Chapter Two
The Black Cat ran a fine line between trashy and classy. The slick black and chrome décor was all class. The women dancing on stage were … well, Vandal wasn’t complaining. In their skin-baring outfits and skyscraper heels, they were all boldly sexy and all too happy to flirt with the guys. The music was shitty bubblegum pop and the drinks were sub-par, but the atmosphere made up for that. The Black Cat was a place to come and get wasted, and once you’d knocked back a few beers or snorted a few lines, the music didn’t matter.
Vandal and the rest of his crew snagged a table near the stage, close enough to see every exposed inch of flesh as the dancers writhed and rocked around the poles. The air was thick with dry ice and the scent of sweat and cheap perfume, with just a hint of musty pot somewhere in the mix. That was really Vandal’s drug of choice, and he glanced around, trying to pinpoint the source of the smell.
A flash of red caught his eye and he turned in his chair to see one of the dancers on stage pulling another girl up to join them. Vandal watched admiringly as the long-legged redhead hopped on stage, laughing wildly. Her slim frame was encased in tight black jeans and a lime green tank top. Tattoos decorated her right arm from shoulder to wrist, and her hair was a shocking shade that could only come from a bottle. He’d always had a thing for redheads.
She danced with a carefree abandon that contrasted with the practiced sexuality of the other girls. A beer bottle in one hand, she swiveled her hips and tossed her hair, dancing for her own pleasure and ignoring the panting crowd before her. It was damn sexy, that casual confidence, and he found himself leaning forward to watch closer.
Next to him, Spark gave him a nudge. “Fight you for her.”
“Don’t embarrass yourself, man.” Vandal shook his head, grinning at the enforcer. “Why pick a fight you can’t win?”
“Is that a threat?” Spark smiled evilly.
“It’s a fact.” Vandal eyed the redhead speculatively. The way she was grinding and flirting with the dancer who’d pulled her on stage had his cock paying close attention. He drained his glass and set it down. He crossed over to the table where the redhead had been sitting and took her chair. From across the table, a fierce-looking Chinese girl raised an eyebrow at him.
“Can we help you?” she asked, leaning in to make herself heard over the music.
“Yeah,” he said, pointing at the redhead. “What’s your friend’s name?”
She looked him over, her gaze lingering on the Psycho City patch on his cut. She shrugged, as if making some silent decision. “Tara Murphy. And she’s fucking awesome, so don’t mess with her or I’ll have your balls, biker boy.”
Vandal grinned, liking her attitude. “My intentions are pure, I promise.”
She gave him a knowing look and went back to ogling the dancers. The song came to an end and Tara hopped down from the stage, cheeks flushed from exertion. Vandal wondered if she turned the same pretty shade of pink after sex. She gave him a curious look as she came back to her seat. Vandal leaned back, patting his knee invitingly.
For a second he thought she’d refuse. There was a measuring look in her eyes, similar to the one her friend had just given him. Some women swooned over the biker patch, ready to open their legs on command. Those women didn’t interest Vandal anymore. The clubhouse was full of them. He preferred a challenge. Tara’s even, steady gaze as she looked him over said she’d be one.
Then, just when he was worried she’d walk away, she gave him a sly smile and sat on his lap. She slung one arm around his neck and moved in close, letting him smell coconut shampoo and beer, a strangely intoxicating mix. “You’re in my chair,” she said.
Her voice was low and husky, and the effect on his cock was immediate. “And you’re on my lap. I like this arrangement.”
“It’ll do for now,” she said coolly, swigging from her bottle. The motion drew attention to her tattooed arm, and Vandal admired the artwork. It was a steampunk collage of clockwork and gears, with a cheeky-smiled goblin peering out from between the clock hands on her forearm. The design was stunning and made him ache for some fresh ink of his own.
He traced the outline of a gear, pleased when she shivered at his touch. “Nice work.”
“Ling’s work,” she said, pointing at the Chinese girl, who was now leaning across the stage to shove a dollar bill down one of the stripper’s thongs. “We run Canvas together.”
Canvas was a relatively new tattoo shop downtown. Vandal hadn’t been there yet, but some of the prospects had raved about it. So Tara was smart, artistic, and ran her own business? The whole package, basically. “I’ll come visit sometime,” he said.
“Hmm.” She touched his Sergeant at Arms patch, a wicked smile on her face. “I don’t go looking for trouble.”
He caught her hand and raised her fingers to his lips, kissing lightly. “Me, neither,” he lied. That smile said she was lying, too. “So you wanna hang out in a strip club all night?”
“It’s Ling’s birthday,” she said. “Her choice.”
Vandal glanced across at Ling. She was now deep in conversation with one of the dancers, and if Vandal guessed correctly, it was a conversation that was going to end with a private lap-dance. The dancer had a gleam in her eye that was impossible to mistake, and, frankly, in the black corset and mini-skirt she was wearing, Ling looked almost irresistible.
“Looks like she’s about to have herself a very happy birthday,” he said. “I don’t think she needs you for it.”
Tara pursed her lips, considering, and Vandal couldn’t resist snatching a kiss. She tasted of beer and it was distractingly sexy. When she didn’t resist, he deepened the kiss, nipping at her lower lip. She groaned, tightening her arm around him, her nails sinking into his shoulder. Her breasts pressed against his chest, a deliberate, teasing action that felt better than any booze or drug ever could. Fuck, he wanted her. Wanted to sink his cock in her and push away the violence of the night. He wanted to claim her.
He broke the kiss, but stayed close, gazing into her hazel eyes. “Let’s get out of here,” he said.
She bit her lip and nodded, that enticing smile back. Neither of them wasted any time saying goodbye to their friends.
****
Outside the night closed in on them, the humidity stifling. Vandal pushed Tara up against the brick wall, stealing another kiss. She arched her body against him, her eagerness driving him mad. He didn’t want to wait until they made it back to his place, or hers. The Black Cat was in the middle of a strip of nightclubs and bars, though. There was no privacy.
She broke away from him, twisting under his arms to escape his hold. “What do I call you?” she asked.
Interesting way of asking. She knew a little about MCs, then. “Vandal,” he said, reaching for her again.
“And don’t you want to know my name?” She danced away, laughing as his fingertips grazed her hips.
“I already do, unless Ling lied to me.”
She shook her head, eyes sparkling. “Ling never lies. It’s a character flaw. So, Vandal, where are we going?”
Fuck, she was hot, standing in the glow of a streetlight that set her red hair on fire, her hands on her hips. It was a challenging, demanding pose, and he longed to spin her around and spank her ass, see if she laughed or screamed in pleasure. His mouth watered at the thought, his cock straining against his jeans. The heat of the night made his head spin and the woman in front of him, beckoning him with a crooked finger and a sly smile, was too good to be true.
Instead of answering her, he grabbed her hand and hauled her toward his bike. His apartment was too far for his liking right now, but there was a little park five minutes away that would do just damn fine.
She felt good pressed up against his back, her arms locked around his waist. She kissed the back of his neck, sending hot shivers through his whole body and threatening to send the bike spinning out of control. He gritted his teeth, forcing himself to stay in control as they sped through the streets. She laughed, as if sensing his struggle, her husky tones a perfect harmony with the rough purr of the bike’s engine. Jesus. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d wanted to fuck a woman so much. It wasn’t just about putting Beak out of his mind. Tara might just end up as his new drug of choice.
He skidded to a halt at the park’s gates. Tara hopped off the bike and disappeared into the park, quickly lost in the shadows. Vandal raced after her, blood burning with lust. The thick sprawl of trees made a perfect place for hide-and-seek, and the chase thrilled him, like he was a predator after prey. He loved the idea of punishing her for making him wait.
“Tara!” he called, his voice bouncing off the trees. “I’m an impatient guy, baby.”
An answering laugh gave away her hiding place, and Vandal found her crouched behind a black cherry tree, peering cheekily at him from around the trunk, like the goblin in her tattoo. When he reached for her, she made no attempt to escape, letting him push her up against the tree and ravage her mouth. She encouraged him, sliding her hands up under his t-shirt, then round to the front of his jeans. She massaged his ready cock through the too-hot, too-tight material, drawing a groan from him.
“Turn around,” he said. “Hands against the trees.”
Next time—and there would be a next time—he’d take his time, explore her and torment her, but tonight, now, he just wanted to own her. There was no better way to do that than by taking her hard and rough.
She obeyed, bending over and wriggling her perfect ass at him as she did. He wasted no time in stripping her jeans off, exposing the beautifully pale skin of that ass. He swallowed hard, taking a second to memorize how she looked, splayed and ready for him in the darkness. Daring and bold, yet sweetly submissive. He ran his hands over her cheeks, then slid one finger down to her pussy. She was wet for him, body trembling with anticipation. When he pushed his finger inside her, she moaned, a yearning, animal sound that pushed his control to the breaking point.
He kicked off his own jeans, pausing only to grab a condom from his wallet. He was shaking, too, by the time he had it on. He grabbed her hips, teasing her pussy with the head of his cock, until she was panting his name, writhing against him as if to force herself on him. When he finally plunged home, she cried out in triumph and relief, sending a bolt of frenzied lust sizzling through him.
There was no finesse. Neither of them wanted it. He took her rough, and she took it greedily, chanting her encouragement. He sank his fingers into her skin, wanting to leave bruises, and she threw her head back, pure, wild pleasure thrumming through her. Her passion was addictive, pushing him to thrust harder and faster. When they broke, they broke together, Tara’s legs buckling with the force of her orgasm. They went down in a knot of limbs into the dry grass to lie in a breathless pile. Vandal’s own climax rocked him, and for a second all he could do was stare up at the cloudless night sky, wondering what the fuck had just happened.
She rolled onto her side, draping one bare leg over him and propping herself up on his chest. “That was a hell of a first date,” she said, toying with his disheveled hair.
She looked devilish, her own hair a tangled halo around her flushed face. It was too dark to be sure, but he thought she probably was that perfect shade of pink.
“You want a second one?” he asked. He wanted to fuck her again. Slowly this time, lingering over her breasts, tasting her pussy.
She leaned down and kissed him tenderly, as if they’d been lovers for years, not five red-hot minutes. “Take me home,” she said. “Then you’ll know where I live.”
Vandal grinned. That sounded like a yes to him.