4. Ava #3
“Are you serious?” I crossed my arms and stared at the dress Lycan held up in front of him. “That’s barely lingerie, much less going-out attire.”
“You agreed,” he said, holding up the offending garment in front of his torso, almost like he was trying it on his oversized frame. “You wear what I tell you. You go where I tell you. You do what I tell you.”
Since I’d cost Lycan a night with the man in his suite, I’d yet to make it up to him. When I offered to be his wingman to find him someone else, he’d laughed and shook his head.
“No, Trouble,” he’d said. “You’re going to be my entertainment.”
My thoughts had immediately gone to my initial reaction upon stumbling into that scene in his suite.
I’d imagined his hands in my hair, my mouth wrapped around his cock, my knees stinging from the pressure of being on them for so long, my arms bound behind my back, the ache of flog marks on my ass and shoulders.
But he’d assured me he wouldn’t demand anything I wasn’t comfortable with, including sex.
He simply wanted to go out on the town with me on his arm, perfectly pliable.
Which was what I couldn’t wrap my mind around. He’d knelt on the bathroom floor and picked glass out of my foot, and this was all he wanted? I knew what to do with a debt. This seemed like unfair repayment.
When I’d agreed, I didn’t think he’d put me in two square inches of lace and call it a night. I had my reputation to protect, after all. Now, standing in my closet after he’d rifled through every unmentionable I’d brought with me, I recoiled at his suggestion.
“Trust me,” he said, rattling the hanger. “It’ll give you confidence.”
That did not alleviate my fears. “Where exactly are you taking me?”
Instead of answering, he handed the scrap of fabric to me before grabbing a miniskirt and a black tank top from the banister. “Put these on over it.”
Then he turned and left me alone to change. Huffing at the injustice, but knowing I could technically safeword out if I wanted, I unzipped my dress and tugged it over my head.
When he first broached this topic, he’d given me a word, Paris, and told me to say it if I wanted everything to stop.
No questions asked. I hadn’t needed to use it.
After the night he spent cleaning my foot and tucking me into bed, I trusted him…
perhaps too much too soon, considering my relatively limited track record with letting men get close to me.
He’d said stepping out of my comfort zone would help me learn more about myself, about what I liked and disliked, what I wanted and needed. A hard line wasn’t something to be tested or pushed, and he promised he never would.
Which was why I found myself squeezing into the tiny negligee and casual outfit, swallowing my insecurities when my boobs threatened to spill out of the top.
I stopped to peer at myself in the mirror.
The person staring out at me was undeniably sexy, all delicious curves and femininity, even if I didn’t feel that way about myself inside.
“Well,” I whispered, “fake it until you make it, right?”
“Let me see,” Lycan called from the other side of the door.
I took a deep breath, mustered as much courage as I could, and pulled the barrier open. Lycan ran his eyes over me like a wolf sizing up its prey before deciding how best to devour it. He quickly locked his features into neutral and gestured to the leather boots next to me.
“Think you can handle those for the night?”
My foot had healed enough in the last two days to stop hurting when I walked, but I still hadn’t tried stilettos again. A chunky heel wouldn’t kill me, so I slipped them on and tested a few steps. When I didn’t wince or grimace, he hummed his approval.
“Perfect.” He clapped once and rubbed his hands together, revealing his greedy excitement for his planned itinerary.
I ignored the somersault in my belly at the sight of his toned arms, extending from a black V-cut T-shirt with his leather cut over it.
Compared to him, I might as well have been naked.
“Remember your spine, okay? You’re Avalon Vanderbilt, and you don’t take shit from anyone. ”
I wondered what the hell would make him say that. “What?”
“We’re roughing it tonight, Trouble,” he said with a playful wink. “Time for you to be a little reckless.”
The limo wasn’t waiting for us outside. Instead, Lycan steered me around the back of the hotel to the loading bay, where a matte black motorcycle leaned against the curb.
I froze, dug in my heels. “Absolutely not.”
“Isn’t she gorgeous? Bas dropped it off this afternoon.” He ran his palm along the tank like he was admiring a prized horse. “It belongs to a brother whose wife just had a baby. He won’t miss it for a night.”
“Lycan, I’ve never—”
“I know.” He lifted the helmet off the seat and turned it in his hands. “That’s the point.”
I opened my mouth to list all the reasons this was a terrible idea: insurance, liability, the fact I was the face of a company with a market cap larger than some countries.
But he put the helmet on my head before I could speak and connected the strap under my chin, knuckles brushing my throat, close enough that I could smell leather and pine and something warmer underneath.
“Too tight?”
“No,” I managed.
“Good.” He didn’t step back. “Boots on the pegs, not the pipes. Lean when I lean. Don’t fight the turn. And hold on.”
“Hold on to what?”
He twisted his lips into a tiny grin. “Me, Trouble.”
Lycan swung a leg over the seat, and I reluctantly followed, nearly tumbling off the damned thing. Then the engine turned over beneath me, and I forgot every objection I had. The machine rumbled between my thighs, and a moan barreled out of me that I would deny later.
Oh.
Lycan’s shoulders shook with muted laughter.
“Shut up,” I hissed.
I put my arms around his waist and locked my hands. He took off. The first corner nearly stopped my heart. I clamped down and buried my face between his shoulder blades, praying to every God that ever existed to get me to safety.
Somewhere on the second bridge, I stopped bracing.
The canal opened up on our left, black and glittering, and the air smelled like diesel and rain on asphalt.
Everything was too loud, too bright, too much, but instead of scaring me, it cracked something open behind my ribs.
I turned my cheek against his back and watched Copenhagen race by.
When we pulled up outside the bar, I didn’t let go right away.
Lycan reached back to squeeze my knee. “Told you.”
“You told me nothing.”
“It’s okay,” he said. “You can thank me later.”
I doubted that.
Lycan’s version of “roughing it” turned out to be a local biker bar that I never would have ventured to on my own.
Owned by the Copenhagen Royal Bastards MC, Lycan had promised the president he’d swing by to do some networking of his own.
When a Bastard went to another chapter’s territory, he had to get permission to be there—always granted but with the condition of a few hours of drinking diplomacy.
I suddenly understood the dressed-down look.
The entire place was packed with people wearing denim and leather, and it reeked of old beer and stale cigarettes.
A motorcycle engine hung in a place of honor between the liquor bottles on the wall behind the bar, while a vintage bike painted with violet flames rested on the opposite side.
People crowded around three pool tables in the back, and a band stood on the stage beyond, pelting out a heavy metal anthem I didn’t recognize.
“Hey! There he is,” shouted a man wearing a vest proudly proclaiming him as the vice president of the RBMC: Copenhagen chapter. He was about the same age as Lycan, with light skin, dark hair, brown eyes, and a gorgeous smile.
Lycan laughed and took his hand, pulling him in for a hug. “Good to see you again, Bas.”
“Happy you made it,” another man joined in. This one was older and gray around the temples. His patch read “Road Captain.”
“This is Ava Vanderbilt.” Lycan put a hand on my back to pull me in closer. “Ava, this is Bas and Thurjin.”
I held my palm out to each of them. “Nice to meet you.”
“Good of you to come,” Bas said. “There’s food in the back, and drinks are on the club.”
“What?” Lycan held a hand to his chest. “No, I couldn’t—”
“I insist,” Thurjin cut in. “You’re guests, huh? We can’t have Kodiak or Jameson finding out we weren’t hospitable.”
Bas shouted something in Danish I couldn’t make out to the bartender, who returned with two shots of amber liquor and two tall glasses of beer.
“Sk?l,” Bas said, handing them to us as he held up a shot of his own. We clinked and knocked them back. It burned most of the way down, certainly a far cry from the Macallan I had in my suite, but I didn’t mention it.
Bas laughed at my wince and called for another. Lycan and I made our rounds through the room, greeting the members of the Danish Bastards and their “ole ladies.” I wrinkled my nose at the moniker, but Lycan assured me it was a term of endearment to this crowd.
“It’s not caviar and champagne,” Lycan teased when we made it to the food in the back. “But it’s edible.”
“It smells delicious,” I said, and truly, it did.
I stuffed my plate with an oversized helping of hearty meat before taking a seat at one of the available high-tops.
Lycan sat next to me, watching as I lifted the burger to my mouth and bit off a huge chunk.
Grease rolled down my chin, but I moaned at the delicious flavor and sumptuous seasoning.
It was different than burgers in the States, but that didn’t make it any less amazing.
Lycan laughed as I set it down and wiped my mouth with a napkin.
“What?” I asked.
He lifted one shoulder in a casual shrug. “Nothing. It’s just…it’s good to see you set aside all that moral, virtuous breeding.”
I snorted. “I grew up on a ranch. I’ve been around roughnecks before. Salt of the earth type people.”