Prologue
The Forty-Five Club, Las Vegas NV, One year ago...
I can still hear the boisterous clamor of raised voices and hard rock as Sam pushes me up against the wooden door. We may be tucked away in this secluded bedroom, but the noise of the bar still pulses heavily in the air. Running my hands over Sam’s chest, I can feel hard muscles through the thick black leather of his Dante’s Nine cut. Every day since we first gave into our lust for each other, I’ve gotten to memorize a few more inches of Sam’s tall, cut figure. Some days, I even score a few sessions of...memorization. Looks like today is going to be one of those lucky days here in Las Vegas.
My bearded, burly lover pins me against the door with his strong, tapered hips. I can feel him hard and ready as we grind against each other, pressed together just the way we like. I raise my lips eagerly to his, my nerves thrilling with delight as his scruffy beard brushes against my skin. He catches my lips in his, kissing me hard and fast. For all the men I’ve been with, I’ve never encountered a mountain man beard like Sam’s. I was afraid it might tickle or scratch, but I can’t get over how much I love the feel of his mouth against mine.
Our tongues glance against each other as I wrap my lean arms around Sam’s bulky shoulders. I wrap my legs around his waist, my denim skirt bunching around my hips. That spot between my legs pulses with desire as I press against the telltale bulge in his jeans. He holds me with no effort whatsoever, exploring my body with his rough, strong hands. I’m a rather petite lady—5’ 3” and 105 pounds dripping wet—but I bet that Sam would be just as capable of hoisting a buxomer woman into his arms. In fact, I know that he is.
“You’re going to make Wendy awfully jealous, bringing me back here,” I grin, running my hands through his dark hair. “You know she wants you all to herself.”
There are a few hang-arounds here at the Forty-Five Club, mamas looking to latch onto club members of their own. The men of the Dante’s Nine MC are pretty picky about which women they keep around for good, but none too shy about having a good time with a sexy sweet butt. Or two. Wendy’s one of those girls around here, a club groupie with a thing for Sam. Her plump curves and long blonde hair have enticed Sam before, I know. But maybe my jet black curls and pixie-like figure are more up his alley? That certainly seems to be the case.
“Sounds like you’re the one who’s jealous, Kelly,” Sam grins. “But it’s you I want all to myself. I’ll show you.”
In one swift motion, he swings my tiny frame around and drapes me over his shoulder. I laugh wildly, pounding against his back with my fists. The Dante’s Nine logo is emblazoned there between his shoulder blades—a pair of dice rolling a four and a five. I’ve only just been introduced to this particular MC. My best friend Kassie has been here in Vegas all summer “interning” with the club’s treasurer, Declan Tiberi. But by interning, I mostly mean falling madly in love with and fucking like a damned bunny. Oh, and getting mixed up in some crazy dangerous club drama along the way.
I first came to visit a couple of weeks ago, only to find myself smack in the middle of deep shit that was going down between Declan and some gangster named Lorenzo. On my very first night in Vegas, Kassie and I were attacked out on the town. Some of Lorenzo’s thugs pulled guns on us at the club, and we barely got away when they opened fire. I was placed in Sam’s care until the whole thing blew over. Let’s just say it was a bonding experience for us.
My breath catches in my throat as Sam lays me out across the well-worn bed that stands in the corner of this little room. The Forty-Five club boasts a few bedrooms within its walls, perfect for the club members’ needs. These men can’t possibly be expected to wait until they arrive home to bed their conquests for the night, can they? I have to admit, I love the grittiness of this place. I love how free it makes me feel, being here. Doing whatever the hell I like.
A look of vibrant intensity comes over Sam’s face as he kneels over me. That staggering body of his strains with wanting me. I love driving big, bad men out of their minds. And this man is no exception. I arch my back, drawing my thin white halter top up over my head. Sam’s hands run down my bare sides, fingers glancing against my ribs. He can practically fit his hands all the way around my tiny waist. My chest is heaving with every breath, now. His simplest touch sets my every cell on fire with anticipation. My sex is throbbing, aching for his touch. He may be a big, strong biker, but he doesn’t skimp in the bedroom when it comes to my needs.
I reach to rip open his belt at the same moment he goes to unclasp my bra. We laugh breathlessly, tearing the clothes off of each other’s bodies. This is why I love fucking Sam. We can be as wild and dirty as we like with no strings attached. There’s no anxiety, no schmaltzy romance—just rough and rowdy sex.
My favorite.
He shrugs out of his leather cut and places it reverently on the night table. That’s the one article of clothing that can’t just be tossed away. I know enough about the MC life to know that a member’s cut is sacred. But past that, we can’t get our clothes off quickly enough. Sam rips off his white tee shirt, revealing scrawling ink all over his chest, arms, and back. My full breasts bounce as I rise to him, kissing each gloriously defined ab. I want to cover every inch of this hard body with my lips, run my tongue along his inked skin. We’re tumbling forward in our lusty haze, my panties and his briefs are the only scraps that separate us now. But not for long.
I groan delightedly as he takes my breasts in his huge hands, brushing against my hard nipples with his thumbs. He presses me back against the mattress and brings his lips to one of those sensitive nubs. A grin spreads across my face as he takes my nipple into his mouth, biting down with just the right amount of force. Pleasure and pain have always enticed me, the way they can be so interchangeable, so closely related. And Sam knows that full well. He slides my panties down my thighs, and I eagerly tug down his briefs. I take his thick, stiff member in my hands, barely able to wrap my fingers around it. I stroke down along his long shaft, loving the look of bliss that spreads over his face.
“Two can play at that game,” he grins, running his fingers up along my thigh.
His fingers trace the length of my slit as I work my hands along his cock. I gasp as he rolls his thick fingers over the hard, aching button of my clit. A ripple of sensation rolls through me as I run my hands up and down the impressive length of him. We moan in unison, our voices mingling with the raucous sounds from the bar and other bedrooms. I descend into the sexy debauchery of this place, the uninhibited sinfulness. This whole world is so new to me, but I feel more like myself here than I ever have. I don’t quite know how to explain it.