Summer Pain (3 page)

Sitting up, he grabbed the phone and dialed the front desk. “Good morning, Ms. Pain. What can we do for you this morning?”

“Sorry,” Tigger grumbled. “Wrong number.”

Without waiting for a reply, he returned the phone to the cradle and breathed a sigh of relief. Apparently, he’d kept his credit card in his wallet.

At the thought of his billfold, he reached down and patted his hip. The thick bulge in his pocket assured him he hadn’t been so intoxicated that he’d left his wallet behind at The Big Orange.

Glancing at Summer once more, he couldn’t help but feel an overwhelming sense of disappointment. Why had he gotten so belligerently drunk? And why the hell couldn’t he remember what he’d said and done?

He rubbed his eyes with balled fists and reminded himself of two things. He was dressed. She was wearing pajamas. Obviously, what he’d done wasn’t the problem here. He probably should be more concerned with what he might have said.

Rolling to the other side of the bed, he quietly slipped away and tiptoed to the bathroom. He turned on the light and shut the door. Towels monogrammed with a Carnegie inscription confirmed his suspicions. He was in a fancy establishment, too rich for his blood.

Again, he thanked the good Lord he hadn’t paid the hotel tab. While he wasn’t broke, he certainly wasn’t as well off as some of the other Heroes and Rogues. He’d spent nearly every dime of his savings when he’d bought Cara a flawless, two-carat, princess-cut diamond, a ring he’d never see gracing the finger of her wrinkled hand.

He must’ve been out of his mind anyway. He was thirty-three. Cara was nearly fifty. What could they possibly have in common?

The truth smacked him in the face. Great fucking sex. Mind-blowing sex.

Gripping the vanity, he stared at his reflection. “You were going to marry a gal because she was good in bed?”

He thinned his lips and shot himself a condescending glare. “What kind of man does that?”

His cock twitched in his leather pants. He glanced down and grumbled to himself again. “A man who is horny for a woman, twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week.”

And that’s what really bothered him. Could he forget Cara so easily?

There was only one way to find out. Take full advantage of his current situation.

* * * *

Summer awoke with a start. She looked around the empty room and was disappointed to find her vacant bed.

Stretching her arms overhead, she glanced at the bedside clock. It was only nine? A wave of frustration washed over her body. Tigger must’ve been in some kind of hurry. He hadn’t even stayed for breakfast.

It was probably for the best anyway. The last thing she needed was a job complication. Falling for one of the Heroes and Rogues hadn’t been part of the game plan when she’d accepted the undercover position.

Summer had come to the Tri-Cities area to find out the truth about two placed FBI agents. One of them had gone rogue. Both pointed an accusing finger at the other one. Her job was to find out which one still honored his position as an agent and which man had turned on the very agency responsible for his club affiliation.

No, Summer didn’t need a distraction. Tigger could’ve slipped right into the category. And talk about an obstacle to overcome! She would’ve acquired one if she would’ve slept with him.

From what she’d read about the club’s sheep, Summer knew Cara had a willful spirit and a strong love for her club. To make matters worse, Cara apparently thought she owned dibs on every biker draped in the Heroes and Rogues colors.

Summer’s mind revisited the day before. From the moment she’d seen Tigger face-to-face, she’d known she was entering dangerous territory. Hell, the first introductions were mild in comparison to the explosive start she’d fantasized about for several weeks.

In many ways, she’d known from the moment she’d seen his picture. She’d fantasized about him from the start, and now, she was lying there in the bed he’d left, daydreaming about him all over again.

Only this time the images were vivid.

His scent—that spicy rich aroma of leather, alcohol, and mint—filled her nostrils as she drew the pillow he’d used against her chest, inhaling the man who was no longer there, the strong and handsome rogue of a fellow who’d left long before he had been forced to face her and a new day at the same time.

Damn, she was horny. Thinking of him made her thighs tremble, her insides quiver. Tigger’s kinky, tawny red locks framed the darkest of manly, if not dangerous, features. His eyes were like melted chocolate, so full of delectable and tantalizing promises that her heart clenched as she considered what she’d had within her grasp but somehow managed to lose.

Why the hell had she fallen asleep?

She rolled to her back again and hiked up her shirt. Her fingers raked across hardened nipples as her arousal spun out of control. Lifting her hips, she wiggled away from her pajama pants and tossed aside the covers.

Tigger’s body wasn’t perfect, but those cut, muscular arms made up for any shortcomings. Six-pack abs weren’t a requirement and Tigger’s beer gut wasn’t entirely undesirable. Some extra padding around the middle often meant a man enjoyed the finer things in life like good food and drink.

“Let’s see,” she whispered, trying to recapture a visual as she pictured him towering over her. Great sex. Oh yes, the sex was definitely a list-topper. Regardless of the body behind the action, she needed a man who was good in bed. Tigger was a bad boy, a renegade sporting leather and biker boots. Oh yeah. He’d set a woman on fire and make her grovel for cock. He had that way about him. She was certain of a man who’d earned his swagger.

She liked entertaining conversation, too, and Tigger had definitely proven he was capable there. The bantering between them had been enough to make her want to go down on him in public. While they’d been at the bar, she’d sat there entranced, watching his mouth move, pretending to hang on his every word. All the while, she’d been focused upon those sensual lips, imagining what he might later do when he situated his body between her legs and thrust his tongue between her damp folds.

She parted her legs and fingered her clit, rolling the hard bud until she shivered. Her arousal took her to the point of no return. She squeezed her eyes shut and thought about what he might have said as he caressed her body for the first time, teased her with his long, hard cock, the same cock that hadn’t hardened at all the night before, thanks to his drunken stupor.

Her mouth watered as she thought about how she’d slipped her hand down the front of his jeans and stroked him. His flaccid cock hadn’t been a turn off at all. As a matter of fact, she’d only been more aroused, more intrigued.

Even at flaccid state, he was quite large. Now, she fantasized about his length, the way he’d stroke her with a hardened dick as he made all sorts of illicit promises.

Her nipples spiked as she jacked up her hips and thrust three fingers inside her pussy. Pumping her body up and down, she flattened her feet against the mattress and crooned, “More, Tigger. Oh God, yes.”

Her imagination held her captive as she pictured him. He shifted those broad shoulders as he dragged his cock across her folds, teasing her. He gave her a good feel of his hardened length pressing against her entrance.

“Fuck me, Tigger,” she crooned. “Oh yes, honey. Fuck me like there’s no tomorrow.”

A door slammed and jolted her to an upright position, her back flush against the wooden headboard. Her fingers stilled inside her pussy. Her next breath lodged inside her lungs as a whisper of sexual heat warmed her body.

Tigger’s eyes held at her cunt, and a slow smile crept across his lips. “Baby, that’s precisely what I plan to do.”

Chapter Four

He’d spent the better part of the last thirty minutes trying to paint the perfect picture for seduction. He’d imagined the best way to approach her the morning after he’d passed out and entered that twilight zone specifically reserved for the dumbest of men, those who’d chosen the bottle over the possibility of a provocative romp with a sexy stranger. And not just any stranger. Summer was an intelligent, beautiful woman who obviously had her shit together.

“I thought you were gone,” she said, shifting her hips and blushing like crazy.

“Don’t move your hand,” he told her. The firmness in his voice left her visibly shaken.

“But—”

“No, Summer,” he said, sitting next to her and pressing his fingertips against her pretty little mouth.

Her wicked lips parted, and she drew his fingers inside the warm depths of tantalizing heat. Her tongue traveled around and around, circling the knuckle until his cock was pulsing with lust.

“Fuck yourself.” He stared at her pussy. His mouth watered as he thought of what she might taste like, how much he would enjoy sipping at her snatch, feeling her grind against his chin as he brought her to pleasure and stroked her with his tongue. “Let me watch.”

“But—”

“No excuses. No explanations. I’m gonna watch you while you finger yourself.” He placed his arm over her hip and glanced down at her recently waxed mound. Good Lord, he was in heaven here. He must’ve been a complete idiot to pass out on her the night before.

Her small breasts rose and fell as she pushed her hand forward. He eyed the perfect gems, resisting the urge to suckle her nipples. He wanted to cradle her fullness in his palms and just lose himself in those lush mounds.

He wondered then because he couldn’t help but consider their obvious differences. What was she doing with a man like him? She was beautiful, classy, and clearly used to the finer things in life. But, for the moment, she appeared quite interested in him.

“Spread your legs.” He pulled her thighs apart, determined to take the lead before she even thought about denying him.

“Tigger, I don’t feel comfortable with your demands.”

Damn. Fuck. Damn again.

His gaze surfed the length of her body before he reluctantly rose to his feet. He’d pushed too hard, too soon.

He expected a lot and wouldn’t apologize for those expectations. He’d recently left one relationship where the woman wasn’t open to his dominance. He’d vowed then he’d never have another unless his needs—every last one of them—were met.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “This is just new to me.”

Cupping her cheek, he said, “You don’t need to explain, Summer. You’re a beautiful woman. You’re sexy as all hell, and I’m as horny as I’ve ever been.”

She stopped playing with herself and rolled to her side. The slick, transparent film covering her fingers was his undoing. His prick danced in his jeans, and the head of his cock pulsed with significant frustration.

“I’m not the man you need,” he said, running a flattened palm across the top of his head. “Go home to the kind of men you’re used to. Find a fella who can support your lifestyle and provide for you in every way possible. Don’t settle, Summer. When you do, it never works out.”

“I’m not asking you for a commitment here,” she told him, disappointment marking its place in her eyes. “I just wanted you to slow down a bit.”

“That’s probably true, but the type of woman I want in my bed isn’t the kind of woman you want to be for me, not even for a little while.”

“You don’t know.”

“Trust me, Summer, I do. And all I’ll cause you is unnecessary pain.”

* * * *

Tigger entered the clubhouse in a hell of a mood. He was pissed off because he’d had an eager and willing sex partner in the throes of pleasuring herself, and he’d somehow screwed up and made her uncomfortable. In the end, he’d walked away unsatisfied.

The ride home from Johnson City’s posh hotel had taken him at least an hour and a half, instead of the normal thirty minutes. He’d turned his bike around three different times. On each occasion, he’d contemplated how he might return to her, how he could approach the sensitive subject of what he needed from a woman, what he expected to have from the next lover he took to his bed.

By the time he reached the clubhouse, he was as angry as he was horny, and as luck would have it, the parking lot was empty with one exception—a familiar lime green pickup truck.

“Fucking great,” he muttered, realizing who he would likely encounter as soon as he walked in the bar.

Within a few seconds of slinging his leather jacket over the chair next to him and taking a seat, Cara stood in front of him. “I don’t want to talk about us, Mama.”

“I was worried about you,” she said, ignoring what she’d likely consider a slur, the connotation to hint at her position within the club.

“I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine.” She retrieved a longneck from the cooler and set the bottle in front of him.

“I’d rather have an orange juice.”

She frowned. “Tied one on last night?”

“Yes.”

“Were you with anyone I know?”

He lifted his chin and defiantly replied, “Summer.”

As if he’d slapped her across the face, Cara reached in the cooler, grabbed a carton of orange juice and threw the small container at his chest before marching away. “Fuck you, Tigger.”

He leaped over the wooden bar and grabbed hold of her wrists. “You will, Cara.” His gaze pierced through hers. “Fuck me, that is. You can count on that one.”

“Let me go, Tigger,” she said, twisting and turning, trying to break free.

“Not yet,” he growled, keeping his grip firm. “I’m not done with you.”

“How dare you!” She glared at him. “You fuck another woman, and then you come in here looking for me?”

“You suck another man’s dick and have the audacity to ask me where I’ve been?” His nose wrinkled as he considered where else her mouth might have been.

“You wanted her,” Cara accused. “I heard it in your voice.”

“And I could’ve had her,” he said, wondering now if his reasons for refusing Summer had everything to do with his need to claim Cara one last time, just to make sure there wasn’t anything left between them.

“If you could’ve had her, you would’ve,” Cara spat, tears welling in her eyes.

“Don’t do that,” Tigger said, lifting her shirt and staring at those voluptuous breasts, boobs every man in the club had seen at least once, if not by experience, at least by observation.