Chapter One
Twelve Years Ago….
G asping, Elizabeth Simpson took a step back from the warm, hard, delicious smelling wall she’d just collided with. Looking up…and up, she met a gaze that made her breath catch, and her heart stop, and her whole damn body string tight as piano wire.
Emerald green. Intense. Flooding with humor…and heat.
Oh Lord.
The giant—at least a foot and a smidge taller than her five foot five—smirked down at her with lips too soft and plump to be masculine but definitely worked.
“Hey there, darlin’,” the man said, and Liz knew what spontaneous human combustion felt like.
Smelled amazing, tall, broad shoulders, trim waist, flat abs, pale blonde scruff on his chiseled jaw, sun-kissed blond hair shorn close to the sides of his head, and a little longer on top…and that fucking good ol’ boy accent? Seriously? The man could not be real.
Speak, dummy!
Swallowing, Liz lifted her hand in a pathetic wave and croaked, “H-hey.” How lame! “Sorry for running into you.”
The urge to slap her forehead and burrow into the sticky floor of the dive bar overwhelmed her.
The man chuckled, deep, raspy, and clit energizing. Clitter-izing?
“Not a problem at all, darlin’, especially since I got to run into you.” Dimples! He. Had. Dimples! Two of them! The man’s smile should be illegal, especially since he was aiming it at a woman…an easy woman, apparently, since her body was all gooey. “What’s a classy woman like you doin’ here?” the sexy man drawled, then his words finally entered her brain.
Classy woman? Liz snorted, her hand flying to her mouth, barely catching the sarcastic laugh that followed after. “Classy?” She shook her head, her smile curling. “I seriously look classy?” She Vanna-ed her outfit, which consisted of loose cutoff shorts, a racer back tank in burnt orange, scuffed, black Chucks, and her hair in a sloppy bun on top of her head. She wasn’t wearing a lick of makeup, and she was curvy as the back roads in country songs. She’d come to Tipped to drink and let loose for one night, so she was dressed for being poured into a taxi, not for picking up a one-night stand.
Though…she couldn’t take her eyes off the man in front of her, and he wasn’t taking his eyes off of her, either. Wearing a leather vest over a well-worn, dark blue Henley that stretched over his chest and belly like it was trying to be one with his hot flesh, and a pair of jeans that looked washed enough times to wrap around thighs so thick she could only picture how they’d flex as he pounded into her. Her lady bits pulsed, dripping wetness into her practical cotton panties.
Damn…he’s trouble!
The man reached out, curled his long, thick finger under her chin, making her body catch fire from a single touch. He lifted her chin, bending down until their mouths almost touched. She couldn’t breathe— what the hell is happening right now?
“I think you’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen…and I want to take you home,” the man said, and everything inside Liz melted. She met his gaze once more, caught up in it, and was floored by the truth shining there. Unable to look away, her heart pounding away in her chest, her mind whirling, she felts something stir deep inside her, something she never thought she’d feel—not so soon. She was only twenty, she’d had a few boyfriends over the years, but never had she ever felt the instant, bone-deep connection she felt to him. The desire washed over her, scorching her blood, making her breasts swell, and her pussy throb—and in public, no less! “What’s your name, darlin’?”
She heard Tom and Lucy’s voices bickering about psych class over the Willie Nelson song playing from the ancient jukebox, and remembered she wasn’t there alone, and certainly not for hooking up. Sucking in a breath so she didn’t croak like a toad again, she answered, “Liz…but I’m not—”
He brushed his lips over hers, making her words and breath stop. “Name’s Erik…and if you’re going to tell me you ain’t going home with me tonight, you’re lyin’ to me and yourself, baby.”
He pressed another kiss to her mouth—slow, hot, sensuous. His tongue licked the seam of her lips, and she opened them at his sensual yet silent command. He groaned and dove in, ravaging her mouth. His hand gripped the back of her neck, and the other cupped her jaw, holding her in place for the plundering of her life. She gripped the leather vest for dear life as her legs gave out, but he simply wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her into him, crushing her aching breasts against the hardness of his chest, and her belly against the large, rock-hard cock in his jeans. He groaned, grinding his erection against her soft belly, and she gasped, opening her mouth wider—then he took and took, his tongue dominating hers, sipping then devouring, nipping her bottom lip, then lavishing it with expert licks—the man was a master with his mouth, and he knew it.
A shout from behind them made her tense, and she jerked away from him, breaking the kiss. She sucked in air through swollen, throbbing lips, her hot face growing even hotter at the look in Erik’s devastating, green eyes.
There was a predatory hunger on his darkly beautiful face, a hardness to his features that told her he was holding himself back. His eyes glinting green steel, he grabbed her hand, rasping, “Tell your friends you’re leavin’, darlin’.” No nonsense, no give or take—it was a command from a man who demanded to be obeyed. An alpha. She shuddered, her peaked nipples aching at the zing of dark need that jolted through her at his words.
Yeah…definitely trouble….
That night, she rode the back of a bike for the first time, the power rumbling, throbbing, vibrating between her legs the precursor for what was to come. By the time they got to her tiny, one-bedroom apartment, she was so worked up, she was ripping his clothes from his body before he even got the door closed behind them. And he seemed just as determined to get her naked; for such a large man with such large hands, his fingers were deft at removing bras in a single, expert move. And her shorts and panties hit the floor with a quickness that made her dizzy.
God, what is happening?
Naked, her body on fire, pressed up against the wall just inside the door, she stared up at the man who’d stolen her breath, her commonsense, and her fucking sense of self-preservation—but in that moment, she didn’t care. She could only feel—her body and heart in concert, a symphony of want and need—for one man.
“You ready for this, darlin’?” Erik asked as he dropped his jeans to the floor after retrieving a condom from his wallet. It took him no time to sheathe his long, thick, angry-looking cock. It was going to split her in half, and she was going to die sweaty and satiated.
With his strong arms, he lifted her, anchoring her my wrapping her thick thighs around his waist. She locked her ankles together over his tight, hard ass, his naked cock sliding over her slick, swollen slit, and rubbing against her pulsing clit.
She groaned, her body turning to molten need in human form.
Her breathing ragged, she growled, “If you don’t fuck me, I’m going to kill you!”
Erik chuckled darkly, wickedly. “As you command, baby.” With that, he thrust home, driving all nine inches into her body. He moaned, the sound like an animal grunting as it took down it’s kill.
She cried out at the shock—pain colliding with pleasure to force all thoughts from her mind.
“Fuck, baby, you feel so fucking good wrapped around my fat cock. So hot and tight,” Erik growled, his hips moving like a piston as he fucked her against the wall. “Come baby, come on my cock. Uhn ! That’s it, baby, squeeze that cock, milk my cum.” He punctuated each sentence with a slam of his hips, driving into her over and over. The sound of flesh slapping against flesh, his grunts, her whimpers was a profane soundtrack playing between them.
“So good, baby—so fucking good…never had so good.” He groaned deep and hard as he drove in deep and hard. “This pussy was made for me—this pussy is mine!”
His words stole that last bit of her will—and she crashed over the cliff, falling…falling….
She screamed, throwing her head back as the most intense pleasure in her life cascaded over her. Her fingernails clawing at his shoulders and chest, digging grooves into his taut flesh.
“Yeah—that’s it… fuck! ” Erik shouted as his cock thickened, then released jets of cum into the condom. He continued to move, his hips pushing and pulling, slower and slower as the need to mate abated. Their heated breaths met as he bent down to take her mouth. The kiss was wet, deep, demanding.
Finally, he let her go, and she dropped her wobbly legs to the floor as he pulled out, but he didn’t let her go far. He cupped her face and kissed her brow softly.
Against her forehead, he murmured, “I think I’ll keep you, baby.”
She grinned, meeting his gaze as he smiled down at her.
“You’re definitely trouble,” she teased, her heart thudding wildly at the way his grin turned into a lascivious smirk.
He voice deep, his drawl raspy, he purred, “You don’t say, darlin’….”
Thirteen Months Later….
Liz looked at her reflection in the mirror and glared. When had her life gone from difficult but manageable to raging dumpster fire?
An image of him flashed in her mind.
Oh, that’s right , she mentally snarked.
Her life took a sharp turn the night she met Captain Erik Skaarsen, sexy as hell Army vet, newly minted biker badass, and all-around dude-one-does-not-fuck-with. Tall, tattoos everywhere the eye could see—and in a few places it couldn’t, cocky smirk, cool yet scorching hot, emerald green eyes, muscles for days, ass cheeks that were that perfect globe shape—perfectly round and tight—close-cropped golden blond hair and well-maintained beard. The man was a walking, talking Viking marauder sent to plunder her panties. And that good ‘ol boy Texan accent? God, she’d practically handed the man her vagina that first night after he’d simply said, “Hey there, darlin’.”
The night they met, she’d walked into the dive bar just on the outskirts of Vegas to meet up with her community college study group to celebrate the end of the school year, and collided with a wall of sex and danger. He’d taken one look at her, cocked that fucking smirk, and she’d gone down like a Viking longship pierced by flaming arrows.
He’d winked, broke into a grin that showed off—not one but two —dimples, and she’d been a goner.
That was thirteen months ago.
And she was still reeling. How the hell did a short, overweight nobody end up with a man who made Chris Hemsworth look like Steve Buscemi? She had no fucking idea, but she wasn’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth, especially since they tended to bite.
She knew that night as she knew now that she was way in over her head, but there was nowhere else she wanted to be. Erik wasn’t like the other men she’d known—he was a badass, yeah, but he was also gentle when she needed gentle. Every month, right on time, he’d bring her chocolate, Midol, and plug in her heating pad. Where some men kept their distance when their woman was on her period, Erik was there with her. Laying behind her on the couch, his big hand rubbing the cramps from her belly.
“What type of man would I be, if I didn’t take care of my woman?”
Yeah, he was that type of badass, the kind that broke most all stereotypes. He was walking, talking sex on massive, muscular legs, but he was also all heart.
It had been the rough, soul-shattering sex that had drawn her in, but it had been his heart that had convinced her to stay. That he was the kind of man she wanted to keep.
Not that she had much experience with men.
As a product of the American foster system, she’d bounced from one home to another over ten years—from the time she was seven until she ran at seventeen. The men she’d known, the men who pretended to be honorable and caring when the CYS worker was there, had turned into skeevy pervs the minute the door clicked shut behind those with critical eyes.
It had been that last home, that last man, that had made her run. And she’d never looked back. She’d spent seven months homeless, sleeping in a bus station, at a homeless shelter, and finally finding a shitty job working for pennies at a diner outside Moab. The money was shit, but it came with a room in the back where she could sleep at night. The day she’d turned eighteen, she’d gotten the hell out of there. Once again, never looking back.
Little Liz Simpson, only daughter of only children Ryan and Bea Simpson of Springdale, Utah, had grown up quickly. She’d had to. When her parents died in a car accident, she’d had no family to go to. No one to count on but herself. And at the age of seven, she’d felt that loss like someone had cut off every limb, and then thrown her into a raging river, telling her to swim against the current. She’d learned many things those years on her own. But she’d been about as knowledgeable about men when she’d met Erik as she was about particle physics—as in not at all .
Still trying to find her footing in a relationship with man who was all man—nothing like the boys she’d known in high school or her first fledgling years in community college. At a whopping twenty-one years old, her sexual history read like the script to a silent movie. Compared to her, Erik at twenty-eight years-old, had lived a life most people wouldn’t believe, and she knew from the way he looked, and the way he handled himself in the bedroom…against the wall…on the kitchen counter, dining room table, couch, and motorcycle seat that he was a man of extensive sexual experience. They were student and master, and she was an eager pupil. But there were times when she wondered if he was getting tired of her lack of skills. She saw the women who gaped at him in public, the ones who openly stared, their mouths open, pushing their necklines down and pulling the skirts up to tease him with eye burning flashes of flesh. They were bombshells waiting to detonate, and she was a sad whimper in her sweatpants and old t-shirts. They were clubbing and booze, and she was Netflix and chill. They were filthy sex in an alley, and she shuddered at the thought of the diseases one would find in an alley.
What the hell is he doing with me? It wasn’t the first time she wondered that, and it probably wouldn’t be the last. But she’d deal, because she loved that man like crazy, and she couldn’t imagine life without him in it.
Sighing, she shook off that ever-present, unhelpful thoughts. Pressing her ear to the bathroom door, she listened to make sure the coast was clear. She’d spent the morning in bed with Erik, fucking then talking—which was their routine. Cunnilingus followed by cuddling and chit-chatting. One would think that a badass Army vet-slash-bike riding alpha wouldn’t bother with all the affectionate shit his woman needed. But that wasn’t Erik. Erik had taken her preconceived notions about alpha men and turned them on their head.
However, she was pretty sure that an accidental pregnancy would change all that right quick.
They’d been so careful. She was on the Pill, and she took it the same time every day, and made sure to use back up birth control when she was on antibiotics. They’d been together six months when they’d had “the talk” about foregoing condoms; they were exclusive, they were clean, and they wanted to experience what it felt like to be skin against skin. In the end, it had been the best decision they’d made. Sex with Erik without that latex barrier, was a religious experience. She’d done more praying and screaming God’s name that night than she’d done her whole life. It was that good.
But something had gone wrong, because for the last few weeks she’d been feeling icky. Tired, nauseous…just off. And when she’d noticed that the smell of bacon had made her stomach riot, she suspected…and then she counted the days between periods.
The numbers were a slap in the face, as was her sudden aversion to bacon—food of the gods!
She knew then that she had to get a pregnancy test. And so, here she was, about to see if her life had changed irrevocably.
When listening at the door told her he had left the apartment, she cracked the door open a smidge and peered out. The hallway was empty, and more than likely the living room and kitchen were, too. After their morning fuck and cuddle, he’d gotten dressed, made her a coffee, and kissed the shit out of her against the kitchen counter. Then he’d knocked her mail off the table as she’d turned to grab the French vanilla creamer from the fridge. She’d ignored his grumbling as he retrieved the mail from the floor, then kissed him as he turned back to head toward the door. The goodbye kiss was…tense, his body strung tight like cat gut. She’d thought nothing of it, but now…she was wondering if he’d caught on to her own tension…since she’d been thinking, worrying, and dreading, non-stop, about the pregnancy test sitting in the white Walgreens bag under the bathroom sink.
Did he know?
Had he somehow figured it out?
Nah. The man was observant, but she was pretty good about keeping things close to the chest. Hell, they’d been together for over a year, and the man didn’t know she’d been in foster care. And not that she didn’t want him to know…he’d just never asked. That was one thing about their relationship that bothered her the most. He’d been through some shit in the Army, and—like most men coming home from war—he didn’t want to talk about it. And so, in order to keep his own past to himself, he’d never asked about hers. She understood that. She got it. But she really wanted there to be more between them besides amazing sex.
Like love.
She fucking loved the man. And she was terrified that, if the little white stick said what she thought it would say, Erik was going to turn to smoke.
You don’t know that. The man is all about duty to his brothers and his country; he’ll stick by you. He’ll plant roots with you. And she wanted roots so damn bad.
“Erik?” she called out, hoping for silence in return, that he hadn’t returned while she’d been in the shower. When he didn’t respond, she turned back toward the bathroom counter, retrieved the bag with the test in it, and spent the next twenty minutes reading and rereading the instructions.
Easy peasy. Yeah, easy enough to say, but what the hell was she supposed to do once that tiny screen showed the plus sign?
Her guts twisting, her chest aching, she dragged in a deep breath.
“Let’s do this,” she exclaimed to her reflection, patently ignoring the wild look on her face.
She peed on the test, capped it, and placed it gently on the counter.
“Now…we wait.”