Strip You Bare (13 page)

That act was all about their pleasure, not about his.

This was something else altogether. A darkness deep inside of her, reaching out to touch his. Begging it to come out and play. And he wouldn’t disappoint her. He couldn’t. Because he was beyond control.

He was done resisting. It was time to play.

He advanced on her, closing the distance between them, gripping her hips and turning her around so that she was facing the mirror. She gasped as he placed his hand between her shoulder blades and pressed down hard, forcing her to bend over for him. She was watching his face in the mirror, studying his reflection.

“You’re mine now, you understand?” He could feel something rising up inside of him, an intensity he could neither understand nor deny. He slid his palm up, sweeping her hair to the side, gripping the back of her neck, holding her hip tight with his other hand, pressing his denim-covered cock into the curve of her ass.

Reluctantly, he released his hold on her. He took his shirt off, impatient to be skin to skin with her, to have nothing between them. He kicked off his boots, his jeans, his underwear, then grabbed hold of the waistband of her panties, drawing them down her long, slender legs, his palm slowly following the same path, relishing her softness, her perfection. He stopped when they were at her ankles, leaving them there.

“Spread your legs,” he said, the command rough, betraying just how close to the edge he was.

She obeyed, and he stood back for a moment just looking at the enticing sight before him. Her pale, rounded ass in the air, those impractical shoes she preferred, accentuating the pose, those red panties of hers stretched tight, adding to the illusion that she was in bondage, a captive. He wrapped his hand firmly around his dick, squeezing himself tight, gritting his teeth against the hot rush of pleasure that threatened to undo him before he could even touch her the way he wanted to.

He let go of his cock and moved back to her, placing his hand on the back of her neck again, reaching between her spread thighs with his other hand, pushing a finger deep inside her. She was so hot, so wet. He tightened his hold on her neck, adding a second finger to the first, stroking her slowly, watching her in the mirror, watching her eyes darken, watching her lips fall slack.

“Look at me,” he said, his tone demanding.

She looked up, their eyes clashing in the mirror as he continued to pleasure her.

“Take your bra off.” She released her hold on the edge of the vanity just long enough to unhook the lacy undergarment and cast it onto the floor. “Straighten up a bit,” he said. “Let me see your tits.” Holding tight to the vanity, she straightened slightly, battling against his hold, fighting to obey. And he didn’t make it easy, pressing his fingers deeper inside her, gratified when she arched her back, pressing her hips back toward him.

He withdrew from her, pressing the head of his cock to her pussy, testing her readiness before thrusting inside her, hard. She gasped, and he held her hip tight, pulling her ass harder against him, forcing himself deeper as he strengthened the pressure on her back, pressing her breasts against the smooth surface of the vanity. She was still trying to keep her eyes on his, her head raised, her expression one of shocked pleasure.

He bit back a curse as he withdrew slowly before plunging back in, the tight, hot clasp of her body pushing him to the brink. There was nothing between them, no latex, just bare skin. He should fix that, he knew it. But he didn’t want to. Instead he rolled his hips forward, gratified when she let out a long, low sound in response. After that he didn’t have any more thoughts about what he should do, or what he shouldn’t do. There was only what he wanted.

The sultry swamp air had finally reached inside of him, possessed him. Reminded him of who he was.
What
he was. He might be able to put a suit on, cover up the tattoo on his back, but it was still there. He’d never gotten it removed. Had never even thought about it. All the ink on his skin remained, to serve as a reminder, to attract women, whatever excuse he’d given in the past. It was all bullshit. He left it on because he’d never really changed. He’d just put a suit over it.

But he’d stripped it off now. That civility, that veneer.

All that remained was the biker. The drug runner. The boy who had been a criminal before he’d even known what crime was. Who’d been more acquainted with his mother’s fist than with her loving embrace. He’d known then he was never going to get any softness in that dirty little hovel they call the home. Sweltering in suffocating heat without air conditioning in the New Orleans summer. Who had craved all the soft beautiful things he’d been denied, things he’d created in his mind before he’d even known for certain they’d existed.

Sarah was every soft and luxurious thing. Everything beautiful. Everything he’d ever longed for.

And he was buried in her. Balls deep in the best fucking thing he’d ever had.

She was looking down now, and he didn’t want her to. He craved that connection, that contact they’d had before. He slid his hand upward, curling his fingers around her hair, tugging hard, forcing her to raise her gaze as he kept on fucking her. Hard. But not hard enough. Not hard enough to get as deep as he needed to go, not hard enough to wipe everything else away. But when she looked at him, her face flushed, her lips swollen, her eyes clouded with desire, it was almost enough.

He slid his hand around between her thighs, stroking her clit. He was about to lose it, and he needed her to lose it first.

She tightened her hold on the vanity, arching into him, grinding her hips in time with his.

“Come on, Sarah. Come on, baby,” he said, and he was the one begging now.

He felt her body tense beneath his, ripple moving through her petite frame as her climax swept through her. She lowered her head, releasing her hold on the vanity, her hands curling into fists. “Oh, Micah. Fuck,” she moaned, trembling now, her internal muscles gripping him tight as she came, hard.

He didn’t want to pull out, didn’t want to rob himself of one extra moment inside of her. But that was the sacrifice he made for skin to skin. He withdrew, stroking his cock twice, the slickness from her body easing the motion. Heat ripped through him, and he closed his eyes as he lost himself completely, spilling himself all over the curve of her back, her ass. Marking her. Claiming her.

He wrapped his arm around her waist, pulling her to him, taking a couple of steps backward, sitting on the edge of the bed, Sarah held tightly in his arms. She was breathing hard, shaking. And he realized he was too.

Finally, she broke the silence. “I’m never going to be able to look in that mirror again without seeing you standing behind me.”

A surge of perverse pride shot through him. He shouldn’t be proud of it. Because soon, he wouldn’t be here. And all she would have was that image of him standing behind her. And he didn’t particularly want to leave any of himself behind with her. He wasn’t worthy of having fantasies built around him in that way. But then, he’d been her first, and he was under no illusion about whether or not he would be her last. He wouldn’t be. Some other bastard would want to fuck her over this vanity, and hell yeah, he wanted her to think of him then.

And when she was putting her hair into a pretty little bun, he wanted her to think of him then too. Of what it had been like when her hair was down, when he held it in his fist and pumped into her from behind. Always. He wanted her to remember
him
always.

He couldn’t keep her, so he supposed that was the next best thing. To own a piece of her, if he couldn’t own her outright.

If he were still in the club, that’s what he would do. She would be his property. Wear that with pride on her back.
Property of Prince.

But, no matter how he’d felt during the past few minutes, he wasn’t Prince. And even if he were, a Delacroix was hardly going to leave her pristine townhouse to come live with him.

You own the Delacroix mansion.

He didn’t. The Deacons did. And he wasn’t really a Deacon. Not now.

He tried to ignore the energy that was still crackling through his blood. To forget the thought he’d had while he was deep inside Sarah and everything had made sense for one blinding moment. That the ink on his skin was a closer representation to who he was than the clothes he put over it.

That things fit better here.

That
he
fit better here.

One thing he couldn’t deny was that the sex was hotter. Though, whether that was Sarah or the city, he wasn’t sure.

It’s Sarah. You know it.

Yeah, a virgin had him by the cock. He couldn’t deny it. He couldn’t even hate it.

“Stay with me?” she asked.

It was a simple question. A sweet question. And if anything was going to highlight just what a tool he was, that was it. She was the kind of girl who had relationships. She’d been engaged recently to a man she hadn’t even slept with.

“Sure, baby.” He kept hold of her, laying them both down on the soft bed. Because he was an ass, but not even he was going to leave after that.

“Micah . . . Is there something else you are protecting me from?”

He tightened his hold on her, thinking of her grandfather. Of the fact that he would have to talk to the old man. That he would have to bring all this to the feet of the one person Sarah had wanted most to protect. That the confession from those Ministry assholes might very well bring the wrath of two MCs down on the Delacroix family.

Ajax wanted blood, indiscriminately. Sarah wanted to protect her family. And Micah had his own agenda altogether. He would do what he could for Ajax, as long as it didn’t endanger Sarah. Because if shots were fired, his allegiance would be with her.

“The world is a scary place. That’s enough reason to offer you protection.”

“I suppose so. But I don’t think you’re a very random man, and that was kind of a random sentiment.”

“The less you know, the better I can keep you safe.” He wasn’t sure that was strictly true, but if she knew more, she would throw him straight out of her bed.

She angled her head back, kissing him on the lips, soft and sweet. “If you say so.”

“You agree too easily.”

She shifted, turning to face him. “That’s because I haven’t decided how I’m going to deal with you yet. But in the meantime, I’ll be docile.”

“I don’t believe that.”

She kissed him again. “It’s almost like we aren’t strangers anymore.”

“I own hotels,” he said.

“What?”

“You asked about my business. I’m a real estate mogul.”

She snorted out a laugh.

“What?” he asked.

“That’s a pretty vanilla job,” she said. “I’m not sure what I think about it.”

“Am I vanilla, Sarah?”

She wiggled against him. “I don’t have anything to compare you to, do I?”

Damn, he shouldn’t enjoy that as much as he did. “Damn straight.”

“How did you . . . get into real estate?”

“Kind of a boring story that starts in finance. I BS’d my way into a lending company, from there I got a little insider knowledge, and some connections. Loan shit was lax back then, and I took advantage. I was big into taking risks because I didn’t have anything to lose. I started with a small place and went from there. Now I own two high-rise hotels in downtown San Francisco, one in New York, one in London. And I’m expanding all the time.” He cleared his throat. “I live in one.”

“A hotel?”

“Yeah.”

“Why?” she asked.

“Because I . . .” He didn’t know why he had started answering the question. But then, why not? It was dark. They were already talking. “I remember going through the Quarter at night, and the hotels were all lit up. Marble and chandeliers and all manner of shit we didn’t have in the place I lived in. I was just out late, selling drugs. I knew I would never be allowed in places like that. I knew I couldn’t afford one night. Or even a step into the lobby. But I always wanted to.”

“You earned the money to stay where you wanted,” she said, her tone muted.

“Yeah,” he said. “And now I live in a hotel.”

She moved closer to him, delicate fingers trailing down his arm. “My grandfather pays for everything out of the family money. I don’t take any responsibility for my life. I’m just . . . I’ve always been what they wanted me to be. I was engaged to Charlie because my mom loved him. My grandfather approved. Breaking up with him was the first truly rebellious thing I’ve ever done. And then there’s you.” She buried her face in his shoulder, laughing against his skin. He didn’t think anyone had ever done that before. “Though now that I know you’re like . . . a millionaire biker entrepreneur I think you might be a little less rebellious.”

He gripped her face, forcing her to look at him. “You want to test how dangerous I am?”

“No. You might report me to my supervisor.” Her shoulders started to shake, laughter.

He slid his hands down her back, smacked her ass. “Watch it.”

“Sorry,” she said. “That doesn’t scare me. I like it too much.”

He softened his hold, stroking her cheek. “The sad thing is I probably should scare you a little more than I do.”

“You’ve never given me any reason to be afraid of you.”

“Hopefully I won’t. Hopefully I’ll just go back to San Francisco without ever needing to.” She took a deep breath like she was about to speak, then let it out again, remaining silent. “That’s my world now. It’s what I am. This . . . this isn’t me anymore. I left for a reason. Being poor is shit, Sarah, and I never missed it. Never once missed this.”

“I’ve always had money. It’s hard for me to imagine the lack of it.”

“Yeah, you don’t realize how much you need something until you don’t have it. You’d be surprised how hard it drives people.”

“What did you think it would . . . get you? I mean, were you looking for security? Happiness?”

“Whatever I wasn’t allowed to have before. That’s what I wanted.” Which brought to mind one more thing he suddenly wanted to tell her, for no reason at all he could think of. “They call me Prince. The Deacons. Your road name is important in the club. And I was Prince because I liked nice things. That probably shatters some illusions for you too.”