All sexy and rough and promising bad, bad things. I tilt my head to the side, closing my eyes as he starts to kiss his way up the side of my neck. The sharp sting of teeth makes my breath catch, but my cock’s getting harder by the second, so I guess I like it.
Who knew?
He slides smooth hands over my jaw, his hot mouth finally finding mine, and it’s like the world around us stops. The noise from the pub, the trees around us, everything fades into the background as I close my eyes andfeel.
I’m lost to the way he tilts my head, the soft scratch of stubble against my lips, and the teasing stroke of his tongue as he kisses me so thoroughly that I don’t think it’s the alcohol making my head spin.
He turns us and pins me against the tree. I’m helpless against the groan that bubbles out of me, or the need to press my body into his and find some friction for my poor neglected cock.
I’m met with an answering hardness as I lean into him, and it feels so fucking good to grind into it that I moan again and again, not caring how desperate I sound. It almost hurts to pull away so I can breathe, but then he’s back to kissing my neck, my throat, pulling my T-shirt aside so he can graze his teeth along my collarbone. I never thought I’d be into a little pain with my pleasure, but I am.
I so fucking am.
He grabs my thigh, hooking my leg over his hip to get a better angle, and I cling onto his shoulders. Maybe it’s the thrill of doing this with a complete stranger, in the woods of all places,but embarrassingly quickly I feel the telltale swell of pleasure deep in my belly. It builds with each dirty grind of our hips, each hot, wet kiss he leaves on my skin, until I’m rocking into him chasing the hottest orgasm I can remember having when no part of me is even naked.
Wave after wave of searing heat flows through my body. I’m dimly aware of a sharp sting at the base of my throat and then cool air hits me as he suddenly jumps away from me.
“Fuck.” It’s the only thing he says before turning and bolting into the night.
It takes a good few seconds for my brain to come back online, and then the gut-wrenching sting of rejection hits me hard.
I’m too drunk to make sense of what the fuck just happened, but I know it’s made me feel shit enough that I don’t want to feel it one second longer.
I clean myself up the best I can and stumble back to the pub, where I find Ash and enough alcohol to forget that any of the last ten minutes actually happened.
2
MORGAN
Present Day
“Hey,”Ash looks up from his phone as I sit down on the bench seat opposite him. “’Bout time. Where’ve you been?”
“Usual shit.” I don’t need to elaborate. It’s not the first time I’ve been late because of my dad. Today’s bollocks was extra fucking special, even for him, but I don’t have the headspace to think about it right now.
It’s a beautiful Saturday afternoon and our favourite pub’s busy enough outside for a good atmosphere, but nowhere near the busiest we’ve seen it. That night’s still a bit of a blur, but the one thing I do remember is all the fucking people.
Ash has managed to snag a space at the back of the pub garden nearest the road, but there’s a little stream separating us from the tarmac, so it’s all good. With the air full of happy chatter and laughter, I let the atmosphere chase away the dark cloud I brought with me from home.
“Here.” Ash slides a pint across the table towards me, condensation dripping down the sides of the glass.
I take a long pull, the cold lager going down a treat. “Fuck me, I needed that.”
He laughs, then finishes his own drink and sets his glass back down with purpose. “Well, the sun’s out, we’re not at work tomorrow, so let’s forget about everything and get drunk.”
I can’t think of a single reason to say no, so I grin back at him. “Why the fuck not.”
We’retwo pints in when the rumble of motorcycles sounds in the distance. I share a wary glance with Ash.
“Arse.” He looks over his shoulder.
I follow his gaze and wince. “Yep.”
There are a few pubs on this stretch of road, but there’s only one with bikes parked outside and a handful of tattooed, scary-looking fuckers sat in the beer garden. They’re all wearing the same design on their backs: A full moon with a claw mark slashed through it and the wordsFeral Beastsabove it.
It’s not the fact that they’re members of an MC that’s got me and Ash on edge. It’s the fact that they’re thewrongMC.
The Old Bell is aWild Wolveshangout—the whole town knows it—and as the sounds of approaching bikes gets louder, I’m pretty sure that’s who’s roaring down the road towards us.
