Bad Idea

Bad Idea

by Lily Harlem

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Product Details

ISBN-13: 9781786514417
Publisher: Totally Entwined Group Ltd
Publication date: 08/16/2016
Sold by: Barnes & Noble
Format: NOOK Book
Pages: 43
Sales rank: 300,534
File size: 4 MB

About the Author

Lily Harlem lives in the UK with a workaholic hunk and a crazy cat. With a desk overlooking rolling hills her over active imagination has been allowed to run wild and free and she revels in using the written word as an outlet for her creativity.

Lily's stories are made up of colourful characters exploring their sexuality and sensuality in a safe, consensual way. With the bedroom door left wide open the reader can hang on for the ride and Lily hopes by reading sensual romance people will be brave enough to try something new themselves? After all, life's too short to be anything other than fully satisfied.

Read an Excerpt

Copyright © Lily Harlem 2016. All Rights Reserved, Totally Entwined Group Limited, T/A Pride Publishing.

Junk

I swigged from a half-empty bottle of JD and watched Heavy cruise into the yard. The bikers hanging around stopped what they were doing, just for a moment, to acknowledge the arrival of the Roughneck Riders’ boss.

His bike appeared to have taken a beating on the road trip he’d been on. It wasn’t its usual spit and shine self and there was a dent on the black exhaust. But that was okay, we’d soon make it right. Or, rather, I would.

“Wonder if he made the deal with the Texans,” Griff said. He was sitting sideways on the Harley next to mine.

“Dunno,” I said, passing him the liquor and shifting on my seat.

He knocked back a few big mouthfuls, the fluid sloshing noisily on the inside of the bottle. “Guess we’ll find out in a minute.”

“Yeah.”

Heavy would be sure to get everyone together to discuss what had gone down. Were we steady with the Texans for another year of deals? Or would we be at each other’s throats for the next six months until we hashed it out and spilled some blood?

“What do you reckon he’ll say?” Griff asked.

I shrugged.

Griff didn’t comment. I was a man of few words and he accepted that. Well, unless I was with my Dom. Then I could get a bit full of myself, especially if I was hoping for some rough treatment—a bit of punishment for bad behavior.

Heavy pulled to a halt, the last rumbles of his exhaust thundering around the lot and echoing into the workshop. He steadied his Harley then stood, his big boots creating plumes of dust that drifted away on the breeze.

My heart rate increased as he tugged at his helmet and tossed it toward Joe. He caught it with a grunt as it collided with his belly.

Damn, the guy was gorgeous. Not handsome, there was nothing symmetrical about his features and no way would he ever grace red carpets or glossy magazines. His profile was too harsh for that. But Heavy had a certain something that made him irresistible to me. He was hot, in a scary way.

His dark hair was messy and unkempt, a few flecks of silver lining his temples. He had creases around his eyes, likely from hours of riding into the sunset, and an angel tattoo that graced his entire chest crept halfway up his neck, the halo ending on his Adam’s apple.

I adored that tattoo. It was intricate and sexy and although it appeared to be only an angel at first glance, a closer inspection revealed small demons hidden in the feathers of the wings and around the feet. Heavy was always at war with his inner demons. His need to be good didn’t always win. Not that I was complaining, I liked him that way. His edgy, dangerous side was part of the appeal.

Two more bikes pulled into the yard, the riders dressed all in black. They had stern expressions and equally dusty bikes.

As they switched off their engines and kicked at their stands, two women, Lia and Dee—I only knew their first names—sauntered up to them. They rolled their hips as they walked and their skirts were so short it was possible to see the first crease of their asses. Lia draped herself over Billy, and Dee went in for a full-on tongue-down-the-throat kiss as she glued her body to Nutsac.

I reached for my bottle of booze and took a hefty swig. It burned my throat but I welcomed that, it was what I was ready for after a day of checking around a junkyard for spare parts. It was what I did and how I’d ended up with my nickname. Not that I collected junk. The stuff I found was always decent and saved the club a small fortune on repairs.

Heavy looked my way. His usual scowl was in place and his cold dark eyes flashed.

I knew his attention wouldn’t linger. How could it? But that didn’t mean I couldn’t stare at him for a moment or two—after all, I was supposed to be in awe of him. Hell, I was in fucking awe of him.

His gray T-shirt hugged his biceps and chest but hung loose over his abs. His black leathers fit in all the right places and more than hinted at the huge dick packed inside them.

Berating myself for staring too long, I turned away. He’d give me hell later if I gave him looks that even hinted at my desire for him and his bedroom skills.

“Reckon there’ll be some drinking and fucking going on tonight, judging by the boss’s mood,” Griff said then huffed.

I gave a noncommittal grunt. Heavy only slept with women if he had to, to maintain his persona, give the impression that pussy worked for him.

But I knew the truth. Big and surly as he was, he liked dick—he liked dick in his hands, in his mouth and up his ass.

And what was more, he liked my dick and my ass.

Heavy raised his hand, swung his gaze around to everyone then clicked his fingers. It was a sign for us to congregate indoors at the redwood table that had listened to Roughneck Riders’ secrets for decades.

One of the older guys, Trigger, who’d stayed behind in the yard, held the door open and spoke into Heavy’s ear as he passed. No doubt sharing some snippet of underground information he’d become privy to while Heavy was out on business. They were close, Heavy and Trigger, and that was good. It meant Heavy had someone to talk to about the stuff that played on his mind in the dead of night.

But it was a wonder anyone got close to Heavy. He brimmed with blackness and his moods were sullen. Yet beneath all of that there was a softness. Not that it was possible to know there was anything other than steel in his heart by looking at him. No, it was necessary to fight through layers of armor to find anything other than concrete emotions.

Griff stood. “I guess we should go and find out what’s going down.”

“Yeah, I’ll be there in a minute.” I held up the bottle that contained the last of the drink.

Griff had downed most of it.

“Sure?” He furrowed his brow.

“Yep, gonna have a smoke.”

“Don’t be long, he’ll give you hell and shit, kid.”

I didn’t reply. Instead I pulled a roll-up from the breast pocket of my cut then sparked up.

Griff turned and stomped over the yard. I watched him go inside, followed over the next few minutes by the other members of the club. I should have gone in with him, but liquor and the sun had gone to my head and I needed a smoke before the meeting.

I puffed on the last of my roll-up then stood and ground it into the dirt. I had no idea what the night would bring. Heavy had been away for nearly a week. I’d missed him but that wasn’t new. Besides, a week was nothing when it had been over a month since our last encounter. I hoped he had a plan for getting together soon. A bit of privacy to fuck would sort me out right now.

Discretion about what we had going on was an absolute priority. It was, as Heavy had told me, a matter of life and death. Finding time alone, without arousing suspicion, was no easy trick.

Entering the building, I stood for a moment to let my eyes adjust to the dim light. A shaft of sunshine penetrated a crack in the curtains to my left and dust motes danced in the golden stream.

I hunted for a stick of gum in the pocket of my jeans. After finding a stray piece, I unwrapped it and popped it into my mouth. The minty flavor covered up the stench of smoke, alcohol and cheap perfume that now laced my tongue.

Deep voices were coming from the meeting room and I sauntered toward them. As I approached, a little of my swagger dulled. I really shouldn’t be last to arrive at the table. I was junior, a ‘kid’ some of them called me, and it was respectful for me to take a seat first and await the elder members.

With my shoulders hunched, trying to project calm nonchalance, I stepped in, chewing my gum with an open mouth.

I didn’t pull casual off. The looks I got as I sat were intimidating at best, downright furious at worst.

“Sorry,” I mumbled and risked a look at Heavy.

He was, as usual, at the head of the table. His meaty hands were clenched into fists and set in front of him—over the inscription of our crest—his back was rounded and his head low.

He raised an eyebrow.

Fuck, my dick reacted, just to that one tiny gesture. I was glad I was sitting down.

“I got tied up,” I muttered.

Heavy raised his eyebrow a fraction higher.

Jesus, what had I said? I’d been tied up on numerous occasions, by him, and most times I’d been completely naked.

“With the exhaust on my bike,” I said in a low, grating voice, hoping to distract attention from myself. “Had a problem.”

“I’ll give you a fucking problem, Junk,” Trigger said, blowing out smoke as he’d said the words. “Now shut the fuck up and make sure you’re where you’re supposed to be every minute of every fucking day.”

I didn’t reply. Another apology would be laughed at. I glanced at the table and hoped my cock wouldn’t inflate to a full-blown erection.

Just being in the same room as Heavy could do that to me, give me a hard-on. Which was really damn inconvenient at times.

For a few minutes, Heavy spoke about his trip and the deal they’d done. It wasn’t great but it was the best he could negotiate. It suited me fine, not that it mattered what I thought. If I wanted to stick around, I had to shut up and take it as I learned the ropes and proved my worth. I’d hoped three years with the club would have seen me promoted from rookie but that wasn’t the case. Probably because I was last to arrive, and until some new kid showed up I’d always be the newbie.

Perhaps if Heavy hadn’t turned into my dream sexual partner all wrapped up in mean muscle and come-to-bed eyes then I’d have moved on. Being a probie was getting old.

As it was, I was stuck here. Trapped by my desire, lust and whatever that strange feeling in my chest was whenever we were alone together, satisfied, quiet and our bodies entwined. I loved the way I could hear his heart beating when I set my head on his chest, how the hairs on his legs tickled when I rested mine over his, the way he spun circles on my back with his index finger as I dozed in heady satisfaction.

I scrubbed my palm over my forehead. Fuck. I shouldn’t be thinking things like that when sitting here, surrounded by hard-nosed bikers who’d shove a broom up my ass for liking a cock up there.

Nutsac was talking now, about the trip and the top dog they’d met in Texas—he sounded like a man you wouldn’t want to cross.

I pushed the erotic images aside and risked another look at Heavy.

Damn it. He was staring at me, his expression solemn and his eyes blacker than midnight. He had a healthy growth of stubble that made him appear all the darker, almost bandit-like.

If I had one wish it would be for everyone to disappear, our clothes too, and for time to stand still and allow us to do all the things we craved doing to each other.

Heavy nodded at me once, the tiniest movement of his head, then looked away.

Fuck.

I knew damn well what he was implying. Tonight we would be together. He’d make sure of it. Somehow. Somewhere.

I spread my thighs beneath the table, wishing I had control over my cock. I’d be hard for hours now. Might even need to go and jack off to relieve the pressure.

A tingle of excitement shot up my spine. Heavy was always horny as hell after this long without fucking me. He’d be rough, tough, he’d demand my absolute submission.

I wasn’t complaining. It was exactly what I wanted and needed.

The meeting finally came to an end. Heavy stood, as did Trigger.

“I need a fucking drink,” Heavy said, nodding to his right. “And a screw.”

“Yeah, that’ll fix you,” Trigger said then laughed and whacked Heavy on his back.

My heart sank. Had I read it wrong? Was Heavy planning on going with a woman tonight? No, of course not. I’d seen the look he’d given me. Why else would he nod that way, give me a sign? My emotions were jumbled, my libido on a rollercoaster of hope and disappointment.

Griff stood and ruffled my hair. “Don’t piss off the boss, Junk, it won’t get you anywhere.”

I grunted and swiveled the silver signet ring I wore. Griff didn’t expect an answer from me, which was just as well, because his words were rattling around my head.

It won’t get you anywhere.

Oh, but how wrong he was. Pissing off the boss would get me everywhere and everything I wanted. If my Dom was displeased with me, if I’d disobeyed, been rebellious, then the night would be hotter than the desert, the punishments the best rewards I could ever hope for.

“Goddamn fucking idiot,” I muttered as I stood.

“What?” Griff said from the doorway.

“Nothing. I just had an idea, that’s all.”

“A good one?”

“Nope, a bad one, a really fucking bad one. Forget it.”

Griff shrugged and went from view.

I shoved my hand down my jeans and adjusted my cock. Maybe the bad ideas were the best ones?

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