Bound to the Bad Boy (3 page)

They pulled up in front of the
house that was located just over two miles outside of town, and Megan removed
the helmet Matt had loaned her. Funny how he’d brought a spare one to the
school.
Almost as if…He wouldn’t have been that certain that
she’d be there…surely.

She gaped at the large white house
in awe. It looked nothing like it used to. It now resembled the houses she’d
seen in holiday brochures for places like Switzerland or Austria. With its
beautiful wooden exterior and small, glass panes surrounded by elegantly carved
shutters, it was her dream home. She had always longed to travel to Europe.
Matt knew that. It was a dream he had shared. They had even discussed shipping
his bike over so that they could cruise the mountain passes whilst breathing in
the fresh, alpine air.

“Wow!” she gasped. “You’ve . . .
.uh
. . . really done this place up.”

“Knocked it down and started from
scratch actually.” He slid an arm around her shoulders and ran a hand through
her wavy red hair. It made tiny shivers run up and down her spine. As he
tightened his fingers in the section at the nape of her neck, her breath caught
in her throat. Her heart thundered and heat curled between her thighs.

He was reminding her.
Gently but firmly.
That he was in charge.

Still holding her hair, he moved
forwards and kissed her. He kept his lips together. They were warm and soft. It
was a chaste kiss but she responded instantly. She opened her mouth, eager to
feel his tongue, but he pulled back and stared at her.

 
“You are still beautiful, Megan. But I fear
that you might well have forgotten a lot in your time away. Unless, that is . .
. you would prefer not to remember?” He hung his head and his ebony hair fell
over his brow. She reached out, longing to tuck a few strands behind his ear
but she remembered herself just in time.

“I haven’t forgotten, Master.”
How she had longed to use that term of respect again.

He looked up and his eyes
darkened. He licked his lips.

“Do you want to spend the evening
with me, Megan? I have missed you but I won’t force you to be with me again.
You can come in…and we can just talk…then you can go back to your hotel. If
that’s what you want. Or I can remind you about the sweetness that you’re
missing. That we are both missing.”

Something flickered across his
face and it made Megan’s insides turn to jelly. Was it hurt that had cast a
shadow over his handsome features? Was he still wounded by her sudden
abandonment? And why was he so certain that she hadn’t indulged in the scene at
all since she’d left him?

“How do you know that I don’t . .
. that I haven’t . . .?”

He placed a finger over her lips
to silence her protest. “I know that you haven’t been with another Dom, Megan.
I see it in your eyes. You’re hungry.
Starving,
in fact.
For what I can give
you.”

She chewed the inside of her
cheek. How could he know? How could he read her so well? She had spent the last
four years trying to deny her own needs but half an hour with Matt and he knew
better than she did what she needed. It had been so long since she had been
excited
by sex.
So
long since she’d been
fulfilled
by
sex.
Fulfilled by a human connection.
Which was what she’d had with Matt.

“Are you coming in?”

He held out his hand and she stared
at it. Even though he was a mechanic, his big, strong hands, which could
heighten pleasure or inflict controlled pain, were spotlessly clean.
Controlled pain.
Her breaths became jagged at the
thought.

She placed her hand in his. Her
body began leading her mind.

One night with
her bad boy.
Her Dom.
It wouldn’t hurt, would
it? Just like a glass of water to a parched woman, Matt could help to quench
her thirst.
To feed her desires.
She hadn’t searched
out another Dom because she knew that it wouldn’t work. Matt was the only man
she could ever be dominated by. Surrendering was a colossal act, not something
that could be done lightly or flippantly. She had trusted Matt implicitly. They
had set their own rules and boundaries. It was what had made it work between
them.

It was easy.
Really.
Being with him and just letting go.

Apart from the tidal wave of emotion that
will rise over your head and drown you…

Shut up. Not now. I can deal with that later.

And she would deal with her
emotions. But she would put them aside for now. Because she knew that leaving
him tomorrow, would be the hardest thing she had done in years.

Chapter Two

Matt swung the front door open
then stepped back.

“After you.”

Megan smiled as she walked past
him into the shadowy hallway. He was such a gentleman, even though some might
think that his appearance suggested otherwise. She had always appreciated the
way he put her first, how he opened doors for her, pulled out her chair and
walked on the outside of the curb. Not many men she’d met showed such courtesy
anymore. Of the few she’d dated after ending things with Matt, most had been
too busy or too concerned with their own needs or appearance to worry about her,
including in the bedroom. She thought of the nights she’d spent at various
men’s houses, behind a locked bathroom door with her bullet vibrator, just
trying to ease the frustration left after sex.

Matt closed the front door behind
him and removed his heavy leather jacket. He opened a door to a small cloakroom
and hung his jacket and bike helmets in there before turning back to her.

“So?” He grinned and Megan’s
heart flipped. Heat glowed in her as if a fire in her belly had just been
stoked. She should get out now. She knew it as well as she knew her date of
birth. She should run to the hills and keep on going. But she couldn’t. She was
rooted to the spot.
Frozen in time.
Imprisoned
by her need.

Matt moved closer.

She held her breath. The air
between them crackled with anticipation.

He reached out and touched her
nose with the tip of a finger.

“You want the grand tour?”

A tour of the
house.
Yes
. That would be
normal, civilized, and might help her to relax. They could pretend that they
were just acquaintances meeting up after a long time.
Nothing
more, nothing less.

Yeah, right.

“Please.” She nodded vigorously.
“I’d love to see what you’ve done. Why . . . um . . . exactly did you rebuild
it?”

“Woodworm.”

“Really?”

“House was old. Grandma knew it
had issues but didn’t have the energy to do it in her final years.” He hung his
head and Megan felt bad for asking.

“I’m sorry.”

“What?”

“For your
loss.”

He shook his head. “She was
eighty-four.
A grand old age.”

Guilt pounded through Megan. She
hadn’t even said goodbye to the old lady. Too busy trying to build her new life
in
Minneapolis,
she hadn’t been back in years. Too
busy avoiding facing up to quitting on Matt, more likely. But still, Grandma King
had been a kindly old lady.
Proud and independent, but sweet
to Megan.
And she couldn’t bury the guilt that she hadn’t even called
her after she’d split up with Matt.

But that was life. Everyone
carried some form of guilt or regret that hung around like a bad smell you just
couldn’t wash away.

“Well I’m still sorry that I
wasn’t . . . here for you when it happened.” Megan swallowed the lump in her
throat. This was not the time to get maudlin on him. “So you built this?
Yourself?”
Change the
subject, Megan. Move on.

“Uh huh.
With the old man’s help, of course.
But I live here
alone.”

“Your father still lives at the
clubhouse in town?”

Matt nodded.

His father.
The older Mr. King, known to his friends as Henry VIII because of his tendency
to marry in haste then get rid of his wives just as quickly, was president of
the Cherub charter of the Night Warriors. He was a quiet man but Megan had
always sensed that there was more to him than others would believe at first
glance. He certainly carried the same sense of cool that Matt displayed, as
well as the aura of danger. You just didn’t mess with the Kings.
Unless you were keen to find a whole load of trouble.

Megan took a step forwards. She
wanted to start the tour.
To get moving.
To stop the
fervent racing of her brain before it made her dizzy. Before she changed her
mind and fled.

Matt didn’t move.

She went to take another step
forwards but she paused. What was he waiting for? Had she done something wrong,
other than deciding to come here with him?

“Matt?”

“You have forgotten.”

She tensed. The tiny hairs on her
arms stood on end. Did he want her to kneel? Should she have kept to ‘Master’
instead of using his name? How would this work between them now after so long?
Did they just slip back into their old ways?

Surely he’ll tell me what to do, just like always. Whenever I’ve been
in doubt, he has helped me, led me, and even calmed me.

“Megan,” he whispered as he moved
closer. “Do you need me to remind you?”

She gazed into his eyes but found
no answer there.
Only the darkness of desire, and the danger
of passion.
A passion which could be roused like a
hungry panther with claws just as sharp and a body just as beautiful, just as
powerful.
Yes, Matt was dangerous.
Addictively so.

She nodded, afraid to speak.

“Take off your dress.”

“What?” her voice squeaked.

“You come into my home,
then
you play by my rules.”

She looked down. The fire in his
eyes was too fierce, too intense. She stared at his broad shoulders instead, at
how they morphed into a full muscular chest that bulged beneath his fitted
black t-shirt. His arms were heavily tattooed with colorful sleeves that told
the story of his life so far. Images of things he’d done, people he’d known, and
places he’d travelled.

My name.

She jumped as she spotted it.

Just above his left wrist,
written within the body of a snake that was wrapped around a bleeding heart.
Had he done that after she’d broken up with him?

Her stomach clenched. Had she
hurt him that much that he’d felt the need to ink her betrayal upon his flesh
like a brand to remind him?

He lifted his arm.

“Is that because . . .” She
couldn’t finish her question.

“Yeah . . .
because you left.
Because it hurt.
Because I never forgot.”

“Oh.” Her eyes stung suddenly with
hot tears. She had tried not to think about his feelings when she told him she
needed out. He was tough.
A man, a biker, a Dom.
How
could she have possibly hurt him?

He looked away for a moment, a
muscle in his jaw twitching as if he was trying to regain his composure.
Deciding how to deal with her.
She held her breath. Would
this be it?
The end?
Would he remember how mad he was
that she had left him and leave her to a night in the lonely hotel bed with
just her bullet vibrator for company? And after being this close to him again,
she had a feeling that the tiny battery operated device would be unable to even
tickle the need that now welled up inside her, shaking her to her very core.

He blinked then turned to her
again. His face was calm, his features relaxed, as if he had pulled down a
roller blind to hide his emotions, doubts and fears.

“So…Megan…” He ran a finger down
her arm and she shivered. His touch was feather light yet it stirred her
immediately. Her panties dampened with her moist heat. “Are you staying?”

She nodded. “Please, Master.”

“Then . . .” He gestured at her
dress.

She lowered her eyes. Her crimson
bodice stuck out in two places where her nipples protruded. A bead of
perspiration trickled down between her heavy breasts. She absently brushed at
the sticky residue of the reunion nametag but it clung to the shiny fabric like
her lust now clung to her.

She was hot for him. She wanted
to stay. Just for tonight.
At least
for tonight.
So she had to play by his rules. Just
like always.

The thought tingled through her
entire body, curling in her pussy like a hot tongue and she began to unzip her
dress, trembling with nerves and desire.

****

Matt’s cock pressed against the
zipper of his jeans. Though he had always hoped that Megan would return to
Cherub, he had feared that he would have a long wait. At night, when he had
tossed and turned in his bed, he had wondered if she would return a married
woman, maybe even with a couple of kids in tow. That had been the worst image.
The thought that she would already belong to another man was like pure acid in
his gut and he had yearned to call her, to seek her out before she made that
type of commitment, to beg her to return to Cherub and to him.

But he had made a promise to
himself and to his club that he would let her go. You didn’t hold onto an old
lady if she wanted out. The life of a biker’s woman wasn’t easy and she had to
come willingly or not at all.

Loyalty was everything.

And then there was the other
aspect of their relationship. If Megan wanted him, she had to want him as her Dom
too. It was part of who he was. He couldn’t play vanilla in life or love. Not
full time anyway. His needs had always run deeper than the missionary position
and a fumble in front of Saturday night TV.