A Hot Deposit (Motorcycle Club Romance)

This is a work of fiction. Any names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons--living or dead--is entirely coincidental.

A Hot Deposit copyright @ 2014 by Kelly Lawson. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embedded in critical articles or reviews.

A
HOT DEPOSIT

Sharon leans against her window, rapping her fingers on the counter in a slow, rhythmic beat. She stifles a yawn as she gazes around the bank. Her coworker, Emma, is leaning against her own teller window, tapping on her phone absent-mindedly. They technically aren’t supposed to be on their phones at work, but, seeing as business is dead at the moment, she knows their manager won’t mind. In fact, she can see him now through his open office door. He’s reclined back at his desk surfing the Internet – probably finalizing plans for his upcoming vacation to Cancun. Sharon is jealous. She wants to get away. She needs a break from the monotony that is her life at the moment.

Sharon feels a little bad just sitting there, but she isn’t being lazy if there is literally no work to be done. This happens every now and then – the middle of the month, midweek slump in one. People haven’t been paid in a while; bills aren’t due anytime soon. No one seems to be in need of a trip to the bank. After years of working here, she should be used to it by now. But the slowness of it all, combined with the general tedium of her life, is driving Sharon insane. She has to do something soon or she’ll go out of her mind.

Recounting her drawer is always an option, but there really is no need. She has only seen two customers since they opened this morning - there is no chance that her drawer is off by even a penny. She reaches into her purse for her own phone instead, wondering if she will be able to beat the next level of Candy Crush by lunchtime. Before she can find out, however, the bell chimes, announcing that they have a customer.

Sharon looks up excitedly, only to freeze as soon as she catches sight of the man waltzing through the door. He's gorgeous in his own special way – uncouth, raw, and with an air of defiance. There's something about his lopsided grin and the confident way he swaggers through the lobby. A familiar heat is pooling in her lower abdomen as she watches him draw closer. She sits up just a little straighter and throws her shoulders back just enough to draw attention to the low neckline of her blouse.

She sees Emma smirk and go back to her phone from the corner of her eye. It’s just as well; the man has already veered towards Sharon’s window anyway. Sharon thanks her lucky stars as the man saunters her way.

He really is a god. A fitted leather vest, covered with patches, announces his affiliation with a motorcycle gang. The white t-shirt beneath clings tightly to massive muscles, which ripple over his arms and shoulders. Tattoos snake out from underneath the shirt on either side, wrapping their way down his arms towards his wrists. She can’t make out what they are from this distance, but with the way they move, she can’t help but wonder whether or not the tattoos wind all the way across his chest and down his back. She can picture the way the ink would undulate if his muscles were to tense and flex. She would love to have that sight above her, watching his painted body expand and contract as he bends down to kiss her.

His blond hair looks like it had been pushed back against his head, but refused to stay in place. It shoots up in random places, as if someone has been running their fingers through it and pulling vigorously. Sharon hates the person who has been touching him so intimately. She imagines herself doing this instead – causing the mess in his hair as she pulls him towards her, feeling his beard against her lips. That beard! It’s short and scruffy; her mind wanders to what it would feel like scratching against her face and neck… perhaps between her thighs.

As he gets closer to the counter, he removes his sunglasses, revealing big blue eyes so light that they’re almost grey. She could get lost in those eyes. She feels herself getting lost.

As he nears her window, pulling a wad of cash from his pocket, Sharon is struck with the image of helping him make another kind of deposit. She can picture the two of them in the vault behind her. In her fantasy, it is locked from the outside. Sharon is naked, sprawled out on a bed of money. The only thing preserving her modesty is a handful of bills strewn artfully across her body. The man leans forward, slowly collecting the money to reveal more and more of her nude form. With each new expanse of flesh, he bends down to kiss and press his rough beard against her sensitive skin. He reveals one breast, then the other before slowly working his way down her body. He deliberately pulls a bill from between her thighs, revealing her aching…

The sound of someone clearing his throat snaps Sharon out of her reverie. She opens her eyes, mortified by her momentary lapse in professionalism. The man is now towering above her at the counter with mischief in his eyes.

“Sorry…” he pauses for a moment, looking down at her chest. She realizes after a second that he’s reading her nametag. “Sharon, I would like to make a deposit.”

“Yes, of course,” Sharon replies, trying and failing to regain some composure. “Mr.…”

“Call me Rick,” he says with a roguish smile as he reaches out to give her the stack of bills in his hand.

Sharon absently extends her hand to take the money, her eyes never leaving his. Their fingers meet and electricity suddenly pumps through her body at the contact. She jerks back a little in surprise. She’s momentarily embarrassed by the rudeness of the action, but the way his pale blue eyes widen tells her that he felt it, too.

What is it about this man? She has never experienced anything like this before, this sexually charged pull she feels towards Rick. She really can’t help herself – he is doing something to her. He has awakened something deep inside of her, something intense and hungry. Her body, locked in the dullness of the last few months, yearns for escape – for passion and intrigue. It yearns to be taken, dominated, and possessed. And her body is telling her that Rick is the man to do these things.

Clearing her throat, Sharon tries once again to be professional as she hands him a deposit slip and places the cash in the money counter. She takes a deep breath and attempts to calm herself with the steady tick of the machine. But as he reaches out to hand her the deposit slip, their hands meet again with the same electricity as before and she knows it’s a lost cause.

She looks up at him again, surprised to see that the grey in his eyes has almost disappeared behind his dilated pupils and he’s gazing back at her lustfully. His arousal feeds her own and the tension in the air around them becomes palpable. They stand there for a moment, their hands still touching, before Sharon slowly retreats to her computer with the deposit slip.

“Um,” Sharon stutters after a moment, startled by the huskiness of her own voice. She clears her throat again before she continues, “will that be all for you today, Rick?”

She prays that it isn’t. She doesn’t know what she will do if he just waltzes out the door the way he came in.

“Well…” Rick flashes her another mischievous smile before he continues, “I also need to get into my safety deposit box.”

Sharon freezes. She is barely holding it together now. As much as she doesn’t want him to leave yet, she’s also unsure if it’s a good idea to accompany Rick into the vault alone. She can barely control herself now and doubts that she will be able to control herself at all if locked alone in the strong room with this captivating man.

“Very well,” she replies. After all, she can’t actually tell a customer that he isn’t allowed to visit his own safety deposit box. She knows that her voice is far too rough to sound casual, but she’s doing the best she can. “Do you have the key?”

Rick smiles wickedly as he holds up his key chain, a small deposit box key dangling from the ring. But Sharon is focused on his hand – his big, strong hand with thick, callused fingers. She can’t help but yearn to feel those fingers on her, exploring her body, pushing deep inside of her. Her body pulsates at the thought. She squeezes her thighs together in an attempt to soothe the increasing ache, but it’s no use.

“Okay,” she says and it comes out more of a breathy whisper than anything else.

He just continues to smile as he follows her behind the counter and back through the hallway towards the vault. She makes sure she has shut and locked the door, as per protocol, before allowing him to open his box. Only, he hasn’t moved to open his box.

Instead, he is still standing in the middle of the room, gazing at her with a hungry look in his eyes. She backs up a few steps, trying to keep from doing anything stupid. This is her place of work, after all. She cannot do what her body is telling her to do. It would be unprofessional. She knows there are no cameras in the vault itself – meant to provide customers with absolute privacy as they access their valuables – but still, she could be fired if anyone found out.

The humor is now gone from Rick’s face. He’s staring at her in a completely animalistic way and she can feel herself responding. Her mind might know that this is a bad idea, but her body is completely on board. She can feel wetness collecting between her legs - the look of hunger in his eyes as the cause. Wolfishly, he begins to stalk towards her, as if he really is a hunter and she his prey. Sharon knows that she should stop this before it even starts, but, much like a deer in headlights, she finds herself incapable of moving.

And suddenly, like a wolf, Rick pounces. One minute Sharon is watching him cautiously from a few feet away. The next, she is being shoved back against a wall of safety deposit boxes. His mouth is against hers, ravenously sucking and licking her lips open in order to deepen the kiss. Rick claims her mouth with all the power and enthusiasm of a wild animal devouring its quarry.  His teeth nip at her lower lip until he finally gets his tongue fully in Sharon’s mouth. It’s filthy and rough and better than any kiss she has ever received. He continues to dominate her, moving his tongue purposefully, sweeping inside of her mouth until he has tasted every inch.

After what feels like hours, Rick slowly pulls back and Sharon opens the eyes she hadn’t even realized she’d closed. Rick’s eyes, pupils wide with lust, dart down towards her lips, which she assumes are just as swollen and bruised as his by the self-satisfied look he gives her. He smiles, obviously liking what he sees, before moving his mouth lower to trace a pattern down her neck with his lips and tongue.

His hands, meanwhile, are busy with the front of her blouse. He makes fast work of the buttons and soon her top is half opened, revealing plump breasts that spill over the top of her lacy white bra. After giving up on opening her shirt all the way, Rick’s hands move up to cup her tits, squeezing roughly as his thumbs circle her hard nipples through the lace. Giving a guttural groan of appreciation, Rick moves his mouth from her neck down her chest. He buries his face between the mounds of her tits, sucking and biting bruises into the pale flesh that lies there. Sharon moans and arches into his touch, her body throbbing with arousal as Rick lowers his mouth to lick and suck on her nipples through the thin white fabric.

Replacing his lips with his hands once again, Rick moves back up to reassert control of her mouth, swallowing her moans as he sucks on her tongue. He presses against her harder, grinding his growing erection against her thigh as he continues to direct the kiss. Sharon melts into him, allowing him complete control of her body. Eventually he steps back, lifting his hand to run a thumb over her puffy bottom lip.

“Your lips,” he says between heavy breaths, “I want to see them wrapped around my cock.”

She drops to her knees without uttering a word, licking her lips in anticipation. Her hands reach for his fly and she quickly undoes his jeans before sliding them, along with his boxers, down around his knees. She whimpers at the sight of his cock. It’s flushed red and so hard that it may be bordering on painful. She reaches out a hand to stroke the substantial length. Wrapping her small fingers around the thick base, Sharon sticks her tongue out, giving a small lick to his leaking head. Her body shudders with desire at the taste of his salty pre-cum and her moans mix with his as she takes the tip fully into her mouth.

Rick buries both of his hands in the hair at the back of her head, sinking a couple of inches deeper into her open mouth. Sharon rewards his efforts with a twirl of her tongue against his sensitive tip. Another salty spurt of pre-cum mixes with her saliva and her mouth is soon slippery enough for Rick to push himself farther down her throat. She maintains her grasp on the base of his cock as he continues to bury himself deeper and deeper inside of her. Eventually, she releases her hold and allows Rick to slowly continue until her nose is pressed against the soft curls of his pubic hair.

She is breathing deeply now, trying to keep her throat relaxed as she swallows around the head of Rick’s cock. She can’t help but notice that this is completely opposite of Rick’s quick, erratic pants as he savors the sensation of bottoming out down Sharon’s throat. She revels in the way that she’s affecting him so discernibly.