Read Vindication: A Motorcycle Club Romance Online
Authors: Sienna Valentine
Vindication: A Motorcycle Club Romance (21 page)
Bestselling author Sienna Valentine
grew up in Canada and still lives there, spending her time reading and
writing. Steamy romance has always been her favorite genre, and now finds that
the only thing more satisfying than dreaming up her fantasies in the first
place, is writing them down and being able to share them with others.
You can find Sienna on facebook here:
www.facebook.com/authorsiennavalentine
Don’t forget, if you want to be the
first to know about her upcoming projects or join her ARC team, be sure to sign
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I would to thank all of my wonderful
readers who have given me a chance to live my dream of writing for a living. I
hope that each book I write is better than the last so that I never disappoint
you.
I would also like to thank my ARC and
Beta readers that were very helpful in pointing out issues that my own eyes
passed over after multiple edits. It’s so helpful having a group of wonderful
women that are eager to read my sometimes unfinished and unpolished work and
give me constructive feedback. You are all very patient and I appreciate every
one of you!
And finally, I want to thank the
members of my street team, Sienna’s Valentines. A wonderful group of women
always willing to help spread the word about my new releases, help me Beta read
my books, look at eye candy covers and help me pick the hottest guys, and just
generally chat and have some fun! Look for us on Facebook, we’re always happy
to welcome new members.
With Aubrey St. Clair
Silver and
Chrome (Christmas 2015)
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~ ONE ~
Noah
I found her at a record store, thrusting her beautiful
ass out to rifle through the dollar vinyl boxes that usually held old crooners
from the 40s and 50s, or forgotten country acts that never left the dust of
their hometowns. My mood was grim. A couple of young assholes had recognized me
in my truck on the way over and thrown their half-finished can of energy drink
at me as they raced by. The can didn’t hurt my truck, but impotent rage raced
through my veins the rest of the drive, and by the time I got inside the record
store, I was ready to take it out on someone.
Her ass curved out like a bell from a
thin waist decorated with three studded belts. She tied a gingham shirt up and
under her huge tits, cleavage peeking out from under a stack of silver
necklaces of different lengths. A shock of short, bright red hair completed her
edgy look, and when she stood upright and saw me staring at her, she smiled at
me and licked at the lollipop she had in her mouth.
“Find what you’re looking for?” I
asked her, eyes on her tits.
“I think I just might have,” she
said. Her voice was a high-pitched, purring sound, and she wiggled her hips
when she talked.
I stepped closer. Her chest and neck
flushed with arousal, an effect I am all too used to having on women. At 6’1”,
my height intrigues them from the start. But the cut muscles of my body, and
the tattoos that decorate them, draw them in like moths around firelight. They
know they are going to get burned, but they just can’t help themselves.
“Do you live nearby?” I asked.
She looked me up and down, a bit of
fear in her eyes. But the smile on her lips said she liked it. “Uh-huh.” She
bobbed the sucker in and out of her mouth suggestively.
“Pick whatever you want out of there,
and let’s get going,” I said, nodding toward the record box she had been
searching through. I reached out and lightly caressed the meat of her thigh,
and then I turned and headed for the front of the store, waiting.
In a rush she gathered up the records
she had been considering and sauntered to the counter on her wedge platforms. I
threw a fifty at the cashier after he rang her up and told him to keep the
change.
I followed her to her apartment about
three miles from the record store, sliding into the first parking stall I could
find and keeping my hood up as I walked up to meet her. She waited with a grin
on her face until I caught up, then took me by the hand and led me up a flight
of stairs to her place.
As she closed the door behind us and
locked it, I asked her, “Do you have roommates?”
“Just one, but she’s at work,” she
said. She threw her coat and purse on an empty recliner and approached me with
lust in her eyes. “I’m Nina.”
“I don’t really care,” I said. “Is
that a problem?”
Nina threw her arms around my neck
and rubbed her soft body against mine. My dick started swelling up, and I
gripped her ample ass in both of my hands. She shrugged. “Not really.”
“Good,” I said, smashing my mouth
down against hers and kissing her hard and heavy, until she was whimpering
under my mouth and grasping onto my shirt. She hiked one leg up on my hip,
brushing her jean-covered pussy against me.
“I want you on your knees,” I said,
grabbing a handful of her colorful hair.
Nina said nothing, only moaned like a
bitch in heat as my hand helped her comply. She rubbed my dick through my jeans
and looked up at me while I unfastened them and pulled out my thick, eight-inch
piece. She immediately ran her mouth up and down its length, tongue warm and
wet, lapping up the precum that had already gathered at the tip.
“Suck,” I said. I held the base of my
dick in one hand and Nina’s hair in the other as I fed her my hardened shaft
until it hit the back of her throat. She moaned around my dick, sucking at it
with abandon. This wasn’t the first time she’d deep throated someone.
I didn’t even bother letting her take
the lead. One hand on her head, I bucked my hips against Nina’s mouth, fucking
her face, while she rubbed one hand down between her legs. Saliva dripped down
her cheek every time I pulled out of her mouth, running down her neck and
cleavage.
I tilted her head up to look at me
and told her to take off her clothes and bend over the couch. Nina smiled up at
me, fuck-drunk already, and quickly pulled her shirt off to reveal her
beautiful, fleshy tits. They filled my mouth one at a time before I let her
stand to remove her jeans, and by then she was panting with desire.
When she finally went to kick off her
shoes, I stopped her. There was no need for that; I didn’t plan on staying that
long. Instead, I bent her over the couch while she was still wearing them and
lined my cock up to her dripping pussy. The smooth head teased up and down her
slit, spreading her wetness around while she begged me to put it inside her.
After quickly rolling on a condom, I
obliged, sinking the entire length of my dick inside Nina in one hard thrust.
She screamed into the cushions of the couch, a wail that never stopped as I
pumped in and out of her from behind. Each cry was punctuated by desperate,
rhythmic breaths, and the simple and repeated phrase, “Oh God, oh God…”
With my eyes closed, I wrapped my
hands around her waist and drove as deep and hard inside of her as I could.
This was always the best way to forget everything that was bothering me, and
today was no exception. The feel of her pussy around my cock was like heaven;
the sight of her gorgeous ass pressing up against me with every thrust,
beautiful. Soon I couldn’t even hear Nina’s screaming, lost as I was in the
pleasure of her wetness, until the edge was upon me.
Leaning over with a growl, I grabbed
Nina’s hair and pulled hard as I came inside her, pushing deeper with every
wave. Nina’s mantra was under her breath in a whisper now. She must have come,
too.
After withdrawing, I found my way to
the bathroom to clean myself up and toss the condom. I splashed water on my
face while I intentionally ignored the reflection staring back at me in the
mirror. Nina was still naked when I came back out, but now she was wrapped in a
knitted afghan on the couch instead of bent over it, ass up. Standing in the
living room was another girl, though. Must have been the roommate. She has a
backpack slung over her shoulder and a nametag still pinned on her polo shirt.
They both stopped talking and looked
at me when I entered the room. “Oh, hey,” I said, my stomach tensing at this
unexpected intrusion. I just wanted to make my way out of here.
The eyes of the new girl in the room
went wide, and so did her mouth.
Fuck. I knew that look. Nina hadn’t
recognized me, but her roommate sure as hell did.
“Thanks,” I said to Nina, raising a
hand. “I’m gonna take off.”
“Wait, I didn’t even—“
“You’re
Noah Hardy
,” Nina’s
roommate whispered. Then, more loudly, she added, “Oh my God, you’re him!”
Nina gave a sour look to her
roommate, and then back to me. “He’s who?”
This was about to get a lot more
messy, so I just walked past both of them without another word, leaving Nina to
catch up with her friend about the booty call she just had while I jumped in my
truck and blazed away, anxious to get back home.
For the first time in ten years, I
didn’t know what the fuck to do with myself. I didn’t have studio time blacked
out on my calendar; I didn’t have to scramble around getting everything ready
for a three-month-long jaunt across the US or Europe; I didn’t have a gauntlet
of copycat interviews to sit through for hours on end to promote a new album. I
had nothing. My phone, usually blowing up so badly I often left it at home or
on the bus just to get away from it, was silent as the grave. I guess what they
say about fame and fair-weather friends was right.
Luckily for me, I never let anyone get
that close. Only my band brothers—and sometimes not even them. The absence of
hangers-on trying to hook up with me for favors or weed or booty calls didn’t
upset me. I wished I could say the same about the silence from Ash and Jeff.
Duke’s silence, well… what the fuck else was new? That motherfucker has been
waiting for me to trip up for years now.
Yet I couldn’t quite handle the
silence of my house. The place barely felt like it was mine, I spent so little
time here. You never realize how used to the noise you are until everything
suddenly goes quiet. You’re left standing there wondering what the fuck
happened, feeling vaguely like something was stalking up to eat you. That’s how
it felt, regardless of what I tried to do to occupy myself. I paced, restless,
until it was too much to take.
I looked out the window and was
greeted by a roiling gray sky. Already the glass dripped with raindrops. I
loved storms. I wanted to be out in it.
In my walk-in closet, I threw on the
first pair of torn jeans I put my hands on. Same with the band shirt. Not mine,
of course. Then I grabbed my gray hoodie and leather jacket combo and shrugged
it over my shoulders. A quick glance in the mirror with my hood up made me feel
a little better about going out. As a heavily muscled international rock star
covered in tattoos, it was more than a little difficult to move around in the
world without being spotted. I’d never been afraid to go out before, but I was
starting to understand agoraphobes.
Thornwood used to be the place where
I didn’t have to be anyone but myself. Thornwood was home. Now, though… now
even this place felt like it was turning on me.
The rain drizzled down my jacket as I
stepped out and into my pickup truck, a ’72 Ford I restored before Cut Up
Angels hit it big. As she rumbled to life under my touch, I smiled, running my
hands over the smooth leather of the steering wheel. She was a beautiful truck,
and I felt powerful driving her. For a minute I just sat in the driveway,
listening to her purr, letting CO2 pump into the atmosphere and secretly hoping
it would be my exhaust that made global warming kill us all. Preferably in the
next ten minutes.
The thought of dying made me think of
graveyards, and suddenly I knew where I could go. Thornwood—hell, the whole fucking
planet—might throw me to the wolves, but there was one place that never would.
Ten minutes later, I pulled into the
near-empty parking lot of the Graveyard Club off Cherry Highway. It was an old,
brick building with last-man-standing stubbornness that was shared by her
owner. This place made me who I was, but more importantly, fans didn’t know
about it. I didn’t talk about it in interviews or press because I never wanted
this place to come under someone’s knife because of me. This was my sanctuary.
My second home.
Even the gravel under my boots
sounded the same. I smiled as I opened the door and walked into the dark, dingy
space. Dust floated in the air, and overhead some black metal band I didn’t
recognize was playing softly, as if it were elevator music. A few barflies
nursed their drinks at the counter. Near the small corner stage, a few skinny
young dudes with tools and wires huddled deep in conversation around some of
the sound equipment. I didn’t recognize anyone until Kevin Galloway came out
from the back room. He spotted me almost immediately, and a big, stupid smile
overtook his weathered face.
