Her Rock Hard Mountain Man: Rough & Rugged, Book Two Page 3

  She could be coming home with me afterward. She could be sleeping in my bed at night, waking up next to me every morning…

  Seriously, Elias?

  You met the girl yesterday. Pump the brakes.

  I know I should. I know it’s completely ridiculous to fantasize about marrying a girl eighteen hours after we meet, but there’s something about Mia. Something about this girl that I just can’t shake, no matter how hard I try.

  But it doesn’t matter. She’s not coming, and now I don’t know when I’ll see her again.

  * * *

  Mia’s on my mind the whole way home, as I drive up the winding mountain road, the blacktop getting narrower and narrower until it finally gives way to the dirt road that also functions as my driveway, and then I’m finally home.

  Home is a farmhouse built in the 1850s, when people first settled these mountains. For a little while, there were a smattering of family farms up here, and people could eke out an existence in the rocky soil, but when farming became industrialized, they all moved on.

  I’m not quite as handy as Jax, who built his own cabin from scratch, but I do all right. I managed to completely renovate the place, update the electrical systems and the plumbing, adding nice little modern touches like central heating and a skylight in the master bedroom, so I can sleep under the stars. Ever since we got back from our tours in Afghanistan, sleeping indoors has felt a little claustrophobic, but living in the middle of nowhere with a skylight over my head has helped a whole lot.

  But I think of her as I open the door, as I pull my overnight bag up to the bedroom, and as I strip my clothes off to take a shower and get the smell of whiskey off myself at last. The way she wrapped her legs around me, the cold shock of the ice on her ankle against my back. The way that sensation combined with the heat of her, the two extremes rocking me back and forth, driving me crazy.

  God, the way her mouth tasted under mine. The little noises she made, the way she panted when our lips parted.

  Drunk. She was drunk, I tell myself.

  It’s too late. I’m already hard before I even step into the shower, and the warm water does absolutely nothing to alleviate the problem. Hell, it makes it worse, because the moment I close my eyes to wash my hair she’s there, with me, in the shower, laughing and teasing.

  The water shines on her bare skin, rivulets running down her body, and I groan out loud, my imagination completely running away from me.

  I soap up my hair, cock so swollen I think it might burst, but I try to ignore it.

  I rinse my hair, soap my body, rinse off. Nothing’s helping, but every time I close my eyes, I imagine Mia in here with me, wet and naked, so beautiful that I can barely stand it.

  I hope you don’t mind that I joined you in here, imaginary Mia says. I missed you.

  She looks up at me through her eyelashes, lips just barely parted. My breath catches in my throat and my eyes fly open.

  I can’t help but be disappointed that she’s not really there, even though I knew she was just a figment of my imagination, all perfect curves and soft skin.

  I wrap one hand around my thick, hard shaft, bracing the other against the far tile wall of the shower, the hot water still beating against my back, and I close my eyes.

  I think of her again.

  Of the way she looked at me, innocent and eager.

  Of the way she felt beneath me, her dress around her hips, her legs around my waist.

  Of the way she whispered to me, moaning, the sounds she made.

  I think of the way she’d feel if she were here right now, wet and naked and warm, her skin slippery with water. I think of the way I’d run my hands down her body, tweaking her high-set nipples on her small, perky breasts. The way I’d pull her against me, my cock against her lower belly, and she’d gasp with anticipation.

  I’m stroking myself slow and hard, breathing deep. I want to make this beautiful fantasy last as long as I can, because right now, it’s all I’ve got.

  But I can’t make it last long. Maybe if I were thinking of something else — if I were jerking it to some porno I’d watched — I could last a while, but not with the thought of Mia.

  I think of pushing her against the shower wall, hoisting her with my hands under her ass. She wraps her legs around me again, her hands in my hair as she whispers dirty nothings to me. I brush the head of my cock against her hot, slippery lips, and she moans quietly, her eyelids fluttering.

  My hand tightens on my cock. Now I’m holding my breath, every muscle tensed.

  Elias, she says.

  Elias, I need you inside—

  I come hard and fast, thick white ropes hitting the far wall of the shower with more force than I thought possible. I groan through my gritted teeth, eyes still closed, still thinking of Mia, of sheathing myself inside her and watching her eyes roll back with pleasure.

  When it’s over, I open my eyes at last. There’s nothing but a tiled wall, splashes of cum on it, and I rinse it off before I step out of the shower, disappointment flooding my body.

  I can’t live like this. I don’t know what I’m going to do, but it has to be something.

  Chapter Three

  Mia

  “You said you weren’t spending the night,” my father booms before I even close the front door.

  I take a deep breath and step inside, gingerly. Even though my ankle is miles better than it was last night, I’m still being careful with it, and what I really need right now is to elevate it with some ice.

  “No, I said I was spending the night,” I tell him, making sure to keep my voice soft. I know from long experience that shouting back at him will only escalate the situation. “It was Ruby’s wedding, remember?”

  “I remember exactly what it was,” he says, as I walk inside. He’s sitting in the living room, on a black leather recliner. Three of his friends are also sitting around the room, two on the sofa and one in another chair, all four wearing matching leather vests and drinking beers.

  A small patch over the breast pocket says IRON DIABLOS MC on each of them. An additional patch on my father’s says CHAPTER PRESIDENT, and even though I can’t see it, I know that each cut has an enormous decoration on the back of a skeleton with devil horns, waving a scythe and riding a motorcycle.

  “I told you Friday that I didn’t want to drink and drive,” I say as I walk in, overnight bag still in my hand.

  At that, he just frowns even more deeply.

  “You know I don’t like you drinking,” he says, his tone becoming menacing. I ignore the fact that he’s holding a beer in his own hand right now.

  There have always been different rules for me and him. Even between my brother and me, there have always been different rules.

  “Daddy, it was a wedding,” I say, still keeping my tone light. “I had a few drinks at the reception, and I didn’t want to drive those mountain roads at night. I told you that.”

  He glowers, taking a long pull from his beer. His three friends are all watching me impassively, like I’m some sort of pet that can talk back, and a quick prickle goes up my spine at the way they’re looking at me. My father doesn’t seem to notice.

  “No more spending the night away,” he says suddenly. “I don’t like it. Too many things could happen out there.”

  He finishes his beer, then gets up from his chair.

  “Daddy,” I start. “It was at a really nice place, totally safe, I made sure to deadbolt the door—”

  His eyes turn toward me as he walks through the living room, and I realize they’re slightly bloodshot. I glance quickly at the empty beer can in his hand, doing some quick calculus.

  How many has he had?

  He probably doesn’t remember that I told him all this yesterday morning. Who knows what else he’s selectively not remembering right now?

  “Did you not just hear me, daughter?” he asks, stopping in the middle of the room. “No more spending the night out and no more being out past your curfew!”

  “Daddy�
�”

  He holds up one hand, cutting me off as he turns toward me. Anxiety gathers in the pit of my stomach as he walks my way, silently menacing as he gets closer.

  “You are to do as I say,” he tells me softly. Even though he’s three feet away, I can smell the beer on his breath. “You disobeyed me this time and I’ll forgive it—”

  “I didn’t,” I insist. “You told me that it was fine just last—”

  “—I’ll forgive it this time,” he continues, talking right over me. “But next time you might not be so lucky, understand?”

  I swallow hard, fighting tears. I knew that being allowed to go to my best friend’s wedding and stay the night was too good to be true. He was probably drunk, maybe high, when he said I could go, and of course now he doesn’t remember it.

  He’s been doing that more lately, getting high on the club’s stash. They’re the main purveyors of meth and pills through this part of the country, so he’s got access to all of it at any given time.

  “Understand?” he demands, even louder now.

  The tears prick at the backs of my eyes, and I just fight harder, because I refuse to let him see me cry.

  “I understand,” I whisper.

  “Good,” he says. “Now go get us some more beers and then go do your homework upstairs.”

  I don’t answer, just leave for the kitchen, where I grab four more cans from the fridge and walk them to the living room. The other MC members — Shrike, Filter, and Axel — give me the same look as I hand out beers, then leave.

  Upstairs, I flop on my bed, still forcing myself not to cry. My ankle still hurts, but there’s no way I’m going back down there to get ice. It’ll just have to heal on its own, in its own time.

  And to think, just last night you were making out with the hottest man you’d ever seen.

  Why can’t that be my life?

  It’s infinitely better than getting beers for my dad’s biker comrades.

  I don’t like that this is my life. It sure wasn’t my idea, but it’s been this way for pretty much as long as I can remember — my dad, the motorcycle club president, has always ruled my family with an iron fist, changing rules at his whim, treating my brother and me completely differently.

  I haven’t seen my mom since I was a kid. She went to the grocery store one day and never came back, and even though I’m still angry I’m not quite sure I can blame her. If I thought I could get away with it, I’d leave one day and never come back, too.

  But I’m trying to be strategic about it. I’m trying to play the long game, because you know what happens to young women who leave home and have nothing of their own?

  Bad things happen to them, that’s what. Even though I’ve got more than nothing, the small amount of money I’ve saved up from my job at the bakery isn’t going to get me too far in the real world, so I’m waiting.

  I’ve only got one more year of college left, and then I can be free. Once I’ve graduated college and gotten a job, I can do anything and go pretty much anywhere that I want — and all I want is to go somewhere away from here.

  But I have to wait. I have to play it smart, and if that means following my dad’s rules and getting his friends beers, I can handle that for one more year.

  One. More. Year.

  Then I can go out any time I want, meet fantastically hot men, and make out with them all night.

  Obviously, I’m thinking again of the bungalow last night.

  And of Elias. Mostly, I’m thinking of Elias. God, he even smelled fantastic, like the woods after it rains but in a hot way.

  Lying on my bed, I shudder when I think of the way he touched me. The way his big, gentle hands wrapped my ankle in ice, the way they skimmed up my thigh.

  I bite my lip as blood rushes down through my body, one hand clenching against the sheets. I’m thinking of the way his body felt between my legs, especially when my bridesmaid dress was hitched up around my hips, the rough fabric of his pants against my soft inner thighs.

  I take a deep breath, clenching and unclenching my hand.

  Stop thinking about it, you’re just going to be disappointed.

  But I can’t, because now I’m remembering the way he kissed me like he’d been dreaming of it all his life, the way his teeth just barely scraped my lip and sent shivers cascading down my spine.

  More than anything, I’m remembering the huge pole in his pants, pressing against me as I gasped, trying not to make any noise and completely failing. It was massive, hard, and I wanted it like I’ve never wanted anything before.

  Not that I’m very experienced. Or, okay, experienced at all. Last night actually represents the zenith of my sexual career, the closest I’ve ever come to actually touching genitals with another person.

  And oh, my god did I want it. I had no idea I could want something so much, but I did. I wanted him to lift my ass from the bed and pull my panties off. I wanted to watch him strip down, revealing every inch of his hard, muscular body and his huge cock.

  Alone in my bedroom, I blush at the thought. But I also slide one hand under the waistband of my jeans, tilting my hips, checking that my door is closed.

  My whole body jolts as I find my clit, thoughts of Elias clamoring through my head.

  Elias on top of me again, his lips on my neck again, growling at me with his beautiful deep voice. His hands on my body, tweaking my nipples, pulling me down fiercely, his mouth finding mine once more.

  I rub myself faster, biting my lip. I have to stifle the urge to moan, but I cannot make noise right now.

  I think of Elias, his hands roughly spreading my thighs apart, me on my back below him. I think of the way he’d have looked doing that last night, the dim light of the bungalow around us, the fierce, focused look on his face.

  I rub faster, bite my lip harder. I imagine curling my legs around him, the tip of his cock sliding against my slippery lips as I buck my hips upward, toward him.

  Take me, I beg silently. God, please.

  I’m panting, gasping for breath, and I can only pray that no one comes in right now because I’m rubbing myself hard and fast, right on the edge of orgasm as I fantasize about Elias.

  Smiling. Pushing the impossibly thick head of his cock against my entrance as I gasp.

  Sliding himself in.

  I come explosively, gasping out loud. I turn my head so the comforter on my bed erases the noises, but my hand is still moving against my clit, pleasure washing over me, visions of Elias still in my head. I don’t stop until every muscle in my body is jolting, and then I slowly slide my hand out of my jeans.

  I take a deep breath, then sit up on the side of my bed.

  That can’t happen. Never.

  Something feels cold and ugly in the pit of my stomach. I try to put the scene I just imagined out of my head, but I can’t. Not quite.

  Maybe someday, I tell myself. Maybe once I’ve got my degree and I’m out on my own, I can look him up and remind him of who I am.

  But I know it won’t work. Elias is hot, charming, funny, and nice. Men like him don’t last long in the wild. Hell, it’s probably some sort of minor miracle that he’s even single right now.

  He’s not mine. He’ll never be mine, and even though it makes me a little heartsick to think that, I know it’s the truth.

  But someday, I think.

  Just hold out some hope.

  Chapter Four

  Elias

  One ring. Two rings. Three.

  I rub my hand over my eyes again, wondering if this is stupid and pointless. I’m not even sure what time it is right now in Hawaii — what time zone is Hawaii even in?

  Pacific Time?

  No, that can’t possibly be right.

  Four rings.

  Don’t bother. You shouldn’t be trying to track her down anyway — she’s some sweet, innocent college student who made a bad decision with you one night, and you’re an old man compared to her.

  Five rings, then six. I pull the phone away from my ear, ready to han
g up before it goes to voicemail, but suddenly Jax answers.

  “Hey.”

  I clear my throat, strangely nervous.

  “Hey, how are you?”

  Come on, this sounds like an awkward business call.

  “Everything all right?” he asks, already sounding concerned. Probably because he knows I hate the phone and never, ever call unless I have to or it’s very important.

  This is very important.

  “Yeah, everything is fine,” I say, nervousness gnawing at the pit of my stomach. “I, uh, was actually wondering if I could talk to Ruby? She there?”

  There’s a quick moment of silence.

  “Yeah, she’s here,” Jax says, sounding mostly amused. “And what did you want to talk to my wife about while we’re enjoying our honeymoon?”

  I hear Ruby in the background ask who it is, and then I hear Jax answer her.

  Ruby laughs.

  “She’s very amused about this,” Jax says, and now the amusement in his voice is unmistakable. “Should I be letting this happen? You two don’t have any secrets from me, do you?”

  “Jax,” I hear her say. “Give me that.”

  “You sure are eager to talk to my best friend during our honeymoon,” he teases her.

  I can almost hear Ruby roll her eyes through the phone. A second later, she comes on the line.

  “You want Mia’s number, right?”

  I blink at my farmhouse kitchen, surprised.

  “Uh… yeah, actually,” I say, because I was expecting to have to explain myself and beat around the bush for a few minutes, but instead we’re getting right to business.

  I can hear Jax laughing in the background, and then Ruby says I told you so to him.

  I start wondering how obvious I was at their wedding. Were they taking bets? If Ruby noticed while she was busy getting married, do all my Marine buddies know that I’m head over heels for a girl I only just met?

  They’re probably not as perceptive as Ruby, I tell myself. Most of them wouldn’t notice something like that if you hit them over the head with it.