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Sometimes a Bad Boy can be good for a girl.
FIVE STAR REVIEWS!
“The fantastically talented Rie Warren did a bang up job giving an brilliant ending to characters that are tattooed on my heart forever, and I'm very thankful for that.” ~The Power of Three Readers
“This is an emotional and humorous read, which had me hooked from the very beginning. If you are a lover of MC stories, then don’t miss out on this awesome series!!” ~Amazon reviewer
“Beautifully written as always. I was captivated. Hot, sweet, sexy and emotional.” ~Fun Under the Covers
Entire series, now complete, all available on Kindle Unlimited:
BEER. SWEAT. OIL. SEX.
All the finer things in life.
And the scent of Ashe—a little spicy, a little sweet—the finest thing in life.
Back at Myrtle Beach Bike Week, in the Suck Bang Blow Roadhouse. The place we’d started. And in no way whatsoever the ending.
With Boomer and Rayce on babysitting detail—Cara, now twelve, scoffed at the term baby—Ashe and I had complete freedom to ride when we wanted, party when we wanted . . . and more importantly fuck when we wanted.
As the music grew louder and the commotion more raucous in the saloon-type bar, I set our beers aside, pulling my gorgeous wife into the mad mix on the dance floor. I chose a rock ballad so I could hold my woman tight and close.
Too many roughnecks had been leering at her like she was free game, regardless of the fact I kept a very possessive arm around her at all times.
Not that I hadn’t gotten my fair share of obvious looks that were nothing short of invitations to hook up and get raunchy.
I wasn’t interested in gettin’ raunchy with anyone but my missus.
Securing Ashe against me, I moved with her to the song, cradling her pelvis with my groin, her tits against my chest.
My hands slid to her waist, the strip of bare skin beneath her T-shirt soft as silk and way more tantalizing. The damn T—bearing a Triumph logo—was an old one she’d slashed to bare even more tempting flashes of skin. And her nipples poked the thin material, bra clearly not in evidence.
“Fancy meeting you here, Detective.”
Her pretty eyes flickered up, sparkling with mischief. “Want me to pat you down?”
“Most definitely.” I hitched her closer by the seat of her ass, grinding my cock against her.
“I remember how much you liked it the first time.” Her hands roamed to my back and up to my shoulders, drawing her firm body even tighter to mine.
Her lips skimmed along my throat, and her tongue tickled my earlobe.
But my attention was caught by some asshole ogling her ass. I cursed in a harsh tone.
“What?” Ashe asked.
“I don’t like all these schmucks staring at you like they wanna take you for a ride. And not on their bikes.”
“I hadn’t noticed,” she murmured with a sultry smile that said she’d definitely noticed.
“Mmmm.” Her lips curved even more.
“What?” I bit out the word between my teeth like I was gnawing on rawhide.
“I love your eyes.”
“Tryin’ to change the subject.” I dragged her infinitesimally closer. “And my eyes ain’t the only thing you love.”
Ashe kissed the other side of my throat all the way up to my jawline. “You’re not wrong.”
The dancing continued, grinding, rocking, touching . . . kissing. If we were horizontal we’d be fucking. In fact, if I had a wall to press her against we’d be fucking.
“Are you gonna give me some steel later?” Her hand reached between us, one lone fingertip traipsing lazily along the thick rod of my cock until she must’ve felt the Prince Albert piercing in the blunt engorged head of my dick.
“Give you some right now if you wanna head out to the parking lot.”
No joke there.
Ashe, with her rocking body—so fuckin’ fit. Blonde hair and all the earrings and the tiger lily tat I kept getting glimpses of through the tattered T-shirt. Skin glistening. Wearing ripped jeans plastered to her legs. One frayed tear so close to a plump ass cheek I kept tilting my head to get a better look.
Detective Ashe Kingston-Steele was definitely off duty for the weekend.
We danced through another few songs, sexual heat radiating between us. I ordered a couple more beers, hoping to cool down. But that was impossible. Nothing would cool the fire running through my body, the fire caused by Ashe. Always, always Ashe.
Later we watched some drunk tool on the mechanical Harley—just like a mechanical bull but for bikers—with Ashe plastered against my front, her ass nestling my dick.
“I’m up next.” She grinned over her shoulder at me.
“I swear to fuck, if any dickhole starts throwing dollar bills at you, I’m draggin’ you to our hotel room and fucking you through the wall.”
“I can’t wait.” She flicked a saucy smile my way as she sauntered toward the ring.
Growling, I tried to keep the jealousy to a dull roar when she lasted on the mechanical Harley past the sixty-second mark. She drew an ever-increasing crowd of shouting, salivating bozos. Her tits bounced all around, thighs flexing, hair lashing back and forth.
She finally got knocked off, and I was right there to help her out of the ring, holding her against my chest to the sound of roaring cheers. Making it clear she’s mine.
“Oh, stop looking like I just ran over Twatson with my motorcycle.” She linked her arms around my neck, mentioning the cat otherwise known as Watson. “Besides, who am I going home with?”
“Me.” I acceded, grudgingly.
“And who’ve I been going home to, and with, for years?”
“Me.” I brought her hand to my lips, kissing the engagement and wedding bands then the heart of her palm.
“Are you taking me back to the hotel now?” She hit me with flirty eyes.
“Most definitely.” I guided her through the tangle of people, the MCs out in full force from all over the country.
Even the parking lot heaved with folks continuing the party outside amid lines and lines chrome horses, hogs, and choppers.
“Race ya!” Ashe challenged, straddling her dope Triumph.