Victory Rising (4 page)

She must’ve liked how he took the floor in her defense. If she kept shooting him those irresistible grins, he’d stay right there, take up arms, and maybe even fight.

“How the hell do you know what she’ll do? You don’t know anything about her,” Tigger said. “And from what I’ve heard, Victory ain’t some dumb chick waiting to be passed around. Once she goes somewhere, she stays a little while. She thinks she’s a cut above everyone else.”

Victory took a stroll around the room, walking her fingers across the smooth wood encasing the felt of the pool table. She stopped abruptly and stared at Cara.

“What are you looking at?” Cara asked.

Victory didn’t respond.

Tigger said, “A rest, Cara. Give it a rest, baby.”

Victory studied Devon from across the room. Was this a test? Was she putting him under a microscope and dissecting his every move in order to determine if he was worthy of her or if she even wanted to be there?

Devon felt his nostrils flare. He took a few heavy breaths. What the hell, he might as well just lay everything on the line and let his MC brothers know what he was thinking. Besides, he wasn’t a man who particularly enjoyed lying down beside one broad and waking up next to another. He was ready to settle down. He had a birthday coming up, and with his approaching thirtieth, he’d slowly started to consider the more important things in life—a trustworthy woman, family and kids, a real life he could separate and distinguish from the life he’d lived as the Heroes and Rogues club president. Whenever he’d thought of what some of the MC members might consider nonsense, only one woman came to mind.

Victory Rising.

“She’s gotta go,” Tigger said, jarring him from his fantasies.

“I know everything there is to know about a woman I want for my own. Bringing Victory here has been weighing heavy on my mind for a long time. Now, back the fuck off, Tigger. This topic isn’t open for discussion, and it damn sure won’t hit the table for a club vote.”

* * * *

Victory followed Devon to his bedroom. After the little brouhaha with Tigger, she welcomed the possibility of privacy.

“Come on in,” Devon said, unlocking his door and leading the way. As the Heroes and Rogues charter president, Devon occupied what must have been the best suite in the clubhouse.

She tossed her purse to the bed and passed him, making herself right at home. “Nice place.”

“It’s all right,” he said. “My dad was materialistic as hell. Before he died, he designed what he considered the perfect living space. He wanted a private escape with everything a man needed for entertaining women, sleeping and relaxing.”

“I see,” she said, noticing a few odd furniture pieces at the far end of the room. “What are those?”

Devon arched a brow. “Careful about the questions you ask. I may have to holler at Cara and Tigger and ask them to come in here and demonstrate.”

“Are you kidding? I don’t think Cara would place herself in a vulnerable position by bringing her man into this bedroom with us.”

“How would that be vulnerable?” he asked, arching a brow.

She shrugged. “It’s amazing what happens when four people, particularly two couples, come together for private exhibitionism.” She laughed. “Not that Cara would allow her man anywhere near me with his pecker out.”

He rubbed his lower jaw. “You have a point.”

She studied what looked like a miniature Catherine Wheel. Positioned on an elevated axle, the wooden wheel sported spindle-style spokes connecting the center of the wheel to the exterior rim. “I’ve seen those in lifestyle clubs. They’re used for punishment.”

“Doms use them for pretty much anything if they can get their hands on one.”

“Is that what you are?”

Devon picked up a towel from the floor and tossed it aside. He squared his shoulders before he turned around. “What’s that?”

“A Dom. Are you a Dom, Devon?”

He stroked his chin, apparently in deep thought.

“If you say, ‘what if I am’, that’s telling.”

“You know what I am.”

“And that’s even more so,” she remarked, satisfied.

She traipsed around the wheel and, tucking her fingers underneath a spoke, dragged the equipment with her as she walked. The oval center spun slowly around and around. “So, do you really think I need someone to demonstrate how this works?”

“Don’t toy with me, Victory.”

“You scare me, Devon.” She shuddered to make for a more believable act.

He stalked her.

Then again, he
did
make her nervous, anxious.

He cupped her nape and held her at the base of her head while staring into her eyes. “What if I told you I have a feeling you need to try and get along with Cara.”

“I don’t have a problem with her.” Victory moistened her lips, stood on her tiptoes, and gave him a sensual peck. “But I don’t know how willing I am to share the same bedroom with Cara and her kitty cat.”

“Tigger would hate you for that. I suggest you don’t mention such a slur beyond these four walls.”

“I’m more of a one-on-one kind of gal, Devon.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” he muttered. His grip changed as he drew her in for a heated kiss.

She sighed as their lips parted and his tongue slipped across hers in a fluttering motion. Oh Lord, it wouldn’t be long until she was spread like an eagle with her wrists secured to the spokes of Devon’s wheel.

Her nipples hardened as she considered numerous possibilities the day held in store. She squeezed her legs together, noticing how her knees knocked against one another. Her pussy clenched, and deep inside her womb, a slow-burning fire flamed with awareness.

His aggressive kiss ended too soon. He smoothed his lips across hers and quietly said, “You and Addison fulfilled a man’s fantasies. It’s something I’ve never forgotten.”

“I’ve never cared much for threesomes.”

“You enjoyed the one you had with me.”

“True, but the time I spent with you was…” She deliberately let her voice trail. She sighed and closed her eyes. When she opened them again, Devon appeared pleased. He looked more handsome than rogue with sparkling eyes and a softened expression.

“What?” He encouraged a full-fledged confession, cupping the side of her face. “Tell me.”

“I don’t recall touching Addison, but I enjoyed you very much.” And that was about all she cared to offer him.

How did she explain that she had never enjoyed another man after him? How did she tell him when she’d crawled back in Damsel’s bed she’d felt as if she were lying under the sheets with the devil? When was the appropriate time to let Devon know he’d made her feel things she’d never experienced before? She’d craved an intimacy she never thought existed. How did she put into words how she’d always feared she’d lost a piece of her heart after a one-night stand, one evening spent with him?

He took a deep breath. His jaw twitched as if he were debating how far he might push her, what questions he might ask. Finally, he said, “I remember our night together like it happened yesterday. I wanted more, by the way.”

“Me and Addy?” She wrinkled her nose at the thought.

“Yes,” he admitted. “Would you have gone down on her if I’d asked?”

“God, no.” How could he ask her such a question?

“Would you have fucked me?”

“In a heartbeat.” Her pulse quickened. Her stomach turned summersaults. This was it. She knew in the pit of her soul, he wouldn’t hesitate to take her now. No one was there to stand in their way. Even the potential consequences which would likely follow actions wouldn’t stop them.

Again, he looked pleased. “I’ve often wondered, Victory.”

“You really shouldn’t have,” she said, feeling sexier than she ever recalled. She threw her arms above her head and clasped her wrists. Parting her legs, she casually circled her hips and tilted her head, swiping her tongue across her lips as she stretched. “You did the fucking if I remember correctly. That tongue of yours brings more pleasure than any man’s dick.”

He laughed. “Well, that’s a first.”

“You haven’t heard that before?”

“No,” he admitted as he retrieved more clothes from the floor.

“What I did with you and Addison was rare.” She dropped her arms and kept talking as he tidied up his room. “I enjoy an occasional public exploit. I like to watch more than I appreciate performing, but by and large, I keep my sex vanilla.”

Her gaze worked back and forth from the wheel to Devon. She’d been so wrapped up in the idea of Devon, she’d forgotten what Addison had once told her. Devon wasn’t an ordinary guy. He was a Dom and, from what Addison had said, one of the most domineering men she’d ever taken to bed.

Devon hadn’t shown Victory his true dominant side, but then again, she’d only enjoyed him briefly. They’d had an arrangement, a previous understanding. She had joined Addison and Devon for the foreplay, but Addison had warned her ahead of time. Under no circumstance was Victory permitted to stay and fuck. At the time, she’d considered her unnecessary leave one of life’s greatest disappointments.

“Have you ever been on one?” Devon asked, jarring her from her adult fantasies as he waved his hand toward the wheel.

“No.”

“You’ll enjoy it,” he said, playfully flipping her backside with a towel.

“Will I?”

“Absolutely,” he assured her, walking to the long bar stretched across the back wall. “Can I get you something to drink?”

“Did you bring me here to get me drunk?”

“No.” His coal black gaze met hers. Those haunting eyes housed regret. Those were the eyes of a man on the run and a man who’d always headed straight for the heart of trouble. His eyes told endless stories.

Devon knew hate. He’d seen death, perhaps barely escaped its clutches.

His chiseled cheeks flexed as she walked over to him and threw her arms around his shoulders. His muscular body went rigid. He was a dangerous type and couldn’t place faith in just anyone. Trusting the wrong woman could get a man killed.

She wondered then. Did Devon doubt her? Did he think Gaylord had planted her there, placed her on the side of the road and asked her to do the club a favor, to try to go inside the Heroes and Rogues and infiltrate their club? Crazier things had happened. Many of the motorcycle clubs were notorious for using their women. She’d known girls who’d turned tricks, ran drugs, and even put a knife to a rival leader’s throat.

Victory caressed the tops of Devon’s shoulders, smoothing her palms over his soft leather jacket. “Why did you bring me here?”

“Why do you think I brought you to my club, to my room, Victory?” His eyes searched hers, and a level of seriousness swept across the room. He bracketed his muscular arm around her waist and slammed her body against his. “Do you think this was just a sudden notion or do you think it’s possible I’ve long since considered doing the unthinkable?”

His lips caressed her collarbone and neck. She arched in his arms as he ravaged her upper chest, never dropping his head lower, never going beyond the line into the inappropriate, yet she was dying to push him across the barriers, tear down any imagined walls.

“What…what’s the unthinkable?” she asked, stammering.

A nasally laugh resounded. “Don’t pretend you don’t know. Hell, half my club knew and yours too—”

“The Devil’s Angels club isn’t my club.”

“Your tale now,” he said, squaring his shoulders and placing some distance between them.

She watched him and wanted to press for details. What did his club know? What did he think the Angels knew? While she waited to see if he offered a better explanation, he looked as if he had braced himself for revealing confessions, too.

Devon cleared his throat. “I wanted to knock on that clubhouse door, tell Gaylord I’d barter for love, trade one woman for another; all he had to do was say the word.”

“He would’ve said a few choice ones,” she said, catching his meaning.

“I imagine he still will,” Devon said, moving into her again and rubbing the side of his face against hers. He nuzzled her like he found pure pleasure just by being in her company. “Because I have the same goals I had nearly two years ago.”

“Which are?”

“Impatient, aren’t cha?” he asked.

“Maybe,” she admitted, grinning. “If you weren’t in a hurry, I don’t think you would’ve brought me to your bedroom.”

“You think too much,” he told her, stealing another kiss.

This time they kissed with their eyes wide open, and it was all she could do to keep her hands to herself. Sweet damn, Devon sure was a handsome rogue of a man, the epitome of a bad boy gone ultra-wild. And as his lips whispered across hers, she knew without a second guess, without one unnecessary question. Devon Kardashian was the only guy capable of saving her.

He was the only one who could, and potentially would, protect her from a past she’d never been able to successfully outrun. He could make her pain go away, right along with all her current troubles.

The question was—would he? Or would he cause her more grief than she’d ever be able to stand?