FIERCED 2: A stepbrother Romance (3 page)

Rocco rides a dirt bike like a racer, stretched forward and his hips thrust back, grinding into me. He sits between my legs, pushing back against the force of wind coming at us. The power of the engine reverberates through him deep into me, shivering right at my core. The vibrations from the big engine are so strong I have to press my chest along the length of his back and clench my thighs around him. Much as I try not to touch him, it's impossible and I cling to the rock hard wall of abdomen, feeling the ripples of control at every turn.

Soon there is nothing to see on all sides except great stretches of white gold sand. If I crane my head around, I see the other bikers in a phalanx behind Rocco, their leader, as he streams ahead across the desert.

His energy flows into my most intimate entrance, pouring through my core. Every shift of his pelvis fires a thousand rockets through me to explode behind my eyes. Joined the entire length of my torso, melting into the solidly reassuring power of his steel back, I feel we are a single being, moving and battling the elements as one. A team against all others with his strength protecting us both always.

I have to fight to recall how much I hate this arrogant smug asshole, claiming me even with his back turned on me, dominating me completely as he controls the massive bike from his position between my legs.

Chapter THREE

As we settle into crossing the endless expanse of desert, I can't help my mind from wandering to the way we move together in unison. I see Rocco riding on top of me, his hips stroking in and out of my demanding chasm with the same control he uses to master the huge dirt bike. I see him with his massive hands gripping my small ribcage under my breasts as I ride atop him. He guides my stride, his eyes fixed on my high breasts bouncing.

Then I glance back and in the storm of sand, I see the revolting bear that attacked me riding in phalanx behind us, the leader bike. His huge gnarly body unmistakable. And my own storm of hatred rises in me again. What's he doing here? Rocco had been so furious at the potential of him hurting me. He even threatened to kill him as soon as he got up off the ground. Now he's on our tail and I can imagine him waiting eager to make me his captive again at the first opportunity.

“How's about you and me finish where you left off, cutie pop?”

I shudder at the vile recall of his words and find myself curling up for safety, pressing against Rocco's forceful back, wrapping my arms around him tight. He feels my hug and playfully undulates the length of his body back into me, stirring up a torment of longing and loathing.

How dare he assume that I'm into him? I tear myself away and clasp the seat beneath my ass to maintain some kind of stability. My breasts are no longer pushing hard into the rocky broad back. But his butt still slides back into my pussy and the longing to feel him closer, buried deep inside is unstoppable. The sense of landscape is lost in the endless sand and I have no awareness that we have climbed a dune until Rocco revs the bike off the peak like a speedboat off a wave.

I squeal and for what seems like an hour, we fly through the air and I lunge automatically for the security of his huge chest. Wrapping my arms tight around him, okay, honestly, clinging for dear life and trying not to scream, we land firmly back on the less than solid ground. I continue hanging on to him with all my strength and can feel his smugness spreading through my skin like a rash. He did that on purpose to terrorize me.

When will I ever get my chance for payback? It's all I can think of.

The village first appears as a mirage, nothing more than a black speck on the bottomless yellow horizon. Hours later we pull into hell. It's not remotely a village in the usual sense. No buildings, no streets, no organization of any kind. Where there had been unremitting sand, now there are never-ending waves of black tents, spreading out hodge-podge in an ocean of hardship.

Once Rocco pulls up the bike and waits for me to shakily dismount before he's free to do so himself, I see most aren't even real tents. As far as is visible in every direction, the homes are made of a tarp shelter held up by a stick that the first gust of wind would whip away to roll like tumbleweed across the empty desert.

My eyes meet the leery stare of the pig that attacked me and I take a step closer to the safe harbor of his leader. The next second I'm bowled over by a rush of energy around my legs. A pack of children has appeared from nowhere and hurled themselves at Rocco. The first arrivals clutch to his powerful legs like flood survivors to a tree. Others hang on to his the ends of his arms, one finger per pair of small sandy hands as they dance around him like he's that magician from the fairy tale.

I've never seen such a group of delighted children. Even though their clothes are shabby and torn in places, their smiles are radiant with joy at the piper's appearance. I watch, amazed at this transformation in the arrogant bastard then surreptitiously reach into the bike's saddlebags and pull out my camera. The kids climb all over him and he twirls them around, giving each one their few minutes of fame.

Once their glee is slightly abated, he sits down right where he is in the sand and they gather round close, hanging on to whatever part of him they can reach and listen to his story. The unwanted thought creeps into my mind. This guy would make the most amazing father. He's got attention to give to a hundred kids and is completely unruffled by their constant interruptions.

As soon as the tale is finished, Rocco lets himself be dragged by a hundred tiny hands to what passes for a road to kick around a squashed ball. I snap my camera shutter and the kids that notice me reward me with their brilliant white smiles. How can children living in such dire conditions be so happy?

He's towed away to the central area to greet the mothers and receive welcoming gifts of tea and snacks. There, he sits on an upturned oil drum and listens to each tale from the women. Genuinely hears all their anecdotes with interest. Then he retrieves a package from the bike panniers and heads to the medical tent. The doctor working there is, if it's possible, even more delighted than the kids to see him again.

She reaches up to kiss his cheek in greeting but the way her fingers curl around the back of his neck, caressing the edges of his black bird tattoo, I know immediately that there's something between them. And I don't like the enormous twang of jealousy I get in the pit of my stomach for that cute doctor. I don't like it at all.

She lets go of him reluctantly. She'd much prefer to hang on to him and drag him away somewhere private, that's perfectly clear. But he takes her hand in a gesture of restraint and leads her across to be introduced to me.

“Tenley Reid, this is Lisa St James from the American Embassy.”

Tenley stares at me wondering no doubt what role I could possibly have with the diplomatic corps, then she spots the cameras and relaxes. She greets me without malice, which makes the dislike I have for her more plagued with guilt. It isn't her fault that she's stunningly beautiful even without a stroke of make-up. Nor that she has the body of a Barbie doll. No bitchiness intended, she actually does have that tall slender frame with firm round boobs riding high on her chest.

And she's a doctor, working not in Los Angeles but in the harshest conditions with almost zero supplies. What I can't understand is why she looks at Rocco with something bordering adoration even before he hands her the heavy packages of medical supplies the gang of motorbike renegades have transported across the desert.

“My angel of mercy,” she breathes and a look passes between them.

Again an unpleasant spark explodes inside my chest. I've never experienced a feeling like it but I still don’t like it. It isn't rage and it isn't loathing but something more twisted. Something that makes me believe that if there was a chance to see Tenley fail in some way, I'd be delighted to grab at it.

“Any problems getting here?” she asks, her sinuous fingers resting on his massive forearm.

“Surprisingly calm for once, Doc” Rocco says. “It makes me kinda nervous not to see a single commando.” I hate the endearment he uses on her. Which is filled with admiration rather than the insulting one he uses on me.

“I thought you were the raider,” I say and they both look at me as though they'd forgotten my presence. I'm completely invisible.

“Actually, the AQIM militia are a big problem here in Algeria, Lisa.” Tenley informs me. “They've taken to ambushing foreign bikers in the desert for ransom money,”

So much for my attempt at snark against my stepbro. I just opened the opportunity for Miss Saintly to give me a lecture.

“Oh, I don't think a bit of kidnapping would bother Rocco much,” I tell her while gazing with loathing at his smiling smugness.

“Actually it has been a serious setback for us. No supplies have been getting through other than what Rocco brings without a thought for the danger.”

Yeah, what a hero.

She has no idea of the hatred between the man she considers a savior and me.

I follow them as Tenley makes rounds through the medical tent, taking hundreds of photos while Rocco helps her however she needs. They work smoothly as a team and of course, the kids all shine their beautiful big eyes on them with adulation.

When I can stand no more of their syrupy sweet teamwork, I take off on my own to get candid photos of life around the camp. Soon I've got my own pied piper band of munchkins trailing along behind me and popping up in front of the lens with their Cheshire Cat grins.

Later I can't find Rocco anywhere. I need to use a washroom and everyone I ask nods furiously, repeating the word with a massive beam from their lips but not pointing me in any useful direction. He's not in the medical tent and neither is Tenley. The most miserable cloud suddenly drapes itself around my shoulders and stabs me in the heart.

Why am I even bothered if they've taken off somewhere to be alone? She'd need her frustrations taken care of and he has no problem obliging anyone who asks. It's nothing at all to me. Frankly I couldn't give a damn.

Finally I walk around back of a pyramid of oil drums and other detritus that can only be a garbage pile and relieve myself quickly. Sweet relief, I return to sit on the edge of a group of smiling mothers peeling ancient withered vegetables and we start breaking down barriers.

“Nassima,” the woman with the beautiful round face framed by a black wrap tells me her name.

“Lisa,” I reply which brings forth a stream of giggles. When Rocco bursts into our orbit, the women all perk up.

“Lisa come on, you're gonna miss dinner,” he says, all exasperated.

Bastard.
As though I've been busy kicking back around the pool and ignoring my responsibility as a good guest.

“Oh excuse me for not knowing what the fuck is going on.”

He pulls up short and the women all turn their faces toward me in shock. They don't understand a word but the tone and our body language says everything.

“You okay,
Principessa
?” Rocco says. “Did- something- happen?”

He looks all around as though whatever has me pissed is lurking behind him and he can take it down. Not everything is fixable with physical violence. He needs to realize that. And I need to stop picturing him with Tenley in her private tent all afternoon, his full lips trailing all over her sensuous body. Hearing her sighs of delight as she clasps his solid shoulders.

“Yeah you could say something happened. I was yanked from my bed and bagged, tossed in the back of a van, assaulted by a monster, then abandoned in hell where no one speaks my language enough to so much as point me to a bathroom tent. Yeah, something happened.”

“I'm sorry. I was tied up with the doc.”

I'm sure.

“Have you not been able to take any good pictures?” he asks.

“Actually I got some amazing shots. I think they're going to turn out the best I've ever produced.” My aggrieved tone is instantly calmed when I recall how I lost myself all those hours with capturing the images I need so as to convey both the suffering and joy I saw in the camp. The women seated on a blanket at our knees visibly heave a sigh of relief at the relaxing of tension between us and go back to chattering.

“Come let's eat. Then you should rest. You must be exhausted.”

He takes my hand to lead me across the tent city to the area around a fire pit where dinner is being served. A swathe of loneliness pours through me when we arrive and he drops my hand. It feels bizarrely empty after being so safely secure in his rigid grip.

He fills a plate and hands it to me. I stare down at the lurid orange stew mix, pockmarked with wizened vegetable roots and what appears to be something with eyes staring back at me. I look up to tell him I'm not hungry after all but he's piled his own plate and seated himself, where else, next to his lover. She has those snaky fingers curled around his thigh as she leans in to whisper something in his ear that makes him light up with that explosive smile.

How I'd love to make a man bloom like that at me.

The only seat available is way too close to the grizzled beast that had his fingers stuffed all the way inside me and the wave of nausea almost makes me bend double. I'm rooted to the spot. No way I'm going anywhere in his direction.

“Lise, come sit down with us,” Rocco shouts. “Tenley would love to hear about your photography.”

Would she really?

I half reluctantly, half gratefully join them. After one question where the doc gets to feign fascination for my work, she manages to change the subject back to her own saintly occupation and garner Rocco's total attention. How come he doesn't even notice that clever maneuver?

“Aren't you eating?” she eventually remembers me. “I guess it must taste rough when you're used to eating sushi.”

“I was only concerned I might be depriving these people of their food,” I say sweetly in response. And bring the wooden spoon-fork to my lips. The gruel isn't quite as bad as I'd imagined and my stomach doesn't even care it's so ravenous. As I swallow down the entire portion, I realize you can learn to be grateful for anything.

A bunch of men magic drums out of nowhere and soon they're pounding out a rhythm so infectious that the women get up to swivel their magnificent hips. It's only a matter of time before Tenley urges Rocco to get up with her to dance. And he is magnetic. Every woman in the place has her eyes stapled to his snaking pelvis, even those old enough to be his grandmother. He lets himself go to the beat like few men ever do and moves his body like a God in a disco.

Tenley claps and laughs, curling those wormy fingers around his bulged bicep to edge him closer toward her. She grabs his pelvis and pulls it toward her for a surreptitious grinding. And he doesn't resist, clasping her hips in his fists eliciting ooohs from the women. I look around and see that pig staring at me. The one that attacked me, licking his lips lasciviously so my dinner almost returns. I wish he'd dip the end of his wormy beard in the fire.