Bared:Dirty Cruisers MC(4)

By: Brook Wilder

“Hey, Elle, where are you going?” Carla asked, appearing in front of her.

“I…I have to go, Carla. I’m sorry, I…I just have to go.” With those broken words still hanging in the air and Carla looking at her with confusion shining in hereyes, Elle fled.


Honey watched her, his eyes never leaving the stiff line of her back as she shoved her way towards the exit. He sighed, shaking his head at himself, at his own stupidity. He couldn’t just say Hi, Elle. It’s great to see you again. You look absolutely beautiful tonight. And she had.

With her long natural blond hair falling in waves like silk, contrasting with her dark eyes that stared at him like they could see all the way through him. From the first moment Carla had brought her into the bar, since the first moment he’d met her, he’d been entranced by her eyes. So dark, so mysterious. They saw everything, and at the same time, hid everything. Her thoughts, her emotions. She was so damned hard to read. Well, not tonight. Her anger had been more than apparent.

Honey shook his head again. Why couldn’t he have just said something nice, something simple? But no, he had to go and open his big mouth and push her, tease her, knowing damn well it would only stiffen her back even more. Speaking of stiff, he adjusted himself as surreptitiously as he could behind the bar.

All it took was to be in the same room as her and his body responded, tightening, drawing to attention as memories flooded him. Memories of that one, breathless moment in the pitch black broom closet in the back of the bar. He had known then it would be a mistake, but he’d been desperate for any taste of her, any touch. And he’d gotten more than that.

Every time he closed his eyes he could feel the way she’d ridden his hand, the sound of her panting breath broken and desperate in his ears as she came, her body writhing in the most exquisite agony. It had been so dark in the cramped closet that he hadn’t even gotten to see her, not that they had even taken the time to shed any clothes. He’d just hitched the skirt of her calf length dress up to her waist, feeling her sweet curves in the dark. Feeling her move against him.

And then, as quick as the storm had struck, it was gone. She’d mumbled something, drawing away enough to put her clothes back to rights and then she had fled, leaving him standing there dumbstruck and in more pain than he could ever remember being. The type of pain that no amount of cold showers would cure.

He groaned under his breath as his body rose to attention once more at the bittersweet memories, memories that had haunted his dreams since that night. Because the truth was, it had been a stab in the dark that Elle hadn’t had an orgasm since that day, but he knew for a fact that he hadn’t slept with anyone. Sure, he’d spent plenty of nights, just him, his memories of her, and his fist, but he didn’t count that. No, he hadn’t had any. Not for six long months, the longest dry spell he’d had since he hit puberty, and it wasn’t for lack of opportunity.

There were always club chicks and biker groupies who were more than willing, and in the past, he would have been happy to oblige them. But something had happened that night with Elle and the thought of sex with anyone else just left him feeling…empty. Unsatisfied.

Honey grimaced as he cleaned up the spilled liquor, downing the rest of her untouched drink in one gulp. It was probably the closest he would come to a screaming orgasm until he could untangle this Elle situation. The only problem? He had no clue at all where to begin. She was so different than all the other women he knew. His charm had no effect on her. She was kind, gentle, and sweet, but with an edge to her that turned him on like nothing else. She was…clean, untouched by the gritty underworld that he’d lived in for so long. She was unattainable.

He groaned again, pouring himself another drink as his thoughts ran in circles and he drank it down gratefully when a thought occurred to him. Copious amounts of alcohol. Maybe that would do the trick. Maybe then he would have one night where he didn’t wake up sweating and hard and desperate for the one woman who didn’t want anything to do with him. Elle Watson.

Chapter 1

“…Please, Elle. I’m begging you here,” Carla’s voice pleaded over the phone, “I’m drowning out at the farm. I just need some extra hands–”

“Carla, I know absolutely nothing about farming, or running a farm, or marijuana for that matter. You’re the botanist, not me,” Elle huffed as she dried the last floral patterned tea cup and put it back in its place in her white lacquered kitchen cabinet, “I’m a piano teacher, for pete’s sake!”