Down & Dirty_Zak Read online

  Then he was pushing gently, slowly. “That’s it, babe. Take me. Give this to me. Give me everything. All of you. Let me make this mine.” Her body melted into the bed at his murmurs, his whispers, his attempt at calming her spinning mind.

  When she brought him upstairs, this was not what she had planned. But the sensations were nothing like she ever felt before. So unexpected. So crazy good. He slipped one knuckle deep, then two. Coaxing her gently, murmuring against her back as he did it.

  “Don’t know if this is gonna work, babe. So tight. Might have to run out and—”

  “No... Don’t go. Stay, keep going.”

  “Fuck, babe. Fuck. You’re gonna be the death of me. Survived ten years in the joint to be released and die happy inside you. That’d be the way to go.”

  Sophie smiled into her folded arms, but it quickly disappeared when he worked her faster.

  Suddenly, he slipped from her and she felt empty.

  He slapped her ass lightly. “Up. On your knees. Keep your pretty head down.” God, they needed condoms and he needed to fuck her… like now!

  He had iron-clad control, because he didn’t fuck her, instead she heard the hum of a vibrator. Her small purple one; she recognized the sound easily.

  “Gonna get you so that you’re beggin’ me, babe. No doubt.”

  His tone didn’t sound so cocky now. The way his soft words slipped from his lips, they sounded caring. He wanted to make sure she was ready for him.

  The pressure of the small vibrator against the tight rim of her ass made her clench, then as the pulsations radiated through her, she relaxed. Opened to him. Invited him to do whatever he intended.

  He hooked an arm around her hips, reaching beneath her to press a thumb against her clit, circling, rubbing, and she opened up even more for him.

  “That’s it, babe,” he murmured, the smooth, lubed vibrator sinking deeply, easily into her.

  Her eyelids fluttered and eyes rolled back.

  Holy hell, if she knew it felt like this, she would have done this a long time ago.

  “You like that,” he said, his voice low, strained. He had to be suffering at this point, his erection thick against her thigh.

  He began to fuck her with the dildo, while playing with her clit until she cried out, her body convulsing uncontrollably. But he didn’t stop, no, he continued until she lost her mind, desperate for him now. Dying for him to be inside her, to take her completely. And she didn’t care where. Somewhere. Anywhere.

  Soon.

  “Zak,” she groaned.

  “Soon, babe,” he promised. “I can’t wait much longer, either.”

  “Zak,” she called again, her voice breathless.

  “Gotta make sure—”

  “Zak,” she wailed, dragging his name out until she ran out of breath.

  “Fuck,” he muttered.

  “Oh, God, Zak.”

  “Goddamn it,” he muttered some more.

  “Oh, mother fuck.”

  He released a hiss, slipped the vibrator from her, shut it off, then she heard the larger one.

  Damn, she couldn’t take another one. She wanted him inside her instead. Not a toy. Him. Real. Hard. All male.

  But he pressed the larger vibrator to her clit first, making her jump because it was now so sensitive. Then he slid it back and slipped it easily between her soaked folds. Her back arched as he seated it deep and held it still.

  Her head rolled from side to side as she called his name again.

  He cursed. And suddenly, he was there, the smooth slick head of his cock gliding against her, asking her permission to enter.

  He pressed harder, struggling to get past the tight ring without hurting her. And it did hurt. Though, not enough to tell him to stop. She wanted him to hurry, become a part of her. Take her to the ends of the Earth and back.

  Badass biker. Ex-con. Forbidden sex. A thrill ran through her. She gasped when he pushed further, farther, taking it home. Stretching her, filling her. Making her his.

  Being the first, and maybe the only, to take her there.

  With both the vibrations radiating from her core and him settled deep inside her ass, she bit her lip, her body, her mind spinning out of control.

  She wanted him to move, but he didn’t. He remained still, quiet. But she could hear his breath, his deep, but rapid rasping. He started to speak, but his words dissipated into thin air. He tried again, but she couldn’t catch any of those words, either.

  She found herself on another plane, another level. Honestly, she didn’t care what he had to say, only cared about what he was about to do.

  And when he did it, she cried out. He was right, she would beg him. Beg him for more. Beg him to go faster. Beg him to go deeper.

  “’Kay?”

  Even when her lips parted to answer him, assure him she was all right, nothing came out. Nothing but a lost breath escaped.

  He folded over her, gripped her hair and pulled her head back, arching her neck. His lips found her ear. “Can’t hold on, babe. I can’t. Sorry.”

  It didn’t matter, her body decided she couldn’t, either. She tensed around his cock and the vibrator, both deep inside her, as the waves crashed through her, sweeping her under, dragging him along for the ride.

  He barked out a curse and sank his teeth into her shoulder, tensing against her, pinning his hips to hers, his cock pulsating within her. His hot breath beat rapidly against the skin of her neck. When it started to slow, he lifted some of his weight off her. The vibrator slipped from her, the hum becoming silent.

  She waited for him to pull out, but he didn’t. He stayed connected, grasping her hips tightly, then leaning over to brush a line of kisses down her spine.

  Something she never expected a badass biker would do. Never expected him to be… tender.

  “Give me a few, babe. Don’t wanna pull out until I’m softer.”

  Caring.

  Shit.

  She needed him to be hard, uncaring, just worried about getting his rocks off. She needed him to make it easy to kick him out of her apartment, out of her life, once they were done. Not make her wonder what it would be like if he was a part of her life, hell, in her bed, on a regular basis.

  Because that couldn’t happen. She didn’t need the complications of a man with not only a caveman mentality, but one who might scare away customers from her fledgling business. She didn’t need ties to a local motorcycle club and all the headaches that most likely went along with it. And who knows what type of illegal activities they were involved in.

  She didn’t know much about the biker life, nor did she have any plans to find out.

  He carefully slipped from her and rolled off the bed. “Where’s the can?”

  “Can?”

  “Room with the shitter, sink, and shower?”

  Ah. The can. The bathroom.

  She waved her arm toward the open bedroom door and slid onto her belly with a sigh. “Next door over.” She wiggled her hips, testing to see if there was any pain or discomfort.

  A little.

  She had a feeling she might feel it more in the morning.

  “Don’t move.”

  She turned her face on the pillow and watched as he walked his muscular, not tattooed, naked ass out of her room.

  She wondered if he’d keep going, get dressed and walk out the door. It would be for the best. But then, he wouldn’t have given her a caveman order, would he have? No.

  With such thin walls in the apartment, she heard the toilet flush, the sink running for a few moments, and him talking to himself.

  She couldn’t quite make out what he was saying, but he was having a full-blown conversation and she doubted he had his cell phone with him. Definitely talking to himself.

  She giggled, but cut it off quickly when he walked back into the room carrying a washcloth.

  She raised her eyebrows at him when he stopped at the side of the bed, studying her. Then he climbed on and gently cleaned her up.

  Gently. C
leaned. Her. Up.

  He couldn’t do this to her. It was unfair. He was cheating. Though, what he was cheating at she didn’t want to know. She just knew her heart squeezed and then thumped as he took care of her.

  Damn it.

  Was he really a biker? Did bikers do these types of things?

  Her eyes followed the damp washcloth as he threw it onto the floor.

  Yeah. There it was. A good reminder he was a Neanderthal.

  She sighed and rolled over between his legs so he straddled her thighs, looking down at her.

  “Your tits are as sweet as your ass.”

  Well, there it was. Another good reminder. So romantic.

  “I’m glad you approve,” she returned, then propped two pillows under her head to let her gaze roam over his body. From hips to neck, the man was almost solid tattoos. The front covered in different sizes, different colors. The back, she noticed on his trip to the bathroom, was done in black and grays. And what was permanently inked into the skin of his broad, muscular back was a mirror of the patches that were sewn onto the back of the leather vest he wore.

  “You must be loyal to your club to tattoo that whole thing on your back.”

  He sucked in a deep breath and his chest expanded. The sense of pride was unmistakable.

  “Loyalty is to the brotherhood. Family.”

  “Brotherhood,” she repeated.

  “Yeah.”

  She wanted to ask about his real family, but that meant she’d become more invested in him. And she should avoid that. She had to steel her heart. She didn’t want sex to become intimacy.

  That could—would—be trouble.

  He dropped forward, grabbing both of her wrists and pinning them to the bed above her head.

  She tugged slightly to see how tightly he held her. He didn’t release or let up even a bit.

  “Next time, want your teeth in me.”

  She frowned. “What does that mean?”

  His eyes flashed, his expression hungry again. Like earlier. Like last night.

  “Your teeth.” He curled his upper lip like a snarling dog before pressing his mouth to her shoulder. “In me.” He sank those straight, white teeth into her flesh.

  Damn.

  Every nerve ending suddenly came alive. Easy to understand why he wanted that. But…

  “Got that part,” she struggled to get out. “I was wondering more about the ‘next time.’”

  He licked the spot where he bit her, shrugged, then flopped onto his back next to her, his left arm folded above his head. “Next time.”

  Clearly, he was mistaken that there would be a next time. No reason to point out how wrong he was.

  Instead, she said, “You’re not big on conversation, apparently.”

  “I converse.”

  “Two word answers don’t make a conversation.”

  He rolled onto his side, his head propped on one hand, the other traveling along her ribs. “Chicks need that shit. All that extra crap. No point in all that. Say what you mean.”

  “Why not just grunt and pound your chest? Apparently, that used to work, too.”

  “You need a bigger bed.”

  Sophie shook her head at the change in subject. “It’s perfectly fine for me.”

  “Tight for us.”

  “There’s no us.”

  “I like this.”

  Holy shit, she was going to pry his damn mouth open and pull out complete sentences if it was the last thing she did.

  “This?”

  He waved a hand above the bed, above the two of them. “This.”

  “You haven’t had sex in ten years, of course you’re going to like it.”

  “That’s not it.”

  “That’s all it is. Nothing more.”

  “Nope.”

  She wasn’t going to argue. Her eyes tipped toward the digital clock on her nightstand. It was creeping up on eleven o’clock.

  She shifted and then groaned at the sudden soreness in her backside.

  “You okay?”

  “Fine.” She pushed herself up to her elbows, then up to a seat, trying to hide her wince. “I have to get some sleep. I need to get up early to get some baking done before the shop opens.”

  He jerked his shoulders. “So sleep.”

  “Zak.”

  “Babe.”

  “Zak, you have to go. This,” she circled her hand over them, “isn’t a thing.”

  “It’s a thing.”

  “You just got out of jail. You need to get back to living your life.”

  “I’ll go back to that. Doesn’t mean you won’t be a part of it.”

  She sighed and scrubbed a hand across her eyes. He wasn’t making any move to leave her bed.

  “You gotta go,” she told him again.

  “I’ll go in the morning.” He snagged her around the waist and pulled her to him, curving his chest to her back. “I’ll pick up some wraps for tomorrow night.”

  “Tomorrow night?” she squeaked.

  “Yeah, party at church, then we can head upstairs after or head back here. Your choice.”

  That didn’t seem like much of a choice.

  “Don’t wear anything too revealin’ to the party. No tits hangin’ out for everyone to see. They’re mine.”

  They’re his? What bizarro world had she fallen into? All because she was desperate for money and made a freaking cake for a motorcycle gang… or club. Whatever! She should’ve gone with her gut and said no.

  She had to admit, though, those couple hundred dollar bills stashed in her cash register downstairs would help immensely.

  She tried to slide out of his arms and he snaked them tighter around her, nuzzling his nose in her hair.

  “Okay. First of all… Hell, I don’t even know where to start.” She growled in frustration. “Okay, first, let’s get something straight. I’m not yours. My tits aren’t yours. I’m not going to any party with you. Especially at a church! And we’re not doing this again.”

  “Pick you up at eight.”

  She couldn’t stop the laughter that bubbled up. She couldn’t help it. This whole thing was so absurd!

  “Either you’re crazy or I’m crazy.” The laughter turned into a hiccup, then suddenly tears were sliding down her cheeks. She sniffled and wiped at them.

  His arm loosened, and he rolled her onto her back. His eyebrows knitted together as he thumbed a tear from the corner of her eye. “Babe. Why are you cryin’?”

  Why was she crying? It wasn’t obvious? Well, maybe it wasn’t. Maybe she had been giving him mixed signals. Maybe he needed some clarification.

  She felt the hysteria rise from her chest into her voice. “Why? Because I don’t want you here. I don’t want you in my apartment. I don’t want you in my bed.”

  He stilled then, his body got hard, tight.

  “Got it. I’m not good enough.” He pushed himself up and put some space between them.

  He rolled to his feet and stood up. He jerked a hand toward her. “I get it. You’re good. I’m not.” He tapped a finger to his temple. “Got it. Won’t forget it.”

  It wasn’t—

  Well, that might be a small part of it.

  But that wasn’t all it was. “I don’t even know you. Minutes after first laying eyes on you, I’m not only in your bed but you’re in me. Not even twenty-four hours later, you’re in my ass!” She couldn’t control the shrill rise in her words.

  “You liked it.”

  She sat up abruptly, her eyebrows shooting to her hairline. “It’s not about liking it. It’s… It’s… Fuck!” She shouted, slamming her palm on the mattress, pissed she couldn’t put her mixed feelings into words, make him understand.

  Bottom line was, how could she make him understand when she didn’t even understand it herself, couldn’t process the confusion that was the last twenty-four hours.

  He dropped his hands to his hips and grinned. “You’re cute when you’re mad.”

  She reached for one of the discarded vibra
tors and chucked it at him. Instead of thumping him in the head like she wanted it to, he ducked and it smacked the wall behind him with a thud. If she broke one of her favorite toys, she’d be even madder at him.

  When he straightened, he shook his head, his smile now gone.

  Good. Because she wasn’t finding this amusing and he shouldn’t either. “You can leave now.”

  His nostrils flared and so did his eyes. Between gritted teeth, he said, “You got it, babe.”

  With relief, and maybe a touch of surprise that he was finally actually listening to her, she watched him turn and head his too-fine nakedness out of her bedroom door, while he muttered, “Swear to Christ, you’re gonna be wearin’ my cut before you kill me.”

  Her hands flew up in frustration at the unfamiliar language he used. “What does that mean?”

  She needed a damn Biker to English dictionary.

  The door slamming was her answer.

  She pushed down the regret that fought to replace her short-lived relief.

  Chapter Six

  Hawk, with both palms planted on the bar, leaned towards Zak. “You comin’ to work for me?”

  Zak studied the tall, massively muscular man before him. He reminded himself to never be on the man’s bad side. Or Hawk’s brother’s bad side, either, since Diesel was just as big, though much badder. They were built similarly like their father Ace, but they both outweighed their old man and all that weight was solid don’t-fuck-with-me badassery.

  At six feet, Zak was no small man, and he’d had plenty time in prison to work on his body, building up muscle he never had before. But no matter how often or how much weight he pumped, he would never be Hawk or Diesel big. That shit was in their genes.

  Grizz grumbled on the stool next to him, nursing a beer. “Man don’t wanna work in a fuckin’ bar. He can’t work behind the bar, ‘cause you need women who look good back there to attract customers. Like Bella does. An’ he ain’t gonna be no damn line cook in the kitchen. Or a dishwasher.”

  “Did plenty of that stuff in prison. Not lookin’ to continue that career path,” Zak muttered.

  “Right,” Grizz continued. “Plus, Mama helps cook for the parties anyhow. With the line cooks you already got, Hawk, you’re set in the kitchen.”

  Mama Bear’s gray-haired head popped out of the swinging doors from the shared commercial kitchen that separated the club’s private bar and The Iron Horse. “You need me, old man?” she asked her husband.