Page 1 of Brash for It (Hellions Ride On #11)

One

Pretty Boy

The bass from the stereo playing rattles through the walls of the clubhouse, the same damn playlist that’s been on rotation for years.

Does it matter? No, nobody’s here for the music.

The place isn’t something to brag about, just an open area with black and white checkered pattern floor, a bar, some pool tables, dart boards, a makeshift stage area that doesn’t get used because of a fight that broke out before my generation.

The Hellions’ insignia flag hangs on the wall behind the bar, bold and proud, same as the ink on my back.

This is home.

I’m leaning against the bar with a half-empty bottle of Jack, watching the peace all around me.

Brothers loud as hell, women laughing too shrill, and the clack of pool balls echoing from the corner, everything and everyone in motion.

I like the noise. Keeps the thoughts out.

Keeps me from thinking about shit I got no business dragging back up.

“Damn, you look like you’re ready to put someone in the ground,” Crunch mutters as he passes, slapping my shoulder.

“Maybe I am,” I grunt, tipping the bottle back. Burn feels good going down. Maybe I’ll numb the pain tonight for a change.

He just chuckles, heads off to Jennissey because my older brother can’t handle being apart from his woman.

Not me. I’m not tied down and not about to be. I don’t chase women. Don’t need to. Women come easy when you’ve got a Hellions patch and the kind of reputation that makes them all kinds of curious.

Sure enough, one of them is watching me now. Little brunette, painted lips wrapped around the neck of a longneck. Eyes like she’s already got me undressed. I hold her gaze until she blushes, then crook two fingers.

She comes. They always do.

“What’s your name?” she asks, sliding up close, pressing tits against my arm like I invited her.

“Does it matter?” I let my gaze roam over her body slow, letting her see I’m not hiding what I want. “You here to talk, or you here to fuck?”

She gasps like she’s scandalized, but she doesn’t walk away. Instead she fights the smile trying to break free on her plump lips.

“Not much for foreplay, huh?” she teases.

I smirk, but it ain’t friendly. “Foreplay’s for boyfriends. You lookin’ for one of those, find another man. You lookin’ to get fucked, follow me.”

Her lips part, but she nods, quick, like she’s afraid I’ll change my mind.

That’s better.

I grab the bottle off the bar, take a last swig, then set it down hard. My boots thud against the worn floorboards as I cut through the crowd. I don’t check to see if she’s following, I know she is. The heat of her steps keeps pace with mine until we hit the back hall and exit the compound hangout.

I make my way to one of the duplexes that I tend to use.

Roundman set up these things for brothers without family responsibilities to not need to buy a house.

Also for when we drink so we don’t ride and when brothers are in from out of town like the annual barbecue.

There are multiple ones. They are these duplexes but more like a quad with a shared living room, but closed off bedrooms with individual bathrooms for each.

Room smells like cleaner because Tripp makes sure to get them cleaned professionally before any party.

That doesn’t mean it’s fancy. No, it’s a basic crash pad.

It’s a bed, four walls, and privacy enough.

That’s all I need, and for fucking I can make due with less.

I shut the door behind her, flick the lock, and turn slow. She’s fidgeting, twisting her fingers together, all nerves now that it’s just us.

“You change your mind, sweetheart?” I ask, voice low, rough.

She shakes her head too fast. “No. I just,” she hesitates then continues, “you’re intense.”

“Good.” I strip off my cut, laying it across the chair in the corner, then step into her space. My hands cup her hips, dragging her flush against me so she feels exactly what she’s here for. “You want soft, you’re in the wrong damn room. Walk away if you aren’t gonna handle the ride.”

Her breath hitches. Her pupils blow wide. She whispers, “I don’t want soft.”

That’s all I need. My mouth claims hers, not a kiss so much as a possession.

She moans into it, arms flying up around my shoulders like she’s trying to hold on.

I don’t let her lead, don’t let her set the pace.

My tongue pushes past her lips, teeth catching her bottom lip until she whimpers.

I like that sound, it encourages the primal part inside me.

I break from her and push her back against the wall. The thud of her shoulders against drywall makes her gasp, but her nails dig into my arms like she wants more. Her body is talking and it’s all good things.

My hand slides down, cupping her ass, hauling her up so her legs wrap around my waist. Her skirt rides high, panties dragging against the bulge in my jeans.

Heat.

Friction.

My cock’s already straining, and I grind against her just to hear her breath hitch again.

“You wet for me already?” I growl against her mouth.

“Yes,” she pants desperate for more.

I grin, sly. “Then you’re ready.”

I don’t waste time. Not my style. I set her down, make quick work of popping the button on her skirt. It puddles at her feet. She’s trembling, but it not in fear—it’s anticipation. The kind I know how to feed.

I drag her panties down slow, letting my knuckles brush the inside of her thighs, then stand to shove my jeans open. She watches, mouth parted, eyes hungry.

“Turn around,” I order.

She blinks. “What?”

“You heard me.”

Something in my voice makes her obey without arguing. She spins, palms braced on the wall, ass pushed back like an offering. I groan low in my chest. Perfect.

My hand cracks down on her cheek, sharp enough to make her squeak. “That’s better,” I rasp, kicking her legs further apart as I grab a condom from my back pocket, tear it open, and roll it over my length.

Her ass looks good braced out like that, panties still tangled around her knees. I drag my palm down the curve of her back, grip her hip tight enough she’ll feel it tomorrow, and press the head of my cock against her.

She whimpers when I push just enough to tease, her hips jerking back to take more.

“Greedy little thing,” I mutter, smirking. “You want it, you take it.”

She does—rocks back hard, gasping as I sink into her inch by inch. Tight. Hot. Wet. My teeth grind together as I bottom out, hand braced on the small of her back, holding her exactly where I want her.

“Fuck,” I growl, dragging out slow before slamming back in. The slap of skin on skin echoes off the walls as I begin to slam in and out of her.

She cries out, palms sliding against the drywall, searching for purchase. “Oh my God?—”

“Not God,” I snarl against her ear, grabbing a fistful of her hair, yanking her head back. “Say my name.”

“Pretty boy!” she cries out as I release her hair.

“That’s right.” I drive into her again, faster now, each thrust sharp, unforgiving. “Remember it.”

Her body bucks, legs trembling, but she keeps taking it, moaning louder with every snap of my hips. She’s making noise like she doesn’t care if the whole damn clubhouse hears, and maybe she doesn’t. Hell, maybe she wants them to.

I haul her up so her back smacks against my chest, one arm locked under her tits, the other I slide down her front, my finger parting her pussy lips and rubbing circles on her clit.

My teeth scrape her shoulder as I pound into her from behind.

Her nails claw at the wall, leaving faint trails in the paint.

“You like being used?” I growl against her ear.

“Yes!” she cries out, breathless. “Don’t stop, Pretty,” the rest of her words become pants as she’s lost in her own ecstasy.

“Wasn’t planning on it.”

I shift us, pushing her forward, bending her at the waist so I drive inside her deeper. My hand that was under her tits lands on her ass with a crack, leaving blushed flesh where my palm connected. She jolts, moans even louder.

“Yeah,” I grunt. “You fucking love it. Keep taking me.”

Her body’s clenching tight around me, fluttering in warning. She’s close. Too close.

I slow, dragging out, making her whine. “You come when I say not before.”

She nods frantically, hips still rocking back against me even though I hold her steady. “Beg for it.”

“Please,” she pleads, voice breaking. “Please let me come. Pretty Boy, I need it. I need you.”

That’s better. I slam into her again, hard and relentless, pounding her until she goes wild unable to control the trembles in her legs. She’s screaming now, shameless, every sound pushing me closer to the edge.

“Now,” I command.

She detonates around me, body shaking, pussy walls clamping down so tight I curse loudly. Her cries echo through the room as she shatters, still gasping my name.

I’m not done. I keep driving into her through it, using her spasms to milk every ounce of pleasure. My control’s slipping fast, every muscle straining. With a final thrust, I bury myself deep and spill into the condom, groaning against her neck.

For a second, the world stills. Just the sound of our ragged breathing, the sweat slick between us, her body slumped against the wall as I hold her upright.

Then it passes.

I pull out, tucking myself back into my jeans, not sparing her a second glance as she sags, trembling. She turns, hair a mess, mascara smeared, eyes wide like she’s waiting for something more.

There’s nothing more to give.

She’s still braced on the wall when I step back. Hair wrecked. Lipstick smeared. Breathing like she ran a mile. She looks up at me like I’m supposed to have something tender to say. I don’t.

“Bathroom is through that door.” I explain turning that direction. “I’m gonna get rid of the condom. Towels on the shelf. Don’t take the black ones. Those are mine. Clean up and get gone.”