Read Breaking Free (Siren Publishing Classic) Online
Authors: Grae McTavish
Breaking Free (Siren Publishing Classic)
Breaking Free
Danika Eldridge always did what she was told, followed the straight and narrow. She hid her dark desires behind the mask of a quiet librarian. When her world turns upside down, she realizes it’s time to make a change.
Gabe Cavanaugh is dark, dangerous, and oh so sexy, everything a good girl should be wary of. In his black leather, perched on his wicked bike, he scares and draws Danika all at once. Each has their secrets, but the white-hot passion between them can’t be denied. Once the fire ignites, they can’t get enough.
Just as their fledgling passion blossoms, a dark ghost from the past threatens. Can Gabe save his sweet librarian even as he awakens her desires? Can these two opposites have more than hot, steamy passion?
Genre:
Contemporary
Length:
36,816 words
BREAKING FREE
Grae McTavish
EROTIC ROMANCE
Siren Publishing, Inc.
www.SirenPublishing.com
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A SIREN PUBLISHING BOOK
IMPRINT: Erotic Romance
BREAKING FREE
Copyright © 2011 by Grae McTavish
E-book ISBN: 1-61926-078-6
First E-book Publication: December 2011
Cover design by Jinger Heaston
All cover art and logo copyright © 2011 by Siren Publishing, Inc.
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED:
This literary work may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, including electronic or photographic reproduction, in whole or in part, without express written permission.
All characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is strictly coincidental.
PUBLISHER
Siren Publishing, Inc.
www.SirenPublishing.com
Letter to Readers
Dear Readers,
If you have purchased this copy of
Breaking Free
by Grae McTavish from BookStrand.com or its official distributors, thank you. Also, thank you for not sharing your copy of this book.
Regarding E-book Piracy
This book is copyrighted intellectual property. No other individual or group has resale rights, auction rights, membership rights, sharing rights, or any kind of rights to sell or to give away a copy of this book.
The author and the publisher work very hard to bring our paying readers high-quality reading entertainment.
This is Grae McTavish’s livelihood.
It’s fair and simple. Please respect Ms. McTavish’s right to earn a living from her work.
Amanda Hilton, Publisher
DEDICATION
For my mom who gave me my love of reading, my hubby who loves me for me, and my girls for all their encouragement.
GRAE MCTAVISH
Copyright © 2011
Prologue
Her mind refused to process the noises reaching her ears. She couldn’t be hearing what she was hearing.
Stop, turn around, leave.
She silently argued with herself, but her feet seemed to have a mind of their own. She continued up the stairs, the sounds growing louder.
The door ahead was slightly ajar, and her hand shook as she pushed it open. Her eyes widened in disbelief as she took in the bodies writhing in front of her. The pale ass of her fiancé humped up and down between a pair of long, sexy legs. They were so engrossed in each other, that her presence went unnoticed.
Morbidly fascinated, Danny watched as he caught the ankles around his waist and spread them wide. With a grunt, he hammered into the woman. His thinning hair stuck out at all angles, and sweat streaked down his narrow back. Oddly, Danika noted that the women’s toes were painted black and that struck her as funny. Wesley was always so uptight.
Her laugh must have alerted them to her presence because two, equally stunned faces swung toward her. Everyone froze for several seconds, then all hell broke loose.
Chapter One
Danika bit her tongue until it felt like she was going to snap it off. She could actually taste the blood, but it was either that or scream. Not an option at the present.
“Boring!” she grumbled, telling herself to calm down. “Timid!” She growled, trying to count to ten. It wasn’t working. “Ugh! That bastard!” This came out a little too loud in the echoing silence of the Aurora University Library. Heads lifted from silent study, searching for the source of the uncharacteristic outburst. Certainly no one would think it came from meek librarian, Danika Eldridge. Smiling weakly from behind the desk, she mumbled an excuse to her shocked assistant before she sprinted across the book-filled expanse to the dated staff restroom.
Slamming the door, she began to pace, sensible pumps clicking on the floor, several strands of long ebony hair breaking free of the tight bun she always kept it in. In the yellowed fading bathroom mirror she saw her amber eyes flashing. While she might look like a typical librarian, wire rimmed glasses, tight hair in a small, round bun, that didn’t give her ex-fiancé the right to call her boring
! “I’m sorry, dear. You’re just not exciting enough for me. I need someone less timid,”
she repeated, mocking his nasally voice. It was Monday morning, and she’d had all weekend to stew over the bomb he’d dropped late Friday afternoon. She should be upset about him breaking off their engagement, but instead she was angry, frustrated, royally pissed off in fact. It wasn’t that she really missed Wesley’s company. His calling her boring was like the pot calling the kettle black. Professor Wesley Dandridge, known to his students as Professor Brain-dead, was as boring as they came. She still wasn’t quite sure how he had ended up with a freshman in his bed. Certainly the Goth young girl could do better than the balding middle-age waste that was Wesley.
The irony of it all was, she’d showed up at his house to surprise him. Something totally out of character for her, but lately she’d been feeling restless. He’d always discouraged what he called her “unpredictable tendencies,” but when she’d found the rare bottle of wine he’d been looking for, she couldn’t resist the idea of surprising him. She was the one who’d ended up surprised. The looks on their faces would have been hilarious if it hadn’t been Danika seeing it. The punk girl, whom she later learned called herself Noir, had grinned, her black lipstick smeared across her chin matching the streak down Wesley’s pale bird-chest, her spiky, blue hair and glinting nose ring seeming so out of place in Wesley’s orderly, uptown,
conservative
condo. But it had been Wesley who had been the most laughable. He’d actually tunneled under the covers, trying to hide like a child from a nightmare. Danika had stood there tapping her foot in annoyed shock.
“I see you, Wesley, so you might as well come out and start explaining.” Did he think she’d actually just turn and go away? She still wasn’t sure how she’d managed to keep her voice so calm.
That’s when he’d come out with his little speech. “I’m sorry, dear. You’re just not exciting enough for me. I need someone less timid. I hope you understand, and we can still be friends?” How the hell could you be friends with someone you just caught screwing around on you? But that wasn’t what made her the angriest.
Throughout their entire relationship he’d told her to act
like an
adult, act her age. She was twenty-five, and it was time to give up those trashy little novels she liked to read. He’d been the one to tell her real ladies didn’t wear lingerie like that when she’d shown up in the black lace thong and garters. He’d acted disgusted at her black leather, knee-high, biker-style boots. He’d criticized her for wearing her jeans too tight, letting her hair hang loose down her back, and wearing too much makeup.
With as much dignity as she could muster, she’d backed out of the condo and taken the bottle of wine to her friend Gloria’s house. Gloria, her best friend since high school, had helped her empty the bottle along with several others. Saturday had been spent nursing a massive hangover. Sunday had been spent burning or pitching everything that reminded her of the cheating bastard. And through it all, she hadn’t cried. That was what amazed her the most. She didn’t really miss him. She missed the last four years of her life that she’d spent catering to his idiotic ideas instead of being herself. Four years of trying to act like what he thought a lady should act like, only to find he didn’t want a lady at all.
Fortunately, the lonely restroom was empty at this hour, so she was free to vent without anyone trying to fit her for a straightjacket.
“Lousy, no-good, son of a bitch!” The curse echoed off the teal blue tile walls. “Cheating, filthy, arrogant prick!”
Forty-five minutes later, feeling much better, a composed Danika strolled through the library, tidying up shelves and racks of books she loved so dearly.
That was when she found it. She knew some student had probably left it as a joke. The library certainly didn’t carry it. The magazine was spread open to an article with a young, bikini-clad nymph sprawled wantonly across a huge, black motorcycle. She supposed she should be shocked, but her innate sense of humor took over. She couldn’t help wonder why the woman would feel the need to wear a bikini while out cruising around on a
motorcycle
. Wouldn’t she get wind burn?
And heaven forbid she should wreck. She’d be road pizza!
There was a bike shop down the street from her little loft, and she just couldn’t imagine any of the big burly men riding down the street in a thong. The image brought a giggle to her lips. Scooping up the magazine, she smothered the chuckles with the back of her hand imagining the shop’s owner whom she’d met recently.
Last week there had been a big bike rally to protest the state’s cutting of the cancer research budget. They’d gone up and down the block getting signatures on petitions to take to the capital as the culmination of their rally. She’d been approached by a big grizzly of a man with long, shaggy gray
ing black
hair and a wooly
black
beard. He’d introduced himself as Smokey, appropriately enough. At first his larger-than-life presence had been intimidating, but then she’d looked into the biggest, sweetest blue eyes she’d ever seen and realized he was just a big, old teddy bear. She’d been more than happy to sign his petition and given him a big hug for support. Later that afternoon, she’d looked down from her bay window of her loft and watched as the parade of bikes roared by. Smokey was on a bullhorn as they revved their cycles. “Come one, everyone, let’s show those penny-pinching, bureaucratic bastards what we think of their politics!” he’d
roar
ed, receiving a huge cheer. In the silence of her loft she’d cheered, earning a dirty look from Wesley, who’d been watching a documentary on something like the mating habits of the southeastern fruit fly. At the time, she’d thought he needed to watch something on mating, considering how lousy their sex life was. Of course now she knew it was because he was screwing little Miss Freshman Punk Queen, Noir.
Later after she’d managed to shoo him out the door, she’d flipped the television channel over to late night news, and there was Smokey, standing on the steps of the capital building waving a stack of petitions. Standing next to him was the most incredible, darkly dangerous man she’d ever seen. He was as tall and burly as the giant Smokey, but much younger. With broad shoulders, thick sable hair, and a dangerous goatee, he was sexy as hell. His eyes were the same electric blue as Smokey’s, and the family resemblance was obvious, yet his eyes held none of the warmth. It was the face of the devilishly handsome man that had haunted her dreams that night, not Wesley’s pinched visage. She’d woken up flushed and panting, aching with need that she’d never known she possessed.
Unable to fight the urge, she’d dug out the tiny vibrator she kept hidden in a shoe box under her bed. Wesley would have had a cow if he’d known she still had it, which was why it was hidden. He’d been disgusted when she’d received it as a gift and told her to throw it away. She almost had tossed it in the trash, eager to please him, but she just couldn’t bring herself to do it. And she’s been so glad. Her body throbbed with need, and the sexy memory of the leather clad biker was irresistible.
Lying back, she’d run the chilled tip over the aching bud of her nipple, groaning as it grew impossibly harder. Reaching up with her other hand, she pinched it, feeling a delicious wave of pleasure rol
l
through her, straight to the aching
mound
of her pussy.
A late bloomer, she’d lost her virginity to Wesley the year before graduating from college, and for the life of her, she could never figure out what the big deal was. The vibrator had been a gift from Gloria, to try and pep up her lagging sex life. She found it pleasant and relaxing, but never had it made her shiver like this.
Closing her eyes, she imagined it was the dangerous biker from the news twisting and pinching the swollen tips.
His fingers would be rough from work. His big body would be strong and commanding. With a groan her hand slid lower, parting the damp folds of her cunt. Her clit was so swollen, pulsing with desire so strong, so foreign. Lord, how she wished it were his strong, dominating hands touching her. Moaning, she added the vibrator to her teasing, dipping it to circle her moist entrance. Then suddenly she was convulsing, coming, shrieking wildly.
Gasping, she blinked in amazement. “Holy shit!” Never had she felt anything remotely close to that, and it suddenly occurred to her that this was what all the fuss was about. She didn’t want to begin to speculate why it had never been like that with Wesley. She just knew she had some serious re-evaluating to do.
The next morning she’d felt so guilty. No, technically it wasn’t cheating, but she still felt bad. Of course in retrospect, she could only laugh grimly. Here she’d felt guilty for thinking it, when he’d been doing it. Well, no more. She was through playing by his rules.
* * * *
The magazine was safely tucked into her purse later that night as she locked up the library. She could hardly wait to read it. Then she’d go online and find an e-book about bikers to download. Screw Wesley. She had her vibrator. Heck, she’d go online and order a dozen vibrators and other naughty toys. They were more dependable anyway.
* * * *
Drawing in a deep breath, Danika let the steaming water melt away the stress tightening her muscles. Setting the glass of wine she’d been sipping on the small table next to the claw-foot tub in her ancient bathroom, she sighed and closed her eyes. It was odd. Now that the anger at Wesley’s betrayal had begun to fade, she was left with an overwhelming feeling of relief. It was as if a great burden had been lifted off her shoulders. Reaching for the naughty biker magazine, she flipped through the pages, enjoying the freedom she saw in the pictures, laughing women, flashing jiggling tits to the photographer, randy men with broad shoulders and wicked, lecherous smiles. What would it be like to live in a world where she didn’t have to live up to anyone’s idea of what a lady should be? She turned to the next page, and the carefree expression on the tall, gorgeous brunette caught her eye. Dressed in leather, her man’s arm draped possessively over her shoulder, standing companionably alongside of a pixie-like blonde in a conservative, beige business suit. She was fascinating. Now there was an odd combination. Glancing to the title of the article, Danika let out an “oh.”
The Phenomenal Story of BACK-OFF Bikes.
She scanned the article then went to the top to reread it more slowly. “Bad Ass ChicKs Out For Fun, also known as BACK-OFF.” Women riding bikes? She’d seen a few women riding in the rally last week, but now it struck her.
Grinning, she sat bolt upright in the tub. No! She couldn’t, but the idea of a powerful vibrating machine between her thighs, flying down the road captured her. It was intoxicating in a way no glass of wine ever could be. With trembling hands, she lifted herself out of the tub and dried off. The article mentioned a website, and she was definitely going to check it out.
* * * *
The bold, red flamed background of the BACK-OFF website jumped out at her. A slide show of pictures running across the bottom of the page showed women of all ages, races, and sizes living life to the fullest. Clicking the link, she went to the stories page and began to read about the different women. There was Katie who had learned to ride in the army and then shocked everyone when she got out and kept on riding. Abigail had learned to ride to impress her childhood sweetheart. Morgan started riding after a Halloween mix-up. The stories were endless. Did she dare be as brave as these women?
Hitting the back arrow, she surfed to the site’s chat room, not really expecting to find anyone on, but lo and behold, there were two others despite the late hour. With her heart beating wildly, she created a login, calling herself appropriately enough, LibraryLady.
LibraryLady: Hi, I’m a newbie, just checking things out.
MadMorgan: Welcome. We’re all friendly here.
JazzyGirl: Waz’ up LibraryLady?