Double Trouble: A Bedlam Butchers MC Romance (The Motorcycle Clubs Book 8) (3 page)

I think of Stuart’s chilling expression. His suggestion that he trade me for drugs. I shake my head again.

“You want me to just let you go and let you go back into the bar?”

I shake my head a third time, and this time I cling to him. While he’s holding me, I feel safe. It’s the first time I’ve felt safe in almost a week. I don’t want him to let go of me, period.

“Okay, then.” He pauses, strokes my hair again, and then says, “Thing is, if I’m gonna keep you for a bit, we gotta get Muscle on board, or people are going to think something’s up.”

“I know,” I say softly. “Butchers ride in pairs, fight in pairs, and fuck in pairs.”

“So you’re familiar with the club?”

I stay silent.

“Mmmhmm.” Beast sounds suspicious, but the grip holding me close doesn’t change. “Well, Muscle gets in dark moods from time to time. Best thing we can do is have you apologize and see what happens next.”

I nod. “I want you guys to keep me,” I tell him. “I meant that.”

He grunts again. “Keeping you ain’t like keeping a dog.”

“I know. I know it means sex. I’m fine with that. I don’t mind the thought of having sex. I just...” I let my words trail off. I guess I expected it to be
good
. Of course I don’t say that—I’ve wounded enough egos tonight.

“Yeah, well, I don’t think anyone was prepared for that. We’ll go home and have a talk with my buddy. See if we can get him on the same page. All right?”

I cling to Beast’s leathers, reluctant to let him go. Slowly, he pries my fingers from his chest, and tips my chin back so I meet his gaze. His face is still frightening and hard, but he’s been nothing but gentle with me, so I’m not that freaked out.

“You
want
to go home with me? Last chance to bail.”

I nod again. “I don’t want to go to my home ever again.”

He squints at me and then flicks a hand, indicating I should hand him something. “Gimme your ID. I want to make sure you’re legal.”

“I’m legal,” I tell him, and fish it out of my purse to show him.

He studies it for a moment, then looks at me. “Cheyenne?”

“Everyone calls me Shy.”

He nods. “You look younger than twenty-one.”

“I get that a lot. It’s because I’m small. Is my size an issue?”

“Is mine?”

“It’s a bonus,” I tell him bluntly. He’s the biggest, baddest motherfucker in the Bedlam Butchers. That’s exactly why I want him.

His smile curls up one side of his mouth, and he’s almost cute. “Well then.”

It’s not until I’m getting onto the back of his bike and putting my arms around his thick, hard waist that I realize I haven’t stuttered since Beast hugged me against him.

For a scary guy, he sure is good at making me feel comfortable.

We pull up to a house in the suburbs, and my mouth goes dry. I live in a falling-apart doublewide that should have been scrapped years ago. The house we’re parking in front of is a palace. A McMansion palace with two stories, palm trees and manicured bushes in front. The lights are on in the house despite the late hour, and when the automatic garage door opener goes up, I swallow hard.

These guys have money. It makes me uncomfortable, and I kind of wish that we were pulling up to a shack out in the sticks somewhere. I’d feel more at home there. Here, I’m even more out of my element.

Beast parks his bike in the garage next to another tricked out Harley. Also in the garage is a white work van that reads MUSCLE AIR REPAIR—HVAC CERTIFIED. The garage is full of tools, too, all neatly shelved and put away.

I slide off the bike, my eyes on my surroundings as I wait for Beast. He turns his bike off a moment later, and then looks at me. His dark hair is mussed from the ride, and for some reason, I want to run my fingers through it and fix it for him. “Now, Shy. I’m gonna tell you something about Muscle. You gotta listen to me, though, cuz if you fuck this up, I can’t help you. Understand?”

I nod, my entire body tense.

“Thing with Muscle is—he’s got a big mouth and a bigger ego.” He thumps a hand against my breastbone. “Biggest heart of anyone I know, though. You feel me? You just gotta take the whole package.”

I understand what he’s telling me. Muscle’s a blowhard, but I’ve offended him. I need to appeal to him in order to get through to him again. Now I suddenly get all his bitter comments at the bar about tagging along. He’s so good looking, he’s probably used to women falling all over him, and instead, I insulted him. Boy, I’d really put my foot in my mouth, hadn’t I?

“Thank you,” I tell Beast softly.

He grunts. “Don’t thank me yet. I’m not a saint. You want to get laid? I want to get laid.” His gaze moves over me. “Been a long time for me. But it’s not going to happen unless you fix things with Muscle.”

I nod again.

“Come on, then.” Beast hauls off his bike and shuts the garage door with a click on his keychain. Then, he heads for the door on the far side of the garage, and I follow like a lost lamb.

The interior of the beautiful house is surprising. It’s a mess. A complete and utter mess. We step into a large kitchen that looks like animals have been in it. There might be granite counters underneath and rich wood cabinets, but every inch of space is covered with boxes and dirty dishes. There’s a dining room table the next room over, and it’s covered with stuff, too. As we pass through the house, I see dirty clothes and empty beer bottles everywhere. Clearly no woman lives here.

The fact that no women live here—or even come here—is reinforced when we enter the living room. There are two big leather couches angled across from each other and a massive recliner that Beast immediately goes to sit in. On the wall is an enormous flat-screen television that’s probably bigger than my room in the trailer. Sitting on the couch, sucking on a beer bottle, is Muscle, an intense frown on his face as he watches sports on TV. He looks over when Beast sits down and then scowls at the sight of me.

“What the fuck’s she doing here?”

“She needs protection,” Beast says. “Wants to belong to us for a bit.”

Muscle makes a noise that sounds like disbelief. His gaze focuses back on the television.

I stand there awkwardly a moment longer, waiting for someone to talk to me. But no one does, and I’m anxiously aware of the sore throb between my legs and Beast’s gaze locked on me. I need to act. I steel my courage and approach Muscle. “C-can I talk to you?”

He gives me a dismissive look and then returns his attention back to the TV. Oh jeez, this is hard. He’s not giving me any chances, is he? Despair threatens to overwhelm me, and I blink back tears again. “I s-s-s-should have told you I was a v-v-virgin,” I say, since that seems like a good place to start.

“Ya think?” he says in a biting tone. “I’m not a fucking rapist.”

“I know,” I exhale. “I know you’re not. I just...I w-wasn’t thinking all that c-clearly. I don’t like c-c-crowds.” And my brother was there and I just wanted to escape, but I don’t tell them that part. “I didn’t mean to make it s-s-s-seem like I wasn’t interested in you. I j-j-j-j-j-just...” I swallow hard. My nervous mouth is having a hard time forming around the words.

“Needs protection,” Beast says in that bland voice. “Which is why she wanted me. Wasn’t ‘cause she thought I was hot.”

Muscle smirks at that and takes another swig of his beer, and my face flushes uncomfortably. It’s not that I find Beast unattractive, honestly. There’s something comforting about his size and his gruff demeanor. No one would ever call him ‘hot’ but I do find his protectiveness sexy and appealing. Muscle, however, is raw masculine beauty and he knows it.

This time, when Muscle looks over at me, his expression is a little softer. “You chose the wrong guy if you need protection, baby girl. Beast here’s a package deal with me, and it’s clear I’m not your type.”

“That’s wrong,” I whisper. I know exactly what I signed up for. And since he’s not looking at me, I can’t convince him with my expression. But I can convince him in other ways.

So I approach where he’s seated on the couch, beer still in hand. He doesn’t move an inch, but I see his focus turn to me as I move closer. I’m trembling with a mixture of fear and anticipation, but I force myself to keep going forward. My knees knock against his leg, and then before I can stop to think about things, I throw my leg over his lap and straddle him. My small breasts are in his face now and it’s clear I have his undivided attention.

He raises an eyebrow at me. “That’s a forward move for a virgin.”

“Not really a virgin any longer,” I breathe, pleased that I didn’t stutter through that statement.

The look he gives me is considering, and it makes my heart pound wildly. He is such a pretty man. He really is. If I’d have gone for the most gorgeous of the Bedlam Butchers instead of the fiercest, I’d still be with the same pair.

I wrap my arms around his neck. “C-c-can I k-kiss you?”

He lifts his chin in a subtle nod, as if saying
give it your best shot
.

So I do.

My life hasn’t been filled with a lot of kisses or affection. My dad was a dick, my mom killed herself, and my brother’s a terror who makes my life hell. My few relationships never really got far past hand-holding, so I’m not a great kisser. I haven’t had any practice. I know this, but I have to try anyhow. I press my mouth gently to his, giving him the best kiss I can. It’s...surprisingly not hard to do. For a guy, his mouth is full and soft, and I fixate on kissing those incredible lips. Over and over, I press my mouth to his, nibbling at his upper lip and then his lower one, teasing them with my own. I’m not ready for tongue yet, but I’m showing him I’m willing. And I’m surprised when I feel an aching stir between my legs.

I’m aroused by sitting here and kissing Muscle.

I make a small whimper of protest in my throat when he pulls away, and he studies me for a minute, contemplative. He looks over at Beast. “You set her up for this?” His voice is throaty, sexy.

“Nope.”

Muscle studies me again. This time, his mouth nips mine and I feel my breasts tingle in response. I’m panting, my focus on his lips, and he says, “You turned on or you faking?”

I blink at him, my senses dulled by the drugging kisses. “Huh?”

“Just kinda a big turnabout for a girl that was so dry earlier,” he says. “Don’t know if I believe you. Not sure I want to get all worked up just to feel like I’m raping a chick all over again.”

“I...I’m not. I l-l-like k-k-kissing you,” I stammer, and my cheeks feel like they’re on fire. I’m so embarrassed, and yet, I still want him to keep kissing me.

“So if I put my hand in your panties, you’ll be wet for me?”

I gasp at the thought, but I don’t pull away. Instead, I squirm on his lap. Am I wet? It’s hard for me to tell, but I’m throbbing between my legs in an entirely different way. So I shrug and move my hips just a little, spreading them wider. I’m breathless and excited, and all fear is starting to ebb. That kiss has fired me up. I want to do more. The table from earlier is just a bad memory, and Muscle under me feels real, his breath fanning against my cheek, the scent of his aftershave enveloping me.

His gaze pins me and he keeps watching my face, even as I feel his hand go under the skirt of my dress. It slides up my thigh and moves between my legs to rest at the apex of my pussy, where I’m stretched and straddling him. And even as his fingers press against my panties, I can tell that they’re soaked.

Muscle rubs me through the fabric, and gives me a heartbreaking little grin. “Now we’re talking.”

The finger rubbing the crease of my pussy through my panties feels invasive and not quite enough all at the same time. I rub up against that maddening finger, wishing he’d push my panties aside and touch me, and still not quite ready for that yet.

“So,” Muscle murmurs as I ride his hand. “What’s your name, baby girl?”

“Cheyenne.”

“Interesting.”

“Says people call her Shy,” Beast adds.

That makes Muscle smile broadly. “Definitely more of a Shy. I can see that.” He drags his fingers through my hair, admiring it. “You look shy. Shy, soft and sweet. What are you doing with guys like us, baby girl?”

I just shake my head. I don’t want to talk about it. Heck, I don’t even want to think about it right now. I want to get back to kissing.

But for some reason, Muscle doesn’t push. “Secret, huh? I know something about those.” He puts his fingers under my chin and tilts my mouth toward his, and then he’s kissing me again, our mouths locked, and this time, his tongue slicks into my mouth.

And I whimper, because this time, the bolt of lust flaring through my body is impossible to mistake. It rocks through me, hard and hot.

He makes a sound of pleasure low in his throat, and his hand goes to grip the back of my head, and he holds me against him while we kiss endlessly, his tongue flicking against mine and rubbing against it like I imagine it would against my breasts, and I’m feeling ticklish and breathless and oh so aroused by his mouth on me and his finger rubbing through the wet fabric of my panties.

Muscle’s mouth pulls from mine. “Condom?”

I blink at him, dazed, and then when I hear Beast’s chair creak as he gets up, I realize he wasn’t talking to me. He was talking to his buddy, who’s sitting and watching us make out. And that makes me feel a little squirmy. Not in a bad way, but it makes me wonder what he thinks as he sees Muscle making out with me, fingering me...

But then Muscle’s kissing me again, and I forget about everything but his mouth on mine, his tongue rubbing against my own. When his mouth breaks free from mine again, his blue eyes are heavy-lidded with desire as he gazes at me. “Why don’t we get you naked? I want to look at that pretty ass again.”

My lips part, and I bite back the moan rising in my throat. I want him to look at me, too. Want to see if I meet his approval. So I bite my lip and raise my arms when he tugs my slip dress over my head. It’s a flowy, flimsy dress with spaghetti straps, so there’s no bra, and when he tosses it aside, I’m in nothing but my red thong and my cowboy boots. My nipples are pricking and hard, my small breasts pointing.

“Now that’s a pretty sight,” Muscle says, admiring my figure. His hand runs down my front, sliding between my breasts and onto my flat belly.

“Backside’s nice, too,” Beast says from close by, and I look up to see him standing nearby. He drops the condoms off to Muscle, but instead of stepping away, he remains standing there. Watching me. And I have to admit, I find that arousing, too; that I can make this big man stop in his tracks and gaze at me. I’ve always been more of a mouse than a vixen, but I could get used to all this attention.

“Yeah, she definitely has a pretty ass,” Muscle says, and reaches around me to grip it. He tugs me forward and I fall against his chest, my hands bracing on his shoulders. My nipples scrape his leathers and the vee of my sex pushes down against the hard length trapped in his jeans. Oh.

“So, Miss Virgin,” Muscle says, a gleam in his eyes. “Anyone ever eat that pussy of yours before?”

My eyes widen. He’s going to...he wants to do that? To me? I mutely shake my head, not trusting my voice.

“Now that’s real interesting.” There’s a grin on Muscle’s face. “I’m a big fan of introducing a girl to all kinds of things. Making her scream my name. Making it so good she never forgets who she’s with. You might be real fun to play with, Shy.” His hand cups my breast and he takes my nipple between forefinger and thumb and begins to roll it.

This time, I can’t bite back my moan. My eyes close and I feel both his hands cup my breasts, now, teasing my nipples in tandem. It feels incredible, his hands warm against my skin, his fingers toying with my sensitive body. I arch my back to press them harder against his grip, wanting more. Needing more of these teasing, delicious touches. No one ever touches me. I didn’t realize I craved it until now.

Then, his hands leave my breasts and he gives my ass a pat. “On your feet.”

I blink my eyes open and obey, getting to my feet. He doesn’t get up, though, just leans forward and tugs my thong down my legs until I can step out of it. “Boots, too,” he says. “Don’t want to get kicked while I’m going down on you.”

Dazed, I reach over and pull them off my feet. The floor’s kind of a mess here, so I just push them aside. I don’t think the guys will mind an extra shoe or two in the clutter.

When I stand again, Muscle puts a hand below my belly button, and then rubs my mound, gazing at me. “Natural blond,” he comments. “That’s nice. Glad you’re not shaved I might feel like I’m fucking a twelve-year-old. Not something that turns me on.”

I blush hard. It’s no secret that I’m tiny and lean. I’m barely five foot and my breasts could generously be called an A cup. But my hips still curve in. I know Muscle’s noticed this because his hand grips one buttock again and he gives it a squeeze, as if unable to resist touching.