Ransomed MC Princess #1 (11 page)

He still says nothing.

I crack my eyes open. He’s still standing there, fuming.

Shit.

“I’ll buy you a new one, alright? I’ll help you build a new one! I’ll buy it and help you build it! Okay? I’ll build it myself!”

Damien just stares at me.

Oh God. This is the calm before the super storm. I just know it! “I’m sorry! Alright? I am so, so, so sorry!”

He grits his jaw. “You think this is about some fuckin’ motorcycle?”

Did he just refer to his pride and joy as a man as ‘just some fuckin’ motorcycle’? “What the hell else would it be about?”

“You,” he whispers.

I scream. I have no choice. He’s looking at me so scary and I just know that bad things are coming.

He laughs. “There’s no one here but us, babe.”

“What the hell does that have to do with anything?”

His eyes take on a devilish light. “It has to do with everything ‘cause right now, no one can hear you scream.”

His creeptastic observation makes me scream again.

He cracks his knuckles. “Damnit Princess, what am I gonna do with you?”

I glance at his scary hands. “What the fuck?”

He stalks back and forth in front of me, eyes blazing, nostrils flaring, muscles tightening. “Yeah, that’s about right,” he mutters. “What the fuck. What the fuck were you doin’ out there tonight, huh? Dancin’ in front of everyone with nothin’ on—”

“I was wearing something!”

“Oh, those paisleys over your tits and…and…and…” he points at my vajazzle, eyes bulging, “…
whatever the fuck
that is.”

I close up my legs. “It’s a vajazzle.”

He shuts his eyes and looks at the ceiling. Then, he puts his hands on top of his head and takes a few deep breaths. Whatever those deep breaths were supposed to do, they didn’t do it. He lowers his hands, growls, and then goes over to the wall and knocks his forehead against it a few times. “Oh my God! What the fuck are you doing? Why THE FUCK are you doing this to me?”

Adrenaline spikes through me. Now was my chance to really show him. “Well, all I was trying to do was get your attention.”

He lowers his hands. Steps away from the wall. Looks at me. Really looks at me. 10 seconds pass. Then his lips open like he’s gonna say something, but nothing comes out. 20 seconds pass.

Finally, he whispers, “You tryin’ to kill me?”

That was the
last
thing I expected him to say. “What?”

“You want me dead, Princess? Is that what this is about?”

How the fuck had he gone from me pasting a vajazzle on to get his attention to an assassination plot? “I don’t want you dead, you idiot! I want you to stop treating me like shit!”

“And you thought that running ‘round in a…a…” he glances down at the vajazzle like it’s a flamethrower, “…in a
that
and throwin’ yourself at the President of the Judas’ Sons MC was gonna solve this?”

I inhale sharply. My stomach drops. My heart pounds. “What do you mean, the President of the Judas’ Sons MC?”

“You pretendin’ like you didn’t know who that was?”

Oh shit! What the fuck did I just do??? Judas’ Sons was the reason why my father had to reach out to get a peace treaty in the first place. There are two types of Motorcycle Clubs out there—the kind who fix cars, run bars and tattoo shops, and, yes, on occasion do what they must to protect their communities—and then there’s the kind that does…anything they want.

“I’m not pretending!” I shriek. “I had no idea!”

“So you just threw yourself at whatever fuckin’ asshole first made eye contact with you? You were just gonna give yourself to some piece of shit?”

I can’t hold back anymore. Sure, I made mistakes tonight. Alright,
a lot
of mistakes. But I was not going to let Damien disrespect me in this way. “Yes!” I yell at him. “This is
my
body. If I want to give my virginity to a hot guy who climbed up a tree and told me a story about a dog, I should be able to!”

Damien frowns. “The fuck?”

I frown too. Wow, I really didn’t do a good job of explaining how he risked his life to save mine and talked me out of falling to my doom by soothing my soul with a sweet tale about a puppy.

“So that’s what you want?” Damien whispers, crouching down. One knee hits the bed, then other does too, until he’s straddling me.

I fall back on the bed. Either I do that, or he’s going to run me over. My mind goes blank as he climbs on top of me. My heart is beating so fast it feels like it’s about to jump out of my chest. “Um, what do I want?”

His eyes go dark as he plants his fists on the pillow either side of my head. “To get fucked like that—to be taken by a man…hard?”

The sound of me swallowing is so loud it shames me. “Um, I don’t know.”

“You don’t know? You looked like you were enjoin’ it. Him pushin’ your thigh’s open, shovin’ his face between your legs, thrustin’ his tongue into your cunt.”

Oh my god. I don’t think I’ve ever been so freaked out in my entire life. And yet, this strange, uncontrollable desire is even more powerful than my fear. My…cunt…pounds with a desperate need far stronger than anything I’ve ever felt before. This is my chance. My time. I can’t let him cow me the way he’s done my entire life. He knows all the buttons to push. It’s time for me to push some of my own and stand up for myself and back him up against the wall.

But how the fuck did I do that?

I remember what Candy said.
He wants you, girl. Bad
.

I try to smile but my lips feel surprisingly wooden. Instead, I simply part them and roll my tongue over my bottom lip.

Is eyes grow even darker as he lets out a low growl.

Okay. That was probably a bad move!

“You don’t own me,” I tell him.

He grips the pillow like he’s going to strangle every feather in it. “Like hell I don’t.”

Where the fuck had all this possession come from? “You don’t get to call me yours,” I begin. “Not when you’ve done nothing but make my life a living hell since the time we were kids, teasing me and tormenting me by fucking random girls on this very bed…oh shit this bed is fucking gross. There’s probably a fucking used condom in these sheets. Seriously, we need to get off this bed right now and—”

He shuts his eyes. Such a small movement shouldn’t affect me so much, but it does. I stop speaking.

“You really hate me this much, Princess?”

I gulp. “I don’t hate you. I mean, I sort of do…but I’m mostly just confused. Why are you so nice second and such a dick the next?”

He glares at me.

“See what I mean?” I push him off. “Why are you glaring at me?”

“Was that asshole nice to you?” he asks. “Was that it?”

It takes a second for me to realize who he’s talking about. “Yeah, he was, but that wasn’t ‘it’,” I reply, unafraid. “He didn’t treat me like some precious object that wasn’t supposed to be touched. I was a woman to him first and foremost, not some fucking ‘princess.’ So yeah, not only was he ‘nice,’ but he did something no other guy has ever done with me: he saw me for who I really am. I’m not ashamed and I’m not going to let you make me regret wanting to be touched, wanting to feel, and hell, wanting to be
wanted
—”

Before I can finish, his lips crash into mine.

This is it.

The end or the beginning, I don’t fucking care.

The two of us have been holding back for too long. We tried to pacify this thing between us with childish games. It worked, for a while. You can hide your darkness, but you can never banish it. The moment his lips claimed mine, we let
it
out. All the desires we’d tried to keep hidden, all the things we’d never, ever admit to one another, all the bullshit. The moment his lips claimed mine, it was gone, leaving behind only our desperation made stronger by all those years of futile repression.

Damien isn’t kissing me. This was never about courtship or foreplay—we’ve had years and years of that already. This is him laying claim to all he wants—no,
taking
it. So instead of pressing his lips to mine, teasing and coaxing them open until we’re both deliriously breathless, he fucks my mouth with his.

Mine
. His teeth graze my neck.

Mine.
His fingers dig into my naked skin like tattoo needles.

All mine. Forever mine.

His possession scares me. Thrills me. I spread my legs for him and crash my pelvis into his. There are still too many barriers between us. A buckle. A pair of jeans. The miniscule amount of space between my cunt and his cock. I want to rip them all away. I want to feel him on top of me, inside me, completing me.

Which is why I whimper when he pulls back. “Look at me, Princess.”

“Oh God.” I don’t think I can. My body’s weakened from so much pleasure, and tormented by the promise of pleasure to come.

“Look at me,” he demands.

I can’t say no to him. Slowly, I open my eyes.

He looks down into my eyes with an intensity and sincerity that captivates me. “You’re wanted.”

Every part of me tightens.

“You wanna be touched?” he whispers, running his knuckles down my cheek. “I’ve wanted to fuckin’ touch you since I was old enough to beat off. And even before my obsession with you turned sexual, I wanted to be close to you. I wanted you to notice me. I wanted to be the biggest thing in your heart.”

I shiver. His admission hits too close to home. For all these years, more than anything, I’ve hated the thought that I wasn’t the girl he brought home to fuck—that all those girls were interchangeable and yet not one of them was me.

“You’re wanted,” he repeats. “You want me to climb a tree to fuckin’ prove it? I will. You want to get a dog together? Done. You wanna feel, Princess? Feel me, and how much I want you.”

I do feel him. His huge length, pushing into my thigh, promising to soon push into me.

Oh god, I need him inside me.

“I haven’t touched you, at least not like the way I want to. Because even though I’ve done this so many times before, I know with you it’s gonna be different, and it scares me. I don’t know how to touch you, Princess. I want you so bad. So fuckin’ bad, I don’t know if I can control myself.”

“Then don’t.”

His eyes grow dark as realizes I’m begging.

“I need you,” I whisper. “Fuck me how you want to.”
How we both want you to.

He clenches his jaw. Then, he grabs me and hoists me into his arms.

“Hey! What the hell are you doing?” I cry out as he rushes across his room and out his door.

“I’m not taking you on my bed,” he says.

He wasn’t? Where the hell was he gonna—

At that second, he takes a sharp right and kicks in my door.

“Fuck, Damien! Now my door is messed up too.”

“Don’t care.” He throws me down on my bed. “There, that’s better.”

“Why are you doing this in here?” I ask, and then my heart swells when I realize he must have remembered what I’d said earlier—that I didn’t want to be on his slut sack next to all the used condoms and thongs and god knows what else.

He loops his thumbs behind my knees, pushing my legs back. Hot breath spreads over my thighs, stomach, and cunt. “I’m takin’ you here ‘cause every night, when you’re in this bed, you’re gonna think of me and what I did to you. You’re not gonna be able to touch yourself without thinkin’ ‘bout my hands, my tongue, my cock.”

Alright, he totally did
not
have a sweet reason for bringing me in here.

His trial over my hips and follow the curve of my ass. He grips my thighs, pushing them back and apart.

I shudder from the sudden, forceful movement. His rough fingers are already looped around my thong, pulling it to the side. His hot breath hits my clit, making my cunt clench.

And then he kisses me.
There
. Forcefully. As if he’s trying to drown out the memory of any other kiss. One part conquering, one part worship. I cry out as his tongue dips into me.

I clutch my pink sheets in my fists, drawing pulling them off the mattress, towards the center of the bed—towards me. He moves deeper inside me with relentless confidence. My heels dig into the bed. He keeps my legs spread—keeps me open—as I tilt myself towards him to give him better access.

Never stop
, I try to beg, but all I can do is cry out.
I think I’ll die if you stop
.

“Your pussy tastes like fuckin’ heaven,” he whispers, voice as rough as his stubble, a darkly exquisite compliment to his soft lips.

He slips one finger inside me. My breath catches.

“I could kill him for tasting it.”

Another finger. I can’t take this anymore. “Please.”

“Please what, Princess?”

Instead of answering, I roll my head to the left. My cheek hits my pillow and I bite into it to keep from screaming.

“What do you want me to do?” he asks.

“God,” I whimper, grabbing my knees, pulling my legs back further. Was he really gonna make me spell it out for him?

He curls the fingers he has inside me until they hit my G-spot. I scream into my pillow. “I—I can’t take it. Please, Damien. Please.”

His lips kiss my stomach as he moves his hands up my body. The bed dips as he positions himself between my legs. And then I do something very stupid: I look at him. His body is pure muscle. Tattoos weave over his sculpted chest, accentuating his natural strength. They twist over his powerful torso which ends in a perfect V above the most perfect cock I’ve ever seen in my life.

My eyes go wide.

Every muscle in my body tightens.

I realize, at that moment, that a cock actually can be too perfect—that there’s actually one thing very, very wrong about perfect cocks. One very
big
thing.

Oh my god. Oh my god. There is no way in hell that’s gonna fit inside me.

“Princess?” he asks, voice suddenly soft.

I look up at his face. “What the fuck is that?”

He frowns. “What?”

“That! There is no way that…oh my god,” I whisper, pointing at it, and when I do, I see it again in all its magnificent glory. I shut my eyes tight. “It’s even bigger than I remembered it being and
I just looked at it two seconds ago!
”