Shot to Hell (Four Horsemen MC #7) (24 page)

“Wrong answer.”

Steele backed her against the wall of the building in slow, measured strides. When he had Ash where he wanted her, he ran a hand through her hair.

She shut her eyes and leaned into it—until she got a hold of herself. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“What’s it look like?” He pressed his body into hers, pinning her between him and the wood—she couldn’t tell which one was harder.

Steele whispered into her ear, “You’re gonna give me those panties, then I’m ridin’ off with you wrapped around me.”

“Am I?”

His laughter was rough and dirty.

“We both know you wanna give me a lot more, but I’ll settle for those right now.” He inched his fingers into the pocket of her jeans, brushing blunt fingertips against her sex, rubbing her through the fabric.

Ash arched against him, rocking, seeking more contact.

“Come on, give in.”

Steele’s touch was maddening, stoking the fires of whatever hell burned between them. He teased, sweeping against her thigh, edging closer but never satisfying her.

If only he’d move his fingers a couple of inches to the left.

Steele stopped. “Ash?”

She licked her lips. “Fine. I’ll give them to you.” God, she must’ve woke up stupider this morning. “You got a knife?”

 “Why?”

“Whip it out then.”

His nostrils flared at her word play. And for a hazy second, she wondered if he’d whip out more than a blade.  He rimmed his lips with his tongue.

“The knife, you mean?”

She smirked. “Yes. You’ll have to cut the drawers off me. I’m not getting naked for the world to see.” Ash glanced over his shoulder to find the parking lot nearly empty.  

Steele produced a pocketknife with the club symbol engraved on the handle. He brought it to the waistband of her jeans, and she bit the inside of her cheek to keep from whimpering.

Ash reached for the edges of her panties and pulled them above the denim border at her waist. She wasn’t wearing anything particularly sexy today—a pair of black hip-hugging panties printed with tiny skulls. She hadn’t counted on anyone seeing her underwear, so she hadn’t dressed up for the occasion.

“Fuck, look at those.” Steele thumbed a skull. “Bad-ass.”

She gave his words right back to him. “You like?” Her taste in fashion intimidated most guys.

“Hell yeah.” His hand settled on her hip, and he gripped the fabric, pulling it up higher.

The cotton tightened, pressing against the swollen bud of her clit.

Ash shuddered.

 He slipped the knife beneath the fabric and sliced one edge, cutting into the leg hole, and then he slit the other. Ash shivered at the chilly kiss of the steel and the naked hunger on his face.

So very wrong to find it arousing.

The dark and twisted scene from
Dogma
popped into her head. Ben Affleck’s character had a knife to the heroine’s throat. There’s an erotic edge to the villainy—his mouth is pressed against her ear, and he almost caresses her with the blade.

Steele tugged her panties off while the jeans remained on, undressing her in the parking lot.

He brushed his fingers against the crotch of her underwear, and they came away damp. “Oh, fuck. You’re wet. And hot. You want me.” Steele tucked the panties into his pocket.

Ash couldn’t deny it. She’d been wet around him…since…well, since she’d started having
those
kinds of feelings for boys.

“And
you
want me.” She nodded to his hips. All she could think about was straddling Steele and riding
him
instead of the bike.

“Like it was ever in doubt.” Steele pressed her into the wall once more, grinding his cock against her lower belly. She could feel him—big, hard, and warm—even through the fabric. “Whatcha gonna do about it?”

She’d wanted him for years, but it’d never been her turn. All Ash had to do was say yes—hell, a nod would suffice—and they’d spend the evening in bed. If they screwed enough times, she might be able to
move on and get him out of her system. Or she’d end up with an even bigger addiction.

Ash hesitated.

No, she couldn’t. Ash had to do the right thing, the
responsible
thing. The ride was treat enough.

“Not a damn thing.”

He groaned and slid a hand between them to palm himself through the denim, adjusting the family jewels. For a moment, she thought he might protest, but he backed off, holding his arms up in the air like he’d been caught red-handed.

“Let’s go,” he croaked. Steele reached in the saddlebag to retrieve an extra helmet along with his old letterman jacket. “Suit up.”

He straddled the motorcycle once more, gunning the engine, channeling all the extra testosterone. After they both strapped helmets on, Ash climbed on, and he took off at a hectic pace.

Ash gave a whoop as they raced by the township limit sign.

Just as she’d predicted, it was intoxicating–the smell of his old leather jacket, the growl of the engine—the rumbling chrome beast between her legs. Not to mention the chance to wrap her arms around Steele.

Ash encircled his waist and laid her head on his shoulder, soaking it all up. Yeah, he gave her a great ride, but it wasn’t the kind she
really
wanted.

***

A couple of hours later, Steele pulled off into a roadside rest stop. The highway was deserted. They were a few miles from the Smoke Desert. The rest stop was a hundred or so yards off the highway. Steele spied a picnic table and a copse of trees a few more hundred feet in.

With Ash clinging to his back, he’d been half hard the entire time. He’d intended to give them both some tension relief, but he’d only managed to make it worse. Steele needed a cold shower or a hellion. Maybe both. Actually, he was fooling himself. No one else would do…no one but Ash—yet she still resisted.

Ash hopped off the bike, and he shut the motorcycle down. They both took off the helmets, then he grabbed a bottled water from the saddlebags.

“Come on, let’s take a break.”

“The ride didn’t work.” With a sigh, she trailed him to the picnic table.

“Tell me about it.” Steele cracked open a water and took a slow drink, never taking his eyes off her. She had flushed cheeks from the cool weather and the hot ride. Steele would rather throw her down onto the picnic table and work off the anger the fun way.

“Give me some of that.” Ash tugged at the bottle, and he let her take it. After she swallowed some, she held up her dukes. “You up for a fight?”

“Fuck no.”

Ash widened her stance and turned to face him. “You don’t want more of this?” She fisted her hands.

“Oh, believe me, I haven’t had enough.”

Her gaze was heavy-lidded, and her hair was windblown, wild-looking. “Come on then, hit me.” She motioned him forward.

Steele didn’t want to fight Ash, but despite his good intentions, he didn’t back off. He wanted her legs wrapped around his waist—needed to push his cock inside her.

There was something primal in the air.

She tapped him on the arm with a fist. It was light and playful but with an edge. “This has been comin’ a long time.”

“I’m not gonna fight you.”

“That’s what you think.” Ash closed the tiny distance between them and took another swipe up at him, this one harder and not playful at all. “Come on. We both know you like a
good
piece of ass. And I know you want mine.”

Steele shuddered. The blend of anger and lust caught fire, urged him on, but he backed off, shaking his head. Sex could be an aggressive act. One partner on top of the other—penetrating, pinning the other down, the one beneath yielding, accepting the intrusion.

Yeah, he needed to shut this down.

 “What the fuck? I ain’t gonna hit you.”

“Why?” She tilted her head. “Because you don’t hit women?”

That
was one rule he didn’t have a problem obeying—with the notable exception of the
Bruja
bitch.

 “No, I don’t—especially not you. I’ll never hit you.”

“Why? What makes me so fucking special?”

“You just are.”

Everything about her was special, but he couldn’t tell her. She wasn’t ready to hear it. Ash might never be ready. Steele had been drowning himself in cheap and easy sex for years, but it didn’t mean a damn thing. Not like Ash did. As fucking girly as it sounded, he’d rather spend time arguing with her than screwing another woman.

Ash grabbed the front of his shirt, balling it in her fist, and pulled an arm back as if to strike.

 “Let go. Fight me.”

Steele made no move to defend himself. He had six inches on her and a hell of a lot more weight. So why did he feel so outmatched?

 “No. I’m not gonna give you what you want. I won’t make it easier for you. If you wanna kick my ass again, have at it, but I won’t hit you back.”

Steele couldn’t have what
he
wanted, so he guessed they were both fucked.

Ash made a disgusted noise in the back of her throat. “What do you think I want?”

“Pain? Release?”

“Wrong, I’m not a masochist.”

Wasn’t she? Weren’t they both? All they ever did was rile each other up and hurt one another.

“Then what is it?” He grasped her shoulders. “What the hell do you want from me?”

Ash pushed at his chest. “I need to feel something. Anything.”

And then she leapt on him, legs snaking around his waist, arms around his neck.  Steele tore at her clothing, trying to claw the fabric away. When he got it off, he grasped her hips, arching against her. She gripped him by the nape and kissed him hard, nipping his lips and opening the cut on his mouth.

Ash jumped down and kicked him in the shin, knocking him off balance, and they both tumbled to the ground. They rolled on the coarse, dry grass, each trying to be the one on top. Somehow, Steele got the upper hand, and he straddled her, pinning both of her wrists in one hand.

Ash was turned on and pissed off.

“Fuck you.”

“That’s the idea, Dusty.”

Ash leaned up and bit him, sinking her teeth into the underside of his arm, though she didn’t break the skin.

Hissing, he released her hands, but she didn’t get up.

Instead, Ash lay beneath him, panting, which made her breasts jiggle in a mouth-watering way. He couldn’t wait to push her shirt up so he could touch them, taste them.

“I’m takin’ sex off the table right now.”

Steele thought about the condoms in his saddlebag. Condoms for just such an occasion.

“Oh, come on.”

“I mean it.”

“Fine, but later we—”

“Steele,
focus
.”

“Fine. What
do
you want?” His heart pounded fiercely, like a drumbeat in his chest.

Her teeth sank into her lip in the most delicious way. “This kinda feels inevitable, so I might as well get somethin’ from you. I want you to lick me— make me come with your mouth.”

His cock leapt in his pants. Steele’s muscles warmed, heat sinking into them as though his body had an engine of its very own and it was accelerating to pleasure her.

“Done.” Steele leaped off her, then dragged her into his arms.

For a second, he thought his knees might buckle from the sheer enormity of what was about to happen. He’d been thinking—no dreaming—about this for years. Steele would finally make her call his name as she came. He gathered her up and staggered like a drunken sailor to the redwood-stained picnic table, and set her down on top of it.

Steele grasped the edge of her T-shirt, but she batted his hands away. “No, I meant it. I want you to lick me and walk away hard. We won’t have sex, not until we get back to Hell…and even then, I might change my mind.”

He’d finally get his hands…well, his
tongue
on her pussy, and she expected him to take a walk afterward? All he could think about was quenching every single masturbatory fantasy he’d ever entertained about her.

“Ash….”

“That’s it
for now
, or we’re done here. What’s it gonna be?”

“Why?”

Her smile wasn’t pleasant. “Sally.”

Steele pounded a fist on the table. “That happened a
hundred
years ago.”

“Still feels fresh to me.”

Steele stood there in agony.

He’d love to tell her no and walk away with his dignity still intact, but he’d been obsessing about her for years. Abe was no longer here. How could he pass up this chance? And, hey, he had some mad skills—if he showed her a good time, she’d be all over him.

Fuck, Ash must have his ass whipped, because he was gonna do it.

 If his brothers knew about this, they’d never let him live it down.

“Deal or no deal?”

“Deal. I’ll lick you.”

“Knew you’d see things my way. Scoot back. Let’s get in a more comfortable position.”

He reluctantly released her, and she wriggled on the table.

She cast an anxious eye at the road. “Think we’ll get caught?”

“Ain’t nobody around for miles.” He doubted someone would stumble upon them. After all, they’d only seen a half dozen people today on the road, but even if there was a good chance, he probably would’ve lied to her.

He ran a hand up her jean-clad thigh. “Let’s take these off.”

“Not so fast.”

Steele slipped a finger beneath her shirt. “At least let me see you again.” His recollection was hazy from the park. He’d been so hungry for her.

“Maybe later we’ll do all the bells and whistles. Right now, I need you.” She unbuttoned the fly and slid a hand in, cupping herself. Ash moaned, arching into her own fingers.

Steele thought he might lose his mind if she kept this up. He was already hard and straining. Steele wanted to push her back and fuck her for all it was worth.

No, he
needed
to feel her, hot and drizzly in his own palm.

But he’d promised to be a good boy.

He watched her fingers move beneath the fabric. Her eyes fell closed, lips parting as she rocked. Steele was torn as to which was more erotic—the faces she made or her movements.

Ash pulled the jeans down her thighs and kicked them off. Afterward she lay there, legs closed. Steele sat down on the bench so he was at eye level. Fuck, she had gorgeous thighs, sleek and muscled.