Never Ever: Book One Perdition MC

A Perdition MC Novel: Book 1

By

Isabel Wroth

Copyright
© 2016 by Isabel Wroth

This
book is a work of fiction. Any similarity to real events, people, or places are
entirely coincidental. All rights reserved.

This
book may not be reproduced or distributed in any format without the permission
of the author, except in the case of brief quotations used for review.

All
quotations used in this book are part of public domain works and/or translated
copies existing in public domain. The author acknowledges the trademarked
status of products referred to in this book. Trademarks have been used without
permission.

This
book contains mature content, including graphic sex, language, and violence.
Please do not continue reading if you are under the age of 18 or if this type
of content is disturbing to you.

Chapter One

The room was nothing special. There weren’t any luxury items or
decorations to make it special, just a bed on a platform made out of shipping
palates, a beat up dresser with a microwave sitting on top of it. An old school
coffee maker with a can of Folgers beside it, and a Harley calendar on the
wall. That was it. No frills, no homey touches to make it look like anything
other than what it was, a dorm room at a biker compound.

But the ungodly handsome man lying beside her, and what had
just happened to her in that room had been the most spectacular few hours of
her entire life.

She’d come to the compound of the Perdition MC with her
friend Susan, and honestly this is not what she’d had in mind when she’d
imagined this evening’s hog roast. Susan had been begging her to tag along,
telling her all the crazy, sexy wild stuff that went on inside the compound,
not knowing how familiar she was with the life. A life she honestly, secretly,
had missed very much. She’d walked into the smoky atmosphere and smiled because
it was exactly how she remembered it. Different city, different state, totally
different club, but the music was the same. The laughter and the crude dirty
jokes were the same. The scantily clad club sluts looked just the same, hell,
even the scent of the place was the same. Motor oil, smoke, beer and leather.

She hadn’t realized how badly she’d missed that smell until
it hit her full in the face.

Susan had kept her close at first, being a good friend and
not ditching her to fend for herself among the multitude of leather wearing,
horny bikers. But once she’d proven she could hold her own, Susan had gone off
to slide into the lap of one of the big guys, her old man, Pike. It had shocked
her, that despite the range of ages in the men, from 21 year old prospects, to
grizzled veterans pushing fifty, every single one of the big bastards were
handsome
.
It should have been statistically impossible, and yet under this compound roof,
it was not. They looked bad ass, every one of them walking tall with confidence
and an oozing aura of bad assery. They were sun burned, sun tanned, road worn,
but fucking hot! And the one that flipped her switch the hardest, naturally,
was the one crawling with club sluts.

He looked like the definition of dangerously sexy, but the smile
that curled his lips made his face look like he’d been born of Lucifer’s own
blood. So handsome it hurt to look at him. He had a thick chin length mane of
tawny blonde hair, the sort that he kept raking his hand through, tousling the
already windblown locks in a careless tangle. He had some golden scruffle on
his strong jaw, golden scruffle that framed his gorgeous, full, smirking lips.
His body was massive, even sitting down he was a big, muscled hunk of sin. And
when he’d stood up, towering over the club sluts as he’d grabbed another beer
from the cooler beside him, she’d estimated he was well over six and a half
feet tall. Just a fucking sexy beast. And with a wistful sigh, she’d turned
away from the beauty of looking at him in his thigh hugging jeans, his tight
black tee and his black leather cut that was just a frame for the cobbled
ridges of his abs. She just knew if he turned around, she could have bounced a
whole roll of quarters off his ass.

She’d given up any thought or even consideration of catching
his attention, turned her back and sharked her way through a few games of pool
with any one of the guys who’d play, every now and again sneaking a glimpse of
him in the mirror across from her. Enjoying that tug of lust, of danger, that
breathless shivery sensation that one time their eyes had met in the mirror and
she’d seen the crystalline blue of them from all the way across the room. She’d
felt herself blush clear to the roots of her hair and looked away after meeting
that heavy, powerful stare, reminding herself there was no way she would land
that, no way she wanted the guy who fucked anything with a pair of tits, and
went back to her game.

She’d bent over the table to take her shot, and froze when
she felt heat caress her back, when a shadow bent over her and the scent of
amber and leather surrounded her. Froze when a big, scarred hand planted next
to hers on the green felt of the pool table, and a warm wash of breath, a
tickle of coarse hair brushed against her ear. “You just gonna eye fuck me and
shake your ass at me all night, or come say hello?”

Her entire body had broken out in hot chills, her heart
lunged up her throat, pulse pounding, nipples turning to painfully hard nubs,
her pussy had gushed cream, and a shiver of pure wanting tightened the backs of
her thighs. She rolled her eyes up to the mirror to see the big blonde biker
folded over her like some beast, their eyes meeting while he rubbed his nose
against her hair and inhaled slowly. “And get some kind of incurable disease from
the cloud of club slut pussy? No thanks, I was content admiring the view from
afar.” She had no idea where that smart ass remark had come from, but the
surprise, his laughter had rumbled along her back. The guys she was playing had
guffawed and given their buddy a hard time, and then thanked him profusely when
she missed her shot and the white cue ball missed the red and white striped one
she’d been aiming for, by a mile. “No fair! Do over! He knocked me off balance,
rubbing that sock in his jeans on my ass!”

She’d seen his eyes narrow to dangerous slits in the mirror
while his brothers gave him hell over her disrespectful comment. She knew it
was disrespectful, but hell if she was going to apologize. He’d rubbed the unmistakable,
lead fucking pipe of his jean covered cock, right up the crease of her ass and
pissed her off by being so…rude. Her playful insults had continued, daring him,
and she’d seen the dominant bastard rise inside him, nostrils flaring to make
his conquest. “Back off, Roar. We saw’er first!” His brothers challenged,
brothers who she’d learned had just recently been patched in, and she’d looked
over her shoulder as he’d straightened and let her up out of being half bent
over the table under him. A position that had evoked some seriously rabid
fantasies. “Yeah? Well I didn’t see a single one of your fuckers makin your
move. Next time grow a pair instead of just slobbering all over her tits.”

She’d leaned back on the table and looked at him in amused amazement,
crossing her arms over her chest and glad she’d worn just a simple black Van
Halen tee, her best pair of ass hugging jeans and called it good. He’d glared
so hot at his brothers that she’d half expected to see them catch fire. Poor
kids had scowled but moved off, leaving her alone with big sexy. He’d
challenged her to a game of pool, claiming he’d go back to the club sluts if
she won, but if he won, she was on his lap for the rest of the night.

She’d been cocky, confident in her abilities, but the bastard
hadn’t played fair and at every opportunity, brushed his fingers along the seam
of skin along her low back, where her shirt had slid up when she bent over the
table. It made her shiver, every god damn time, and the bastard looked
angelically innocent when she’d shot him a dirty glare to make him quit. “You
smell like sunshine, Ginger.” She hadn’t introduced herself, so he’d called her
Ginger, unoriginal, and she’d shot back sass at him out of habit. “Only another
ginger, can call a ginger, a ginger.” His eyes had danced with amusement and
lust, his lips quirking sardonically. “I’ll call you whatever the fuck I want,”
He shot back, the tone of it tightening in her belly, making more cream gush
from between her thighs at the hedonistic growl. “Whatever, Squatch.”

“Roar.” He’d corrected firmly, and she cocked her hip at him
knowing that it was like a smack in the face. Knowing she was crazy for
speaking to a man with the kinds of club patches he had on his vest. Especially
the one that said,
Enforcer
, in bold red letters over his heart. But she
just couldn’t help it. “Ever.” She said in the same tone, and he frowned.
“What?”

“My name. It’s Everly. Ever, is what most people call me. As
in, Never Ever.”

But she’d lost the fucking game by one move, and he’d grinned
with bold, cocky triumph. He’d swung around the table, grabbed hold of her ass
and steered her outside to the collection of picnic tables. His one hand was
big enough to cover her entire cheek, his fingertips giving her big butt a
squeeze. He’d fed her well and only allowed her a single beer to wash it down
before moving them to one of the Adirondack chairs by the bon fire. He’d patted
his thigh expectantly, and for a moment she’d debated letting him pull her onto
his lap, debated whether or not that rock hard thigh could support her weight.
But then she’d shrugged, said an internal ‘fuck it’, and sat. Bet was a bet.

The chair had been perfect for falling against his chest,
perfect for him to wrap his arm around her waist and draw her into the warmth
of his body while he talked shop with one of the other brothers for a little
while. Her attention had started to wane, nostalgia setting in as she looked
around, catching Susan’s eye and shrugged when her friend made bug eyes of
shock at her. “They’re playing our song,” A shudder had torn through her at his
voice in her ear again, and she looked into his gorgeous blue eyes while she’d
focused enough to hear Nine Inch Nails being blasted on the stereo.

I wanna fuck you like an animal
,
it brings me closer to God, -

She’d laughed at him and shook her head, “Cocky, aren’t you?”
And that’s how she’d wound up in his bed, being fucked raw. He’d had her on the
back of his bedroom door. Bent over his bed. On her back. On his back. And that
sock she’d accused him of having, was in fact the biggest, most perfect dick
she’d ever had the privilege to ride. He’d finally surged up inside her one
last time, growling like a lion, leaving her limp as a wet dishrag, quivering
on his bed beneath him and seeing stars. “Don’t you fucking move, I’m not done
with you.” He’d ordered, pushing his gorgeous body off of her, pulling out of
her with a hiss and stumbled to the bathroom to dispose of his rubber. She’d
heard him curse, and had been too dazed by the pleasure to wonder why he came
back looking pissed, “You on the pill?”

“Implant. In my arm. Yes.” She’d panted, and he grunted.
“Good. Cause your pussy is so tight it tore that damn rubber in half.”

“You clean?”

“Yeah.”

“Then don’t care. I am too. Do it again.”

He’d taken her slow that last time, praising her, calling her
raw, raunchy, beautiful things that made her heart give a twinge of hope. Hope
that was shattered when he finished her that final time, flooded her with his
come until it had gushed out between them. “Fuck that was good,” He grunted,
and she smiled while she panted beside him, trying to catch her breath. “Catch
your breath, babe, then go home.” His words were like a bucket of ice on her
overheated body. “Flip the lock on the door on our way out too,” He’d said,
patting her on the ass like a good little bitch. The ache of their furious
fucking, the ache that was going to last her for days, moved beyond her well
used pussy to permeate her entire body. A sadness welled up that had little to
do with him, and everything to do with that life she’d left behind. “Right, I
forgot.” She sighed, and rolled out of his bed. “Forgot what?”