The Sinner’s Tribe Motorcycle Club, Books 1-3 (13 page)

Seemingly unconcerned by the approaching motorcycles, Jagger squeezed her hand. “You'll be safe with me, Arianne.”

For an instant she didn't move. Wanting. Hoping. Then she swung her leg over the back of his bike. “If you're lying to me, Jagger, I'll put a knife through your heart.”

“Sweetheart, you already did.”

*   *   *

He wanted to fuck her.

Heart still thrumming from the adrenaline rush of the pursuit, Jagger gripped his handlebars so hard, his fingers almost went through his leather riding gloves. For a man who rigidly controlled every aspect of his world, the uncertainty involved in every encounter with Arianne both inflamed and exhausted him. She couldn't be cajoled or enticed, controlled or dominated. She did what she wanted to do when she wanted to do it, and he had never been so damned aroused in his entire life.

Vexy. Vixen. He'd been wrong before. Her road name suited her to a T.

And yet, here she was. Tucked up against him as they raced through the night. Masculine pride suffused his body as if he had just single-handedly conquered an army. Her acceptance of his protection roused an almost primal sense of satisfaction in him, and a desire so fierce and sharp, it took his breath away.

Worthy.

He grunted his approval when she locked her arms around him in anticipation of a sharp curve, and not just because she fit so perfectly against him. She knew how to ride pillion. Hell, if he hadn't been so attuned to her body—the soft swell of her breasts pressed against his back, firm hips tucked against his ass, her sweet thighs parted around him—he would barely have known she was there.

As if that were a possibility.

He glanced quickly over his shoulder, catching her gaze to make sure she could handle the speed. He would have preferred her to wear a helmet for safety, but since Montana was one of the few states without a helmet law, he didn't carry one. Damn, she was beautiful. Her hair, tousled by the wind, framed the perfect oval of her face, and her eyes, green and liquid, sparkled with the thrill of the ride. Speed demon. Just like him. And yet when he saw the scar on her cheek, his body tensed. No wonder she found it hard to trust anyone.

She licked her plump lips, and he felt an almost overwhelming urge to pull over and savor her mouth, drink until he was drunk with her pleasure. But he'd only just saved himself from making that mistake at the roadside, pulling away before he had really sampled the sweet promise of those lips. He had no doubt, one taste of Arianne wouldn't be enough.

One taste.

One. Fucking. Taste.

Unable to stop himself, he turned onto a side road and drove until he found a secluded copse of trees. Then he killed the engine.

“Something wrong with your bike?”

Arianne slid off the seat. Her hair fanned over her shoulders in a silken wave, and Jagger's blood pulsed through his veins. Even in the thin light of the moon, he imagined he could see the flush on her cheeks, her lips plump and glistening, and the glow that came only with the exhilaration of speed.

Every muscle in his body tensed as she squatted down beside the bike, her head level with the part of his body that had led him here.

“I spent a lot of time with our road captain fixing bikes in the Jacks' shop, and after I left, I apprenticed as a mechanic at Liam's Garage.” She looked up at him, green eyes sparkling under the light of the moon. “If you want to get off, I can take a look.”

Hell, yeah, he wanted to get off. But as she stood, arms folded, waiting for him to dismount, instinct told him he'd made a mistake bringing her here. A full frontal assault would likely be met with an equally forceful rejection. If he had to put a finger on the quality that distinguished her from the women who frequented the clubhouse—old ladies excepted, of course—it was class. Ironic, given who her father was.

With a heavy sigh, he swung his leg over the seat and stepped onto the ground, leaves crunching under his boots. He would have to gain her trust for a true taste of those lush lips. She wasn't a woman for a quick fix, but a slow, sensuous seduction, and when he finally breached her walls, he knew it would be worth the wait.

“Turn it on.” She gestured to the engine, and Jagger lifted an eyebrow. He strictly enforced the hierarchy in the club, and the concomitant levels of respect. And that meant no one told Jagger what to do.

Except, apparently, Viper's daughter.

But only in private. Her political savvy, both in the clubhouse and in the bar, had impressed him. She had an innate understanding of the nuances of biker culture. Although she had disagreed with him, she never directly challenged him in public. And when he'd reprimanded the Devil Dog, her reaction made it clear she'd understood the power play, and the fact he had claimed her for the night.

“We'll take it to Sparky. He's my road captain.” Heart heavy with regret, Jagger took his seat and gestured for her to join him.

“You don't think I can fix your bike?”

“Pretty hard to do in the dark without tools.” He patted the leather pillion seat behind him.

“Then why did you stop here?”

Jagger gritted his teeth. For the first time, he wished he were more adept at lying, but military families prided themselves on bringing up children steeped in honor, discipline, loyalty and honesty, and his family was military three generations back. Evasion, on the other hand, was part and parcel of being an outlaw. “On the bike, Arianne.”

If he were a man with even an ounce less self-control, her amused smile would have been enough to have him twining that shimmering hair around his fist and hauling her to his lips for a sweet taste of her honey. And when she brushed a kiss over his cheek before settling on the seat behind him, he almost did.

“Well, now that our romantic rendezvous in the moonlight is over, let's get going.” She settled herself behind him, wrapping her arms around his body. “I have a bike to fix.” She pressed herself against his back and whispered her lips in his ear. “Or not.”

His body reacted as if he'd been shot with adrenaline, his groin tightening, heart thudding in his chest, desire thickening his veins. To hell with the slow sensuous seduction. He wanted her. Now. And damned if he would wait another minute to have her after that invitation.

“Off the bike.”

Arianne sighed as she slid to the ground. “Seriously, Jagger. This is getting…”

Her voice trailed off when he turned and lifted her, helping her straddle the seat in front him, her hips only inches away from his cock, which was rock hard and pressing painfully against his fly.

One taste. Just one taste.

Arianne tilted her head back, looking up at him through the curtain of her lashes, a smile playing across her lips as she cupped his jaw and stroked her thumb over his cheek. “Well … this promises to be more interesting than taking apart your engine in the dark.”

Fuck
. Could she be any more perfect? No screams or giggles. No dissembling or games. She wanted him, and she wasn't afraid to let him know it.

He tugged her hand away and pressed his lips against the sensitive underside of her wrist
. Control.
He needed control. His body thrummed with the need to take her, an overpowering primal urge like nothing he'd felt before. But if he gave in to instinct, he'd hurt her, and from what little he knew of her life, she'd suffered enough.

“Jagger?” Her voice caught, broke, and when he looked up, he saw the heat in her eyes.

Fucking irresistible
.

Sliding one arm around her waist, he pulled her against him and covered her mouth with his own. Soft. Sweet. Her lips parted and he swept his tongue inside, tasting, exploring, feeding the desire that even now threatened to overwhelm him. Arianne softened against him, her tongue tangling with his as she returned his kiss with a passion he wanted desperately to unleash.

But not here. Not now
. The brothers would be waiting for them. But more than that, he wanted to savor her, strip off her clothes until she lay naked and trembling beneath him. His for the taking.

Just a taste.

Deepening the kiss, he cupped her breast and let the soft weight settle in his palm. He kneaded her soft flesh and she moaned, a soft guttural sound that made his cock throb.

“So fucking sexy.” He broke away and feathered kisses along her jaw and down the slender column of her neck, delighted when her head dropped to the side to give him better access. She tasted of sunshine and flowers, perfumed with sex and sin.

“You ever fuck on your bike, Jagger?” The throaty rasp of her voice slid through his body like a silken ribbon, tying itself around his cock until he had to grit his teeth against the pain. Wary of the soft press of her hips against his thighs and the potential for a touch that might set him off, he cupped the back of her head with his hand, holding her still. Then he kissed and licked with abandon, as images of her naked and straddling his lap assailed his mind.

Get a fucking grip.
He was goddamn MC president, not a horny teenager at a drive-through. And yet he couldn't remember ever being so hard or wanting a woman as much as he wanted Arianne right now.

“When I fuck you the first time, sweetheart,” he murmured, nuzzling her neck, “we're gonna need a bed, 'cause I want to take it slow. So slow that by the time I slide my cock inside you, there won't be an inch of your body I haven't claimed. And when I make you come, you'll be so fucking wet and ready, you're gonna scream my name.” He pulled away and fisted her hair, testing her response to his dominance. “I want to hear that scream, Arianne.”

She groaned and her head fell back, exposing the delectable hollow at the base of her throat. Jagger kissed her lightly, enjoying the rapid flutter of her pulse against his lips. Aroused. Like him.

“Tease.”

“Fact,” he said, although he had serious doubts he'd be able to hold out long enough to do what he'd said.

“What about the second time?” She licked her lips, not submitting to his hold, but not fighting it either.
How far would she let him go?

“The second time, you'll be on your knees and I'm gonna watch those sweet lips slide up and down my cock.”

She slid her hands up his chest, twining them around his neck. “You've got a dirty mouth, Mr. President.”

“Dirty mouth for a dirty girl.”

Arianne laughed. “You think I'm a dirty girl?”

He traced his finger down her throat to the V of her shirt, then tugged the garment, exposing the crescent of her breasts. “You're here with me. Wantin' to fuck on my bike. Makes you a dirty girl.”

She leaned up and nuzzled his neck. “I think you like dirty girls.”

“The third time,” he said, reluctant to admit to having any feelings for her beyond lust, “I'll give it to you the way you want it.”

Arianne stilled. “Hard?”

“Very hard.”

“Hot?”

“Scorching.”

“Wild?”

His pulse kicked up a notch
. Jesus Christ
. He had to get things under control or he'd be ripping off her clothes and giving her “wild” over the back of his bike. “We gotta go.” He gritted his teeth as he pulled away. “Boys will be wondering what happened to us, and with the Jacks and Axle on the road, they'll come looking.”

“Too bad.” She leaned against him, her cheek pressed against his chest. “I never fucked on a bike before.”

He had no idea how he managed to start the engine after she switched back to the pillion seat, and when his bike roared to life and Arianne firmed her grip, he decided even a run through enemy fire would have been easier to endure. He shifted uncomfortably as they pulled out onto the road, self-adjustment out of the question. Served him right. Although when he contemplated the distance he would have to ride and then walk before he could hit a cold shower, the punishment seemed disproportionate to the crime.

As if sensing his discomfort, Arianne lowered her hands until they dangled below his belt. He glanced at his mirror, hoping for some telltale sign that would let him know if she was purposely torturing him or unaware of the situation, but she ducked her head behind his back, depriving him of even that small pleasure.

“C'mon, Jagger.” Her voice rose above the wind. “Stop puttering around like an old man. Let's see what this baby's got.”

Energized by her excitement, intoxicated by the feel of the bike between his thighs and the beautiful woman pressed against his back, the cool night air whistling through his hair, he flicked the throttle, and the bike leaped forward with a deep, throaty rumble that echoed into the night.

“Faster.” Her eyes glittered with an inner light, and he stared at the rear view mirror as she leaned to the side and gave him a wink.

Christ, he had it bad. He'd never realized what he was looking for in a woman until he met Arianne, but she pressed all his buttons. Beautiful, confident, challenging, independent, and with enough cheek to make him laugh. A woman who wasn't afraid of who he was and wanted nothing from him. A woman who could tease him and walk away. A woman who shared his passions and understood the politics of biker culture and the tightrope he had to walk to maintain control of the club.

And yet their circumstances precluded any interaction beyond the immediate need to keep her safe. What had happened back there shouldn't have happened. For so many reasons. He couldn't endanger her life further by allowing her close to him. Nor could he put his club at risk. Not that it mattered, since she wasn't planning to stick around.

Maybe that was a good thing after all.

 

EIGHT

Old ladies, house mamas, sweet butts, hood rats, and lays are allowed in the clubhouse only if escorted. No loose chicks.

Arianne chewed her lip as she contemplated the king-size bed in front of her.