Fire & Dark (The Night Horde SoCal Book 3) (3 page)

Coughing and fighting to swallow, he finally sputtered, “Jesus, girl!” He waved his empty glass at Bill and gestured for two more shots. “That’s abrupt, don’t you think?”

“Look. I’m not trawling for Mr. Right. I had a shit day. I need tequila and sex. Tequila’s been taken care of—and thank you for that. You’re hot. I’m horny, and I figure you are, too. Little Miss Tiara rubbed around on your lap for twenty minutes and then scampered off.” The next round had arrived, and she picked one up and knocked it back. “I guess if you were into that bimbo, then maybe I’m not your type. But I know things she can’t even spell. I’ll fuck your brains out and send you on about your life. You in or not?”

He’d started to grin about halfway through her speech. After he tossed his own shot back, he said, “You were checking me out.”

“Don’t be obnoxious about it. You’re hot. You
are
my type. So, yeah. I ogled.”

“I feel so violated.”

“Will you feel better if we go back to the storeroom and fuck against the beer cases?”

“It’s a start. But Troy’ll have a shit fit.”

“Troy loves me. C’mon. Let’s go, big guy.” She grabbed his hand and led him to the farthest reaches of the bar.

Damn, he had good hands.

~oOo~

The Deck storeroom was a perfect place for a quick fuck, and Pilar had taken a few guys back here. The hot ones whom she had no history with. She didn’t want to take some random guy home with her, and she sure as hell didn’t want to go to some random guy’s place. She’d been on calls that were the aftermath of that kind of stupid.

Troy had a soft spot for the protect-and-serve types and made a point to get to know those who frequented his establishment, so when he’d come back here once or twice while Pilar was mid-squelch with somebody, he’d just nodded and gone on about his errand.

The storeroom was a semi-private space in a very public place. Safety and convenience. Perfect.

But not, you know, romantic. It was a huge, chilly space, lit with rows of industrial fluorescent lights suspended on long poles from a ceiling which must have been at least thirty feet high. Rows of metal shelving held canned food, boxes of paper supplies, and whatever else an enormous bar like this needed to keep in stock. One wall held a row of deep freezes. She’d fucked on those a couple of times.

But Connor was pulling her up by the stacked cases of bottled beer. Well, she had said they could fuck against the beer. Then he immediately went for her jeans as his head came down, and he planted his mouth right on hers.

And damn, he was a good kisser. His mouth covered hers and his tongue went right for it, sweeping into her mouth. When she met him, her tongue rolling and twisting with his, his hands stopped plucking at the button of her fly and just held on, curling into fists around her waistband, pulling her close.

He smelled fantastic—the booze and the leather of his kutte, which had a kind of well-worn scent, and his skin itself, which smelled warm and, well,
indecent
—and his scent wrapped around all her senses and made him taste just as good. Pilar grunted and arched her body into his, pressing herself against a very hard, very cut chest, just out of reach behind his shirt. He responded to her tighter contact by letting go of her jeans and taking hold of her ass, clutching her hard.

But he could go harder. She wanted him to go harder. To encourage that, she put her arms over his shoulders and grabbed the neck of his kutte in her fists, increasing the ferocity of their kiss. He went with her, grunting along with her, until she bit down on his bottom lip and pulled away. When he pulled sharply back, letting go of her so he could rub at his lip, she dropped her hands and stared up at him.

Fuck, he was hot. His eyes were like a dark grey or something and sheltered under a perfect, strong brow. That little bit of blood smear on his lip made her lick her own.

But when he came back in with a little growl, she shoved him back.

He frowned. “Don’t you want this?”

She was practically panting for this guy. In fact, she was literally panting for this guy. But the lingering turmoil from the freeway call was still frothing up her blood, and she wanted more from this encounter than just a quick, thrusty fuck. What she felt like she needed was something she didn’t take from strange men.

But she needed it. Or something like it. A bit of it.

“I want it.”

“Then what the fuck, Pilar?”

For some reason, that—his saying her name, her given name, in that deep, rocky voice—decided her. “I want you to work for it. I’m no post-teen princess. You gotta bring more game.”

At that, he chuckled. “Baby, you dragged me back here. And now you’re playing hard to get?” She could see in his posture that he was changing his mind, deciding she was a nutcase and not worth the trouble.

“I’m not playing hard to get. I’m playing make me.” For emphasis, she hit him in the chest with the flat of one hand. Not hard, but abrupt.

His brow furrowed, but he didn’t react in any other way. “You got a rape fantasy thing, I’m not your guy, puss. Girl says no, I stop.”

“Well, aren’t you a gentleman.”

“Not especially. But that’s a line. And a point of pride.”

“That’s fine. Rape’s not my kink.”

His eyes flared at the word ‘kink.’ “What is?”

“Fight me.” She shoved at his chest again.

It was a risk, but it didn’t feel like one. Though she didn’t know him, she felt sure that he wouldn’t hurt her. He just gave off that vibe. There was a protector thing about this guy, outlaw biker or not. And yeah, she knew he was an outlaw. He was Night Horde. She’d been on a couple of calls at the Horde’s compound. Somebody had thrown a barrel full of burning horse through their window. And a few months after that, somebody had shot their clubhouse up. Those weren’t the kinds of things that happened to law-abiding citizens, generally speaking.

He took a step backward. “What? No. I’m a lot bigger than you are.”

Indeed he was. “I’m not asking you to hurt me.” Though she wouldn’t mind it much if there was a little bit of hurt. She pulled her t-shirt over her head. Under it was a sport bra—there was no point wearing silky or lacy anything at the barn; the guys would just make a meal out of it—but it was a nice one, turquoise, with thinner straps that crossed on her back. “I’m asking you to fight me. Let’s get sweaty.”

He was staring at the midriff she’d just bared. So she flexed those muscles.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” he muttered. “Look at you.”

CHAPTER THREE

Pilar was standing in front of him with her t-shirt wadded in her hand, wearing a little blue sport bra that wasn’t much in the sexy lingerie department but was stellar in the tiny shirt department. But that hardly mattered, because Connor’s entire attention was locked on her belly. Jesus fucking Christ. She had as much definition as he did.

No—she had more. He had bulk and breadth, but she was lean, and every fucking muscle in her body looked like it had been etched into her bronze skin with a laser. He’d never seen anything like it, not in person where he could touch.

Which he did now, laying his hand over the sharp planes of her belly. “Do you compete?”

Her abs flexed when she chuckled. “No. But I work out.”

“Fuck yeah, you do.” He smoothed his thumb over one of the cans of her six pack. Damn.

But she surprised him, knocking his hand away and then hitting him in the chest again. “You don’t need to do your seduction act on me. I’m just looking for a good, sweaty fuck.”

The hitting him thing was getting old fast. Connor was hot as hell for this chick, no mistake. But wild, rough ruts weren’t his thing, not with chicks he didn’t know. The downside was way too fucking steep. When he wanted or needed to be rough, he went for club pussy. They’d been around, they knew the score, and they wouldn’t scream assault if they came up with a bruise or a bite mark.

What she’d called his ‘seduction act’—that was his thing for a random hookup. It was why he liked young girls. He liked to do a little sweet talk, get a chick all dewy-eyed, offer her a ride on his Night Train, then take her back to the clubhouse and broaden her horizons a little. He also knew which girls were prime to be swept off their feet for a night but not want more than that one night. The princesses looking for a walk on the wild side—or what they thought of as the wild side—and then wanted to get back to the car their daddy had bought them and drive home to their safe little suburban life.

Every now and then, one would simper a little, making noise like she wasn’t done with him. But he hadn’t met a pretty young thing yet who still wanted to see more of him after he’d walked her through the clubhouse on a weekend morning, with its inevitable array of passed-out, naked bodies. Not to mention the stench.

This girl, though, this woman, wasn’t remotely like his usual game. She was coming at him hard, and all Connor’s warning bells were going of like the fucking apocalypse had arrived. It was one thing to go for a quick rut against the wall back here. But she was asking him to
fight
her? What did that even mean?

At his hesitation, she scoffed and turned away. “Fuck it. Never mind.”

Her hair swung as she turned, a fantastic mass of dark, loose, wild waves that cascaded halfway down her back. His hands itched to be buried in that hair, to grab hold of it.

And then he did exactly that. He reached out and took a fistful of her hair, dragging her back until she collided with his chest. She was chick-size, neither tall nor short. He was six-two, and she came up to, say, his chin or so. His body reacted strongly to the contact, his already-hard cock swelling painfully. Before he knew he would do it, he’d thrust his hips against her.

She didn’t react almost at all to his force, but when he leaned down to put his mouth to her ear, he saw that she was smiling. “I’m not gonna knock you around, puss. But I’ll give it to you hard, if that’s what you want.” He bit down on her shoulder—not hard enough to mark her, but hard enough to let her know what he meant. She had elaborate ink across the back of her shoulders, one side to the other, done in oranges and reds: some kind of flowers that looked like they were on fire. “Is that what you want?”

Reaching her arm up to hook over his head, she dug her nails into the back of his neck. “Bring it,” she said quietly, her voice more growl than whisper.

Jesus. What the hell was he getting himself into?

It didn’t matter. With one hand, he yanked up her bra and took hold of a tight knot of nipple, and he shoved the other into her jeans. She was shaved or waxed or whatever, her skin silky smooth and so fucking firm. He had never had a body like this in his hands before.

Her hands dropped and went to her fly. She tore it open, easing his access, and then reached behind her to grab his cock over his jeans, squeezing him hard. He grunted and pushed his fingers inside her, then turned them both and shoved her against the stack of beer cases.

The bottles rattled ominously as they crashed into them. Connor didn’t want to create a chaotic mess back here and have Troy up his ass, so he looked around. Finding a likely spot, he yanked her jeans and underwear down to her knees and picked her up. Finally, he’d surprised her. She gasped and went stiff.

He carried her to the row of deep freezes and dropped her down on the one at the end. She smiled and started to turn to her belly, moving to slide her legs off the end, but he grabbed her bare hip and forced her back to her side. Keeping his hand there to hold her still, he dug a condom out of his kutte, opened his jeans, and got the fucker on.

Then he wrapped an arm around both of her legs, holding them tightly together. Keeping her on her side, he yanked her ass to the very edge of the freezer top and pushed sideways into her eager, bare pussy.

Her back arched sharply as he got deep. “Oh, holy shit! Oh
God
, yeah! Bring it hard. C’mon!”

He laughed and shook his head—she was something else. “Okay, baby. Okay.” With one arm locked around her knees and the other hand grasping her shoulder, he went hard, pounding into her without preamble, his hips rocking so hard that the freezer shook, one side coming off the ground with every forward thrust.

She was keeping up a constant litany through clenched teeth: “Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck,” over and over, her voice that same breathy growl. She began to push her body toward his, meeting his thrusts in counterpoint. Then she put her hand between her legs and went for her clit with fervor.

“Fuck, yeah,” she gritted. “Come on, come on. I need it harder.”

Holy hell. Before Connor could figure out how to give her more, the storeroom door opened, and he stilled his hips and turned to see. A bar-back, just a kid, stood there staring at them with his pimply face totally slack and his mouth gaping wide.

Pilar surged toward Connor. “Don’t fucking stop!”

Hardly unused to fucking in public, he returned his attention to the very demanding woman on his cock.

A hesitant, young voice squeaked, “I…I…um…need napkins.”

“Then fucking get ‘em!” Pilar shouted through her labored breath. “Then get the fuck out, perv!”

No one had ever retrieved a box of napkins more quickly.

The interruption had not quelled Pilar’s driving demand or Connor’s enthusiasm for it. He could feel his finish gathering in his balls, and she was still chanting, “More, more, more.” So he threw her legs over one shoulder and leaned over her, pushing his arms under her and hooking his hands over her shoulders. With her bound up tightly and pushed firmly against him, he pistoned into her as hard and fast as he physically could.

“Fuck yeah!” she yelled. She grabbed her tits and twisted her nipples sharply, and then, thank all the saints, she was coming. He could feel it; her body clamped down all around him, the muscles around his cock, against his chest, under his hands, all of them tensing to marble rigidity. Her face went dark. With all of the talking and yelling she’d been doing, he’d expected fireworks for her big finish, but she was still and silent, as completely clenched as he’d ever seen.

When she finally relaxed, all at once, he stopped holding himself off. Keeping up the same frenetic pace, he went at her until that perfect moment of beautiful, empty-headed ecstasy took him over.

Fuck, that was hot.

When he could pay attention again, he looked down at her. She was completely relaxed and smiling. Her wild hair was spread out around her head like a halo. She had amazing eyes, a brown so light they were almost gold, rimmed with chocolate. Her lashes were thick, dark, and long—naturally or from makeup, he didn’t know, but they framed those flashing gold lights and made her look hardly real. If she had been lying anywhere but on the metal lid of a freezer in a bar’s storeroom with her clothes bunched and twisted around her, she might have looked like a mystical creature.

But they were here, in the real world.

“That what you wanted?”

She laughed and stretched, that beautiful, sinewy body writhing, and his exhausted cock twitched inside her at the sight. “It’ll definitely do.”

With a pat to her tight little ass, he pulled out and set her legs down. She sat up, and he pulled off the condom.

As he tied it off, she said, “You’re not cut.”

“Hmm?” He looked up, not sure what she meant. As an answer she nodded at his uncircumcised cock. Ah. “No. That a problem?”

“Not at all. It’s a great cock.” She grinned and jumped off the freezer to pull up her jeans. “Really great. I just don’t see a lot natural cocks in American men your age.”

There were a lot of questions to be asked about that statement, but Birthday Barbie’s nasty little
Grandpa
comment kicked him in the head first. Christ, he was having a tough time with chicks tonight. “My age?”

“Our age. You’re in your, what, early-mid thirties?”

“Thirty-six.” That was feeling older tonight than it usually did.

But she pointed her thumb at her chest. “Thirty. Our age. The whole circumcision controversy didn’t really take off until the turn of the century, so it’s mostly twenty-somethings who aren’t cut.”

Connor was damn sure circumcision had never in his life been a topic for post-coital chat. But with this chick, it seemed totally reasonable. “You see a lot of twenty-something dick?”

She pulled her t-shirt over her head. “You see a lot of twenty-something pussy?”

He laughed—a real laugh, from his gut. It felt good. This chick, man. This chick. “Touché.”

She was grinning up at him, those golden eyes flashing, her hands on her hips, and he just acted without thinking. He slid a hand around her neck, into her hair, and bent down to kiss her. Not a sex kiss. Just a kiss. Gentle. When he swept his tongue lightly over her lips, she flinched backward a little.

“What was that for?”

He lifted a shoulder in a casual shrug. “Just wanted to do it.”

“You don’t have to let me down easy, you know. I’m done here.”

He grinned. “Good. So’m I.”

“Okay.”

“Okay.” He nodded at the door. “We should get out of here.”

She gave him a quick look that was searching, a little suspicious. And then she nodded and headed for the door. He followed her out.

Once on the floor, she drew up short. “Fuck.” Her table was occupied by strangers. She’d been left behind.

“You got abandoned?”

“Yeah,” she sighed. “How long were we back there?”

Connor didn’t wear a watch, so he pulled his phone out to check the time. “Half an hour?” That was his best guess, and once it sank in, he looked down at her and wiggled his eyebrows.

Her eyes widened. “Really? So much for a quick fuck.”

“What can I say? Stamina, baby.”

She tossed her head back and gave that raunchy laugh that had first caught his ear.

The sway of her hair drew his attention again, and he reached out and let a lock curl around his finger. “You need a ride somewhere?”

“No. I’m my own ride.” She nodded at his table, where his brothers were still drinking. “I see your friends are better than mine.”