it had the name of their club on the back. She already knew this because every guy in here wore the same well-dinged black leather with the scary face of the grim reaper on the back holding a death scythe. His patch read; Vice President.

Though her nerves jangled as the guy leered, bloodshot eyes, plausibly drunk, she tried to smile and act casual, all the while scanning for her friend who had disappeared off the face of the earth. I’m going to die here. She thought dramatically, not quite meeting the viciously blue eyes so colorless in shade they seemed white under the fluorescent lights, assessing her like she was a slab of beef and he was deciding which knife and fork to use. I’m all gristle, she wanted to say.
“I..I came with a friend. She’s here somewhere.” Presumably getting killed like I will be soon.

Destiny doesn’t come to you, Zar, you have to grab it by the fucking balls and make it yours. Morgana had schooled her earlier that night when she’d been blackmailing her friend into going to the well renowned open house party at the Soul’s compound. Somehow Zara didn’t think her destiny lies with sexually promiscuous bikers or the trouble they rode in on. Her plans were for law school in the fall and after that, she’d get a job with Barker, Moss, and Johnson. Ten years after that she’d make partner. She had her portfolio all mapped out for the next twenty years. Nothing in it said she would knock on destiny’s door in the Colorado mountains surrounded by the roughest most dangerous men she’d ever clapped eyes on. Heaven forbid. She was judging them, and judging hard. Her heart rapped harder. Nervous tension licking at her ankles.

Where the hell was Morgana? She’d dumped Zara almost the moment they’d been let inside, she wanted to go and find someone called Tiny, she’d said. Zara had hoped it was to ask for a ride home, but an hour later Zara had begun to lose faith in that. Morgana was a party animal; she was fourth of July fireworks… everything Zara wasn’t. This was the one time she’d let herself be talked into something risky. And she was instantly regretting it. What a sucker. Who was peer pressured at twenty-three?
Biker guy was still there, he leered and circled around her, leaning in to sniff her hair.
“Little mice wanting to play with the bad guys, funny. You want me to show you my sand pit, girl?” He again blew smoke in her direction before his tongue snaked out and licked the full length of his lower lip.
His eyes were malevolent.
Call her slow, but Zara didn’t think he had play in mind. Besides, he wasn’t that attractive. Would it kill him to shave?
Her belly tightened, where was that exit again? She’d leave Morgana here if she had to. Every man for himself on the titanic.

“You came to party, scared mouse. All groupies come to the fucking party.”
Groupies? He was no Adam Levine.
She could smell alcohol on his breath when he leaned in to sniff her again. What was the fricking sniffing about? She’d showered today. Sidestepping, he only laughed, moved his huge body with her in a fast momentum, blocking off her exit and caught her wrist. “I like ’em timid and scared. I’ll show you how to bend over for me and scream.”
Oh god. I’m going to die here. She repeated. Her panic rising to Def Con; Cinderella when she lost her shoe at midnight.

And then.
“Hawk.” One word traveled from across the room through all the background noise and ruckus, over the heads of wandering men … she still heard it. Felt it. Zara’s spine stiffened then softened as if melted.
The deep timber was whiskey smooth. Smoke rough. All sex.
Without thinking, Zara sought out who had spoken. Compelled to see who the voice belonged to.
“Yo, Prez?”
“You’re scarin’ the guest. Let her go.”
Her wrist was freed and the guy snarled about being fucking cockblocked his eyes flared showing his annoyance. Nerves grabbed a hold of her. He would likely be handsome underneath his facial hair and glower, deep beneath, probably, not that Zara wanted to look beneath his surface because he was undoubtedly intimidating.
The stuff nightmares were made of.
Jesus hair would be the monster not only under your bed, he’d kick his way into your dreams and terrorize the life out of you. But that was just a guess.
It was another pair of darker eyes that ripped the attention to a standstill. Noise ceased while blood roared in her ears.

The most dramatic pair of blue eyes she’d ever seen, and really, blue was an inadequate description, her long educated brain had shut down from forming words of two syllables or more, and that voice, wow, sounded a lot-amused, leaning against a winding chrome bar, beer bottle caught between finger and thumb, his black boots adorned with buckles and silver studs crossed at the ankle, he was the epitome of relaxed, not even glancing at the various sex acts happening on couches, tables, against walls and that one couple on the floor. How did you have people screwing around you and you don’t even look?
He was staring at Zara. That’s why. And she stared back.
If she thought Jesus hair could be handsome if he cleaned up with a nice bath, a bottle of cologne and fresh clothes, then blue eyes had to be the most beautiful guy she’d ever clapped eyes on. No work needed, he was incredible.
Seriously. Wow.

There was no question about it, she stared unable to pull her gaze away. Heat tumbled inside her belly. A stain of color rushed to her cheeks when he beckoned her forward with two fingers.
“Fuck this.” Hawk growled and stalked off muttering he needed a fucking drink and some wild pussy.
Thank god. Wild was not in her repertoire. Zara could barely muster lively. Too much focus on her studies had made her dull dull dull, she was about as exciting as stale popcorn, and really that was all she could be bothered with on any given weekend, forget about dating, and sex was a non-issue currently.
Legs led her forward, drawn to close the gap between those five feet separating her from him… she felt as if every step dragged her out of her life long tedium and head first into the blue-wild heathen territory.
This was what excitement felt like. She thought, drawn implacably to him, he was a magnet and she was happily heading towards the force.
His eyes raked up and over her body and the daring heat of it burned her insides until she knew her panties were damp, and her belly muscles quivered.

One look and her hormones had awoken wanting to touch everything like a kid in a candy store leaving her sticky fingerprints everywhere. She’d smelled the wicked coming off the man’s stare. It was danger and magnetism, she was lucky her underwear was still around her waist and not flopping on the floor.
She was feeling things. Dirty unused things in her abdomen and lower.
For a fricking outlaw rule-breaking biker. Go figure.
The most beautiful man.
He was take-a-fourth-look kind of stunning.

Zara did some of her own looking because it was the only option but to stare and take him all in, one greedy gulp at a time, a nervous glance over her shoulder, to check for her friend and then back towards him.
He was taller than most of the men here, tall and absurdly masculine, not surprising, this place it was wall-to-wall testosterone, only he had extra oozing from his frame.
My god. It was as though she was seeing men for the first time. Absolutely no one looked like him at college. No one. Now she was a little dizzy from the attention he was paying her.
Breath-taking.
His mess of rich mahogany hair was caught up at the back in a bun as though he’d just rolled out of bed and scraped it back with those long-tapered fingers of his and tied it haphazardly. It gave him a rugged all male appearance. A look that had her tongue sticking to the roof of her mouth.

She’d never thought in a million years that would be a visceral factor in attraction for her, but there it was, beating a thrum between her legs, making her breasts peak and ache to be touched. Lust. And the attraction didn’t stop there.
His left arm was covered from his wrist with colorful ink all the way up until it disappeared beneath the black T-shirt, she had the urge to discover how far up it went, wanting to look
closely at the design, to run her fingers over the vivid orange, blue, red and black.
Her gaze strayed to his chest, to his vest patch.
This was the president of the Renegade Souls.

Morgana had told Zara his name before they’d arrived, said how feared and formidable the guy was, but at the time she’d been too busy trying to breathe and not panic, wishing she was back at home under a blanket with a mug of cinnamon hot chocolate and a good romance book, she’d clearly forgotten it.
“What’s your name, Dorothy? You’re a long fuckin’ way from Oz, arentcha…”
Oh, that sexy voice. No hint of drunken slur, nor was he a native to Colorado either just like her.
When he took the bottle to his lips she watched every slow movement. His throat worked in a rhythmic swallow. Her gaze ate up the moment, and she had to bite back a moan. Perfect neck. Tanned, with thick veins. Biteable.
With all her etiquette lessons her mother pushed onto her from the year she was pushed out. The many debates she’d chaired at college, speaking in front of hundreds of people with an air of confidence and impassioned wisdom. Zara found herself without a voice suddenly. Shy and intimidated by the beautiful man who continued to gaze at her, a sly smile turning up one end of his mouth as his brow lifted expectedly waiting for her to speak.

Say something. She chastised. Anything. Pick a word. A verb. A half-baked sentence!
“I..erm..I’m Zara Freeze.” Well that didn’t sound too moronic. Tell him you carried a watermelon, too.
His laugh was rich, cream thick … beautiful like he was.
“Icy. I should have known from the cold shoulder you just gave to my VP. Take a seat, Zara Freeze. Lemme get you a drink. Grinder, bring the lady a beer down here.” He rose his voice to the bartender before taking the red cup out of her hand she’d been clutching.

“You got it, Prez. Here you go, babe.” He uncapped a beer, a bottle so cold condensation ran down the slim neck, and he slid it over. She grasped it automatically murmuring her thanks.

Perspective was in the beholder. No two people that night would describe what happened in the same way, simply because everyone sees situations differently, a word added here, an embellishment there, but no one’s interpretation was more vibrant than Zara’s right then while she soaked up the steadfast attention of a pair of blue eyes and a wicked smile.
Her perspective was alive in color and ink and a beating of sexual longing.

“This is your place? I mean your gang?”
He laughed again listening with his head cocked to the side, eyes studying her, repeating the bottle to mouth action. Zara’s gaze followed, wanting more than anything to lean into his space and place her hand on his throat to feel it work in swallows. What on earth was she thinking? Maybe that smoke in her face had been pot, it would explain her all gutter thoughts and all of him in raging stages of filth. I want him.

“It’s a club, babe. I haven’t been in a gang since I was seven. And it’s all mine, every broken and fucked up piece of it. You can call me Rider. I saw you come in with your girl. She’s with one of my prospects, he fucks like a porn star, wouldn’t expect her back anytime soon.”

“Oh.” He said it so matter-of-factly like it was the norm to talk about people’s sexual capabilities, the details made her cheeks stain, she dipped her head, wondering if she should go looking for Morgana, maybe her friend didn’t want to be holding company with a porn star wannabe…but then, it was Morgana and she had gone looking for the guy.
Like a best friend would in the face of a gorgeous god, Zara forgot all about Morgana, she was fascinated. Intrigued. Breathless. Caught in his stare.

“Fuck me, look at this, she even blushes. That’s fuckin’ adorable, Icy. I didn’t think chicks over the age of ten still did that.”
“Zara.” Her throat cleared. “My name is Zara.”
“Yeah, I got that.” She’d never cared for a smirking guy until this very second. It pushed his dreamboat factor up ten points. “But I love your chill. Fuckin’ sexy, Icy. I’m gonna melt you until there’s nothing left but a giant fuckin’ wet patch on my bed.”

How could he look so smug and calm when Zara’s head was going off like tiny bombs detonating behind her eyes? No one had ever stated their attentions so sexually blatant to her before, it took Zara’s breath, her nerves jangling like Christmas bells, gripping the bottle tight, she’d taken a long gulp just in order to give her some time to think before she spoke.
She’d liked the direct statement. Sexy.

It might be the debauched atmosphere doing her thinking, but she really liked it. This outlaw biker was not just flirting with her he wanted to sleep with her. With her! Oh, wow. This was something. Be cool.
Manic butterflies in her belly, she looked up at him from under her pale lashes, her lip caught in her teeth. She was pathetic at flirting, serious zero skills whatsoever, she was more likely to tell him of her Disney mug collection than to ask him to kiss her just so she could check if his full lips were as soft as she hoped they’d be. And her fingers itched badly to run across his shadowed beard.
Out of her element. She wondered if she had a glaring VIRGIN sign in neon over her head.
Was she going to disappoint him?

She identified the basics, what went where, and how it was supposed to feel, she wasn’t stupid. But the practicalities of sex were not like reading about it. And sex with a gorgeous biker who probably liked it kama sutra style. Her nerves increased.
Rider didn’t seem to mind if she was shy and too much in her own thoughts because he reached out and stroked a long finger down her cheek. “Ready to melt already. Fuck me, you’re gonna be dynamite, babe.”
She was glad one of them thought so. Zara was too busy dying inside. Was she really going to have a one-night stand with a man she didn’t even know ten minutes ago?
Yes. She absolutely was.

Perspective per Zara looked a lot like heaven and Hell. Stood in Lucifer’s backyard, faced with a heavenly man tempting her to dance with the devil.
If only she could Foxtrot.

Did she tell him now she was a virgin or would that squash any hopes of his flirtation continuing? She kept her mouth shut, because she liked his focused attention. Another long gulp, the cold beer soothing her heat and it didn’t taste all that bad, she had another. And another until the bottle stood empty.
When Rider stood to his fullest height, her eyes went up and up and then down, catching the sound of his wallet chain. Parched, her mouth dried of all moisture. She’d been right, he was so tall his beauty had been painted in the clouds.
“You’re big.” Oh, shut up. She was back to the watermelon stating the fucking obvious. Rider’s laugh implied he found her amusing, cutting through her mortified stress. He had brilliant even white teeth shadowed by his close-cropped beard.
Masculine. Appealing.

“C’mon, Icy. Let’s get outta here,” His hand enfolded hers.
The shame of it was she didn’t have one protest. She knew what this guy wanted from her, and she had no objection to it.
She wanted him. Quite desperately actually.
Zara couldn’t raise even a margin hint of guilt for leaving Morgana, after all, it was her friend who had left her here first and thank god, she had, she thought to herself as the president of the Renegade Souls MC led her through the unruly crowd to a quieter corridor of doors.

Innocence and wonderment pulsed in her chaotic thoughts, her fingers relaxed yet held tightly in his hand, she tried hard not to look at one guy vigorously dry humping a blonde woman in a corner, really going at it with the sounds effects, nor did she blink when the same guys hand disappeared beneath her skirt, the woman exchanged a giggle for a wet throaty moan, her head thrown back in obvious pleasure.
Would that be how she felt with Rider? There were too many gaps in her knowledge of sex, besides the A and B logistics, she was pretty clueless on how it felt, how she’d react. Would she moan with abandon like that girl was, not caring who heard her?
Her anxious level rose in noise, talking herself out of it. Talking herself back into it.
He was gorgeous and he wanted her, that was all she needed to know.
She wanted to feel him against her all pump and grind and hungry, if his fingers felt good simply holding her hand, his callouses rubbing against her skin, his body pressed to hers had to be amazing.

The scent of him, manly and clean caused her to inhale faster than her lungs needed, just to keep smelling him. Her insides wanted to explode, every vein was banging out of control dragging blood to all the places on Zara’s body that pulsed with greedy need.
His back was so wide it was like following behind a Marvel superVillain. He had to be at least six-five inches of drool worthy man. Zara swallowed a nervous giggle, clutching Rider’s hand like a lifeline. She was going to have sex..with a man..
Not her pink bullet vibrator.

He painted a sexy picture wearing dark jeans, thick soled well-worn boots, a white long-sleeved undershirt beneath his black Henley and his leather cut. Zara judged his sharp unforgiving features had bewitched her, why else was she eagerly trotting to her first and only one-night stand.
He was a gorgeous package wrapped up in a bad bow.
She’d couldn’t claim to have been flirted with by many men, and none in Rider’s caliber. The original bad boy wasn’t that every virgin’s fantasy. No one wanted to go to bed with a stockbroker if the local biker bad boy with his lack of give-a-fucks was looking at her with sex in his eyes.

When Rider led her through a doorway down the very far end she didn’t have time to assess the room, finding herself slammed against a wall, and the sexiest pair of lips crashed down on hers, prying open, licking inside her mouth.
It was the single best kiss of her life.

Around the same time, Zara’s brain stopped functioning as a highly intelligent organ.
She’d just added ‘sex with a hot biker’ to the top of her bucket list and was ready to check it off, rubbing her hips against his. She might be inexperienced but she knew what felt good and rubbing on him like she was a cat in the throes of her first heat felt really, really, god, really good. She did it again and felt the distinct hardness poking into her.
All those evocative things she’d only read about in smut books came flooding back into her mind until they stirred her blood to boiling point.
Being sexually destroyed. Taken over with orgasms. Owned by an alpha male.
She wanted it all.
This guy was the kind of man to sexually destroy you and still you’d want to thank him afterward for ruining you.
“Gonna fuck you now, babe…”

Dirty Salvation. Copyright © 2017 V. Theia. All rights reserved.