Chapter 15
15
E xhausted. Spent. Totally undone. I’d never experienced such a physical and emotional release in my life and it scared the shit out of me. I burrowed my body into Smoke because I couldn’t think. Hell, I could barely breathe. This man woke something in me. Something I didn’t know existed and I didn’t want it to ever end. I wanted to do this again and again.
I thought I knew all I needed to know about this man, but I was obviously wrong. My research about Smoke and his club told me what he stood for and his beliefs. How the Royal Bastards were a national outlaw club who had no trouble defending their turf and raining mayhem on their enemies for their transgressions. In short, they were criminals who took what they wanted when they wanted without much regard for others, but there was no way a man could give such pleasure and be all bad.
When Smoke revealed pieces of his past, I sensed his hurt even though he did his best to brush over it by being flip, then artfully changing the subject. I’d targeted him for a take down, but seeing his vulnerable side messed with my plan, and gnawed at my gut. Much easier to dwell on the anger and hate, but Smoke was definitely so much more than an outlaw biker .
“So, do you always carry around this many condoms?” Smoke dangled the strip from his fingers with his bad boy smirk firmly in place.
“Just believe in being prepared.” I’d spent at least a half hour in my bedroom practicing opening the annoying packets until I mastered it without fumbling. Then I stuffed the practice condoms in the bottom of my wastebasket for fear of Marta seeing them when she cleaned.
I hardly ever, as in never, carried condoms or had random sex. Any of my past encounters were planned, expected, and usually average—basically mundane.
He continued to smirk at me like he was trying really hard to figure me out, then he stretched out on the blanket taking me with him. A breeze blew over our naked bodies and he held me tighter relishing the heat his body radiated. I reveled at his firm, muscled chest, the cut of his abs, and the glorious V at his slim hips.
“Nothing like hot sex on the beach,” he mumbled into my hair. “With a beautiful woman.”
I had nothing to add because again my vanilla sexual encounters always took place behind closed doors. Never out in the open and certainly never on a beach, no matter how deserted.
Smoke brought out a part of me I didn’t know existed. A wanton freedom in my body and soul like nothing could touch me as long as I was with him. For the first time I experienced the spontaneity of living in the moment and not caring what others thought. Free to just be, and I liked it.
I’d spent so many years adhering to rigorous study schedules, and deadlines, always striving to be the best—and in brutal honesty—I did it all to please my father. A nod of his head, a slight gesture of his hand meant so much. The need to be perfect, a need which blossomed in me as I grew older. To be fair this drive lived within me, something I probably inherited from my father, but also something he didn’t perpetuate .
“So, c’mon, you gotta tell me something about you.” Smoke’s fingers lazily traced circles over my back. “Something you like to do.”
“Like a hobby?”
“Yeah, I guess. Anything you wanna tell me.”
Another first. Usually the men I’d known were perfectly happy to drone on about themselves endlessly rarely if ever asking about my dreams or aspirations. Sure, I’d love to tell him my love for languages or my acting ambitions, but those revelations would surely blow my cover.
“I like to cook.” I blurted out a truth wrapped in a lie.
“Yeah, that’s cool.” He tipped my chin away from his chest. Our faces only inches apart. “What do you like to cook?”
“The usual Mexican dishes but I’ve also branched out into Italian and French cuisine.”
Some of my fondest childhood memories centered around cooking in our kitchen at the villa with Rita. She patiently guided me and showed me old school techniques passed down from her mother. Comfort dishes and then fancier fare for parties and holidays. When Rita saw my interest she brought me cookbooks from other ethnic groups.
“Cuisine?” Smoke laughed around the word and I reminded myself to stay in character.
“I just like to cook. It relaxes me.” Truth. Nothing like the smell of roasting garlic and the sizzle of onions in a cast iron pan.
“I’m not teasing you. I think that’s great. I also think we should go back to the club, so you can show me some of your talents.” He grinned. “In the kitchen.”
“Ohhh, I don’t know.” Talking about cooking was one thing, but actually cooking a meal bordered on caring about someone. Cooking filled me with pride and I enjoyed sharing that love, but doing it for Smoke would put him on another level. A level I might not be able to fake .
“Do you know how long it’s been since I had a home-cooked meal?”
“Never?” I teased hoping to lighten the mood at least in my own head.
“Back in San Diego some of the girls who hung around the clubhouse would cook, but it was always big amounts of food for all the brothers, not just me.”
“And you want me to believe you’ve never had a woman cook a meal just for you?”
“That’s a dead fact.” He huffed out a laugh. “The women I knew weren’t really into cooking, or anything domestic.”
“I see.”
“So now you gotta do it.”
My mission was to find out more about him and somehow he turned it around on me and got me talking about cooking and expressing feelings I rarely, if ever, revealed. Smoke intrigued me and that wasn’t good. His many layers confused me, and that wasn’t good either. He was so much more than an outlaw biker and I found myself wanting and needing to hear all his stories. Really get into his head and find out what made him tick.
I also wanted to own his body and never let go—but that wasn’t my reality.
***
Against my better judgement I finally gave in to Smoke. I should mention it was after he dipped his talented tongue between my legs and relentlessly lapped at me until I shattered with another mind-blowing orgasm.
This outlaw biker was quickly becoming my addiction.
The industrial kitchen at the club boasted all new appliances and fixtures. I decided to make a simple pesto dish for two reasons. Smoke already told me he was starving and pesto was fast and easy. Of course, he blamed his ravenous appetite on me.
I’d sent him to the local farmer’s market to retrieve basil, pine nuts, grated parmesan cheese, and olive oil. I knew Rita bought most of the fresh produce she brought to the villa there and it was only a few blocks away.
The time alone gave me a chance to regroup and center myself with a pep talk about getting back on track as I sautéed the garlic and onions. The routine of cooking and the fragrant aroma calmed me and brought me back to the reason I came here in the first place. And if I had to use my love of cooking to rope in the bait, so be it.
Like many criminals, Smoke was able to pass himself off in society, when in reality he was also capable of violent crime, and probably even murder. I’d studied this exact behavior in one of my political science classes at Stanford. Then I dove deeper to prepare for a role at the college theater.
“Hey, beautiful.” Smoke stood in the doorway of the kitchen juggling two large sacks of groceries. “Something smells delicious.”
Somehow this tatted, scarred outlaw with the glowing tan from a day spent mostly naked on the beach stole my breath.
“I told you, garlic and onions, better than the most expensive perfume.”
He placed the bags on the stainless steel counter, then circled his arms around me from behind nuzzling his nose into my still damp hair.
“Mmmm. Garlic and onions and the smell of the ocean. Yeah, fuckin’ delicious.”
“You keep that up, and I’ll never get this done.”
Smoke reached over me and shut off the jets under the skillet. “Exactly what I was thinking.”
I twisted my head to look up at him. “I thought you were so hungry.”
“I am, only now I’m hungry for something else.” His hand slid inside my shorts, then further until he found my clit .
I grabbed at his wrist, but he resisted, and I lessened my grip letting him drive his middle finger deep enough to hit my G-spot. My knees buckled and he tightened his hold on me.
“I can make you come right here, but I think it’d be a lot more fun in my shower.”
I leaned against him unable to protest. So much for my criminal analysis—my political science teacher would be so disappointed.
I didn’t completely remember climbing the steps to Smoke’s second floor apartment, but I do remember us tearing at each other’s clothes, him turning on the water in the stall shower, then hoisting me up and pressing my back against the tile wall.
My legs automatically twisted around his waist and a few minutes later he drove his rock hard cock into my needy pussy. He boosted me higher digging his fingers into my ass cheeks as his hips relentlessly pounded into me. I circled my arms around his neck dragging him closer wanting to feel every part of him. The angle of our bodies had him in the perfect position and when my clit began to pulse the sensation filled me from head to toe. So intoxicating and pure and I never wanted it to end.
He leaned his forehead against mine, his breathing raw and labored. I slipped from his hold, then slid down his body marveling at his size close up.
Grinning up at him, I fisted his length. “Now it’s your turn.”
I worked him from root to tip, then swallowed him whole. Tasting myself on him was a whole new experience making me lightheaded and giddy. He rested his palm on my head keeping rhythm with his hips as I reached around and grabbed onto his glorious, firm ass cheeks. I squeezed and he flinched growing larger around my lips.
“Deeper, harder, squeeze me with your lips,” he panted out, then slapped his palms against the tile. “Fuck, that’s perfect.”
A few more strokes and he pressed his forehead against the wall. “I’mma blow, babe,” he said as a warning, but I was too invested, too involved in making this the best blow job he ever received.
A second later he exploded in my mouth and I sucked him dry, loving the power and complete control I had over this dominant male. How easy it was to make him mine. To convince myself we were both somewhere else in a different time and place—even if only for a short time.