One Wild Ride Read online

  But Dorian chose that moment to strut out from the wings, a self-satisfied smirk on his face, his hair all fucked up from the fingers that had been raking through it.

  “’Bout fucking time.” Pax mumbled, his fingers dancing over the taut strings of his bass.

  “Get a room next time.” Wyatt muttered sidelong to me. I grinned, like I knew I was expected to, but really, my eyes were focused on Dorian as he sauntered to his guitar, picking it up like it was a natural extension of him—which after so many years it was—and sliding the strap over his head.

  As I slid the smooth wood of my sticks through my fingers, I found I wasn’t able to fight down that feeling I’d been railing against anymore.

  It didn’t matter to me who the hell Dorian kissed, fucked, or grabbed the ass of... if my mate was happy, that was good enough for me.

  And one other thing... I was a wee bit jealous.

  Easy, Sinclair. I scowled to myself as Dorian lifted his hand, his signal to start the count for our first number. We never talked much during our sets, and we weren’t about to change that here, at a rally with thousands of people who had come to hear loud music, dance, drink beer and have a good fucking time.

  Just because my mate was looking to settle down with the love—er, loves of his life—didn’t mean I had to change my ways.

  I liked my life the way it was. I got to play music and make some cash while doing it, I got to spend my days with my best mates, and had all the birds I wanted, trying to get in my pants.

  And had plenty of free time to ride my bike. In fact, once we’d packed up this gig, I was heading out for a break. Going to tour the eastern coast of this country, which I hadn’t yet seen. See the sights, eat some lobster, jump in the cold waters off of Maine and New Hampshire.

  Have some hot sex with some Ivy League girls who were wowed by the bike and the band. If I was never fully satisfied after those random encounters, well, no one had to know. I liked some kinky shit, shit I didn’t ask most girls to get into. The guys knew, of course—we’d known each other for over ten years.

  But blokes don’t talk like that—we don’t have heavy duty conversations about what satisfies us. So most days I shoved the craving down, hid it away.

  If Dorian’s new arrangement had me yearning for a girl who could satisfy it, could satisfy me more deeply than any girl had yet...

  Well. I would do what I always did. I would shove that craving down, would focus on the good shit that I had going for me. Would look forward to my trip.

  And I would get laid tonight. I would find a wild and crazy biker chick that might, just might, be willing to take the edge off for me. Then all of these weird feelings would go the fuck away.

  As I began to tap out the opening to our first song, and heard the already half drunk crowd cheer, I felt that same rush of adrenaline that I always got rushing through my veins. Like an old friend, it soothed me the way that nothing else could.

  I loved drumming. Nothing in the world felt better.

  I dove head first into the song, one of our hardest rocking numbers, one called Dirty Girls. It was one of my favorites to play, because not only did I get to pound the shit out of my drums, but I’d yet to meet a sheila who didn’t feel at least a little bit naughty when she heard it.

  Surely, here with all of these wild woman... surely there was one who didn’t mind doling out a little pain.

  I shook the thought away like it was a fly buzzing around my head. Sex, any kind of sex, would take the edge off for me. Finding a woman with my kind of kink was a pipe dream.

  I’d learned the hard way that while a woman might be into something kinky once or twice, even for a couple of weeks...

  They didn’t want to do it for the rest of their lives. No, I didn’t see a forever kind of relationship in my future.

  That was just the way it was going to have to be.

  I would get laid. Then I would feel better... a bit better, at least. In search of one of those dirty girls that Dorian’s raspy voice sung about, I lifted my eyes from my drum kit, scanned the crowd. There were plenty of dirty girls out there, and dirty guys too. Despite my maudlin musings, I couldn’t hold back my grin, taking in the freedom that was the very heart and soul of biker culture.

  Bikers lived by a set of rules that had nothing to do with the way that the rest of society lived. And watching all of the bodies swaying below me, the near nakedness of some, the suggestiveness of the undulating bodies...

  I craved the freedom I only found on my bike. A freedom that eased the hunger that was never fully satisfied by vanilla sex.

  In front of me, Dorian did that little prancing, hip wiggling dance of his that always drove the girls crazy. Sure enough, a scream rose from the crowd, a bawdier one than usual. A neon pink bra flew up on the stage, which Dorian caught, then waved over his head.

  Turning my head to the side of the stage, I saw Mal with his arms wrapped around Adele from behind, his chin nestled in her strawberry red hair. His face was in shadow, but hers...

  She didn’t look worked up at all over the underwear that her significant other was waving around. No, instead she looked like she was having fun watching him do what he was good at. No judgment, just... love.

  What would it be like, I wondered, to have someone accept you like that?

  A flash of white gold in the crowd dragged my attention from Adele and Mal. It was there, right in front of the stage, hidden again for a moment by black leather and flesh.

  Then the crowd parted, and there she was. Her hair was what had caught my attention... it was the color of light, and fell in a straight sheet down to her waist. It swayed as she moved to the music, catching on full, absolutely amazing tits barely covered by a thin white tank top in a way that made my mouth water.

  Battered jeans clung to hips that were sweetly curved and would fit just perfectly in my hands, and when she turned around, the perfect heart shape of her ass almost made me swallow my tongue.

  I wanted her.

  I had to have her.

  As if she’d heard my thoughts spoken out loud, the girl opened her eyes, looked past Dorian, who usually got all the attention.

  Looked right at me, the insanely blue color of her gaze standing out even across the distance.

  An almost shy smile—the sweetest thing I’d ever seen—crossed her lips as she became aware of the hunger in my expression. Mild interest turned to hungry need as slowly, deliberately, she ran her tongue over her lips, slowed her carefree dance to something more sensual.

  She was acting sexy, but she still had an air of innocence, somehow.

  It was fucking hot.

  Her hips swaying, she raised her hands above her head. Shimmying in a circle, she turned in a slow circle, giving me a good view of that body.

  When her hands grabbed the hem of her tank top, when she raised it just a few inches, giving me a flash of smooth, pale skin, I found myself shifting uncomfortably on my stool.

  Fuck, yeah. I wanted her. Her teasing told me she wanted me too.

  Our song ended, and the second I’d tapped out the last few beats, I arched an eyebrow and crooked a finger at her.

  Come here. Come here and let me put my hands on you.

  Maybe I’d been in a band too long, because I’d used this same look, this same gesture hundreds of times before. It had always worked.

  Well, almost always.

  But I found my smirk frozen on my face as the girl’s expression turned from lust to anger. She dropped the hem of her tank top, hesitated, then gave me the finger. Before I could even blink, she was sauntering away, lost in the crowd again.

  “Levi. Wake up. Next song, bro.” Pax leaned over from his place on the crowded stage, nudged me with his boot. I shook my head and tried to snap out of it.

  But as the show continued, I found that I couldn’t get that saucy little minx out of my head. She had a mean streak, teasing me like before effectively telling me to fuck off.

  Yep, a mean streak.


  And I really liked it.

  MERCEDES

  I slipped through the crowd of hot, dancing bodies, shoving when I needed to get by. The smell of leather, or sweat teased my nose, making me weak in the knees.

  I had no idea why I’d just done what I had—that sexy little dance for the band’s drummer. I’d just been moving to the music, enjoying myself, letting go for the first fucking time in my life, and when I’d looked up...

  He’d been staring right at me. Eyes the color of whiskey, black hair standing up in messy spikes. A ring through his right eyebrow, and a massive full color tattoo accented his left bicep.

  He was sexy as hell, but I’d met a lot of sexy guys in my life. But this one...

  Something in the way he’d looked at me, as if I held the answer to every question he’d ever had, had made my stomach do a slow roll.

  I wanted him. But there were three problems with that. One—he’d crooked his finger at me like he’d expected me to come running, to hop on the stage and blow him as he pounded out another song.

  The mental picture sent heat flashing throughout my body. But that didn’t matter, because the second problem was that the sexy girl dancing out there for him? That wasn’t really me. I’d never done anything crazy in my life, and that had led me here, to this biker rally... which led me to the third problem.

  I already had a boyfriend. Sort of. And he was here... somewhere. A big, burly biker of a boyfriend, Trey wouldn’t take too kindly to finding me messing around with some other guy.

  At least, I didn’t think he would. But as I’d learned really quickly in the last two weeks, bikers have a set of rules that don’t always apply to the rest of humanity. In my head, I knew that I just wasn’t that kind of girl. But I also knew that a lot of the guys I hung around with called me a “sweet butt” behind my back—basically a biker groupie.

  And somehow, I had convinced myself that I didn’t mind the title, because hey, what was more wild and crazy than that? And there were some women who were really into that kind of thing.

  But I was starting to see that I wasn’t. And just thinking about it started a slow boil, way down deep in my gut. What was I thinking, dating someone who just laughed along with his friends when they called me something that made me uncomfortable, or when they started getting aggressive, telling me all of the things they expected me to do to them.

  My taste of freedom, the one I’d hungered for so badly, wasn’t turning out the way I’d planned. Like, at all.

  The perfectionist in me felt like a miserable failure.

  “Get a grip, Carson.” Scowling at my own train of thought, I crossed my arms over my chest, rubbed my hands up and down against a sudden chill.

  I would make my escape from reality work. Or else.

  And where was all of this coming from anyway? Riding around with Trey and his friends was fun enough, even if it wasn’t everything that I’d dreamt of.

  So was it the can of beer I’d chugged before heading out to dance? The fact that Trey had vanished without telling me where, leaving me alone in a crowd of thousands?

  Or was it that look in Drummer Boy’s eyes, the one that had made me weak in the knees? The one that said he thought I was worth it, even if I didn’t necessarily see it myself?

  “Fuck it.” Shaking my head, I tried to get a grip on myself. Mooning around over some guy I’d never actually met, who thought I’d come running just because he said so... he wasn’t worth my time.

  I’d just escaped a life of expectations. I wasn’t looking for another one.

  Now I just needed to track down Trey, and see if he was worth my time either. I’d thought he was sexy when we’d met, a badass biker who’d offered me a chance to get away from my boring life, from the expectations that surrounded me.

  But really, I was beginning to see that he’d just seen blonde hair, tits, and a warm body to sleep beside him at night. At least that was all I’d done—let him sleep beside me.

  Okay. There had been some kissing too. Maybe some under the shirt touching. But he hadn’t done it for me, not enough that I’d wanted him inside of me.

  And why was I spending my supposed wild time with someone who didn’t light me on fire? Maybe it had taken that little spark from meeting eyes with Drummer Boy, but...

  I didn’t know how long this freedom would last. Shouldn’t I spend it searching for things, for people that made me feel?

  That did it. My mind was made up. I fleetingly thought of how I’d hopped on the back of Trey’s bike with him and left my car behind, because it had felt crazy.

  Now I saw that it was just plain stupid. But even after a small spree that had netted me leather pants and jacket, some sexy lingerie that I hadn’t yet used, and more meals and beer for Trey and his pals than I cared to think about, my bank account was still in decent shape.

  Hopefully this small Connecticut town had a Greyhound stop.

  My waist length white blonde hair was in snarls from pushing my way through the crowd, and I thought longingly of the drawer full of hair ties in my bedroom back home—no, at my parents’ house— as I stalked across the field, filled with purpose.

  I wasn’t going to run from the biker rally. I’d paid to be here, and truthfully, all of the bikes, with their shiny chrome and vibrant colors, called to me on some deep level.

  I wanted to stay. But I didn’t want to do it with Trey.

  Squinting through the dusk, I could just make out the outline of the tent I was sharing with Trey and two of his buddies. It was leaning to one side—handy Trey was not—but I was looking forward to crawling inside the shelter of the orange nylon. I needed a moment to gather my thoughts.

  A few weeks spent with Trey had taught me that, just like with every other type of person out there, some bikers were cool guys... and some were not.

  I was not impressed that he’d left me alone in a crowd that size. Hell, he hadn’t even told me where he was going.

  And as I thought back to what I’d wanted, what I’d hoped for from my little vacation from life...

  Yeah. I was done.

  Absorbed in my thoughts, I didn’t notice that the tent was moving until I reached for the zipper. Startled, I stepped back, momentarily agitated.

  “What the...” Damn it, I’d told Trey that I didn’t want to share a tent with Grass and Little Red—his two biker buddies—for just this reason. The two other men—well, Trey too, for that matter—were walking boners.

  Where the hell was I supposed to go while whichever one of them was in there finished jack-hammering whatever female they’d been able to pick up?

  Sighing with irritation, I turned on my heel, ready to go wander some more. Hell, I would just pack up and leave, but all of my shit was in the tent.

  Eew. I hoped their naked selves weren’t touching it.

  “Gimme it, baby. Gimme it.”

  Wait a sec.

  Pausing, I cocked my head to the side, my brain trying to catch up with what I was hearing.

  “Gimme it. Uh. Uh.”

  My mouth fell open; I knew that voice, had heard it twenty-four seven for the last two weeks. Before I could think it through, my fingers were fumbling for the tab of the zipper. I yanked it down with a metallic screech that rent the air, throwing back the tent flap.

  And there, right on top of my own purple sleeping bag, was Trey, my supposed boyfriend. Riding his cock, reverse cowgirl style, was a woman I’d never seen before. She was pretty enough, even if I snidely noted in my mind that she had to have a good ten years on my own twenty-two.

  Pretty or not, I could have done without the eyeful of her big breasts, bouncing away as she jumped up and down on Trey’s cock.

  Well, I’d wondered why he hadn’t been overly impatient with my request to hold off on the sexual part of our relationship. Still... damn it, it made me mad.

  I thought back to the way his eyes had lit up when he’d seen me in my fancy skirt and low heels, looking lost and likely a little bit more than bewildered as I
stood outside the bar where I’d met him. He’d been looking for money and sex, I saw now.

  He’d gotten one out of me. Thank God he hadn’t gotten the other.

  “You piece of shit.” Finally, I found my voice, pointing an accusing finger at him. I was done with him, yes, but I hadn’t told him that yet. Jesus. “This is why you took off on me?”

  “Mercedes!” His eyes opened, a flicker of guilt working over his face, but it was gone quickly, covered with deliberate arrogance and attitude.

  How had I ever found him sexy?

  “Don’t be bitchy.” Squeezing the woman’s hip in one hand, he stilled her movements, and she laughed breathlessly. “You know how it goes, babe.”

  “Right.” Couldn’t he just admit that he was an asshole? No, he had to make it look like I was the uptight one. Which I was. But still. “Yeah, I see how it is. You’re such a walking boner that you couldn’t keep in your pants long enough to wait for me.”

  Curling my lips with disgust, I pushed through the open flap of the tent, hooking my arms through the straps of my bag. The longer I spent away from the confines of my life with the parents, the more I could feel the reserved layers of my personality peeling away, revealing a woman with a lot of decidedly Rachel-like elements to her personality. What I didn’t know was which was the real me.

  As I scrambled for my bag, Trey placed his palm flat on the back of the woman on top of him, pushing her forward a bit to address me.

  “You’d be in a better mood if you joined in instead of getting your panties in a wad.”

  His suggestion was so outside the realm of possibility for me—a Mercedes like response—that my temper just kicked up another notch.

  He didn’t know me at all.

  “You absolute jackass.” Strapping the bag onto my back, I started to crawl out of the tent.

  “If you’re going to be a sweet butt, Mercedes, you can’t get uptight about shit like this.” His voice had moved from petulant to cruel. He knew, damn it, he knew how I felt about that term. Turning slowly, one hand on the tent flap, I looked him right in the eyes.