Bad Rules (A Wild Minds Novel) Page 2

  “Warren said they were toward the back,” Addy shouted over her shoulder, giving me an anxious grin. Her lead-singer love interest had texted us the location as soon as we landed. I gave her an encouraging smile.

  The shots we’d had at the airport bar made the blood in my veins feel slow. Fog crept around my ankle boots. We’d changed in the airport bathroom, giggling and nearly busting out of the tiny stalls. I was dressed to kill in a small pair of cutoff jean shorts and equally small tank top. I’d dabbed vanilla oil on my wrists and behind my ears. I liked the idea of smelling like something someone could eat. That’s what I wanted to be that night. Edible. Desired. I was on a hunt of my own. For sex, just to be clear.

  I’d lost my virginity at seventeen to a twenty-year-old Hell’s Angels biker. We spent a few magical weeks together. The real love of his life was the road. When he took off, I listened to Purple Rain on constant loop and tried to make myself cry. I wanted to be heartbroken. Alas, I wasn’t. Turns out, I just missed the sex. The biker was the first notch in my belt.

  Unfortunately, my Hell’s Angels biker reappeared five months later, a day after my eighteenth birthday. I was elated. I jumped into his arms and licked his neck thinking, yes please, more sex. He shimmied me off him, got down on one knee, produced a gold band, and spouted words like “old lady” and “road honey.”

  My smile faded. All thoughts of sexy times disintegrated. I felt sick. I thought we understood each other. We were rolling stones. We gathered no moss. No attachments.

  I stuttered as I listed off all the reasons why we shouldn’t get hitched. Marriage is a patriarchal institution. It benefits men and not women. Weddings are overrated. They are a societal construct and a tool of capitalism. I need to be free.

  My biker snapped the ring box shut. He touched my cheek, a sad smile on his face. You’re wrong. Someday you’ll realize how wrong you are. And I hope it’s not too late. Being married doesn’t mean a ball and chain. It’s someone constantly having your back. You’ll feel limitless with them, not limited.

  The music grew louder. I shook the thoughts of my biker away. He was wrong. Marriage might be for some, but it wasn’t for me. I wanted to belong to something other than a man. I caught the eye of a dark-haired, dark-skinned guy by the bar. He winked and held up his drink. I’d consider him, but it was too early to settle on a partner for the night. We arrived at the back of the club. Cozy booths lined the wall. The music was a little quieter here.

  “There he is!” Addison squealed, launching herself into the air. A big, tattooed, long-haired dude caught her. Warren Price, I presumed. He nuzzled Addy, a genuine smile on his face. She slid from his body. “War, this is my bestie Lily.” She pulled me forward. Warren dipped his chin in that way all cool guys seemed to be able to do. Behind him, on a small cocktail table, was a bucket of ice filled with bottles. Three more guys surrounded the table. Warren’s bandmates. Introductions went around. Lix, a blond behemoth and the band’s bassist, hugged me as if I was a long-lost sister. Derren, a drummer with enough facial hair to make Sasquatch jealous, lit a cigarette and muttered something indecipherable. Last was Asher.

  I turned to him. Instantly, I knew I was in trouble. My pulse beat loud behind my ears. This man was fucking gorgeous. Addy spoke, explaining he was Warren’s identical twin. I glanced back and forth between the two giants. There were similarities, but Ash’s chin was slightly squarer, his hair shorter—closely cropped—and his eyes a shade darker blue. I smiled, and in return, I received a cranky stare. Fucking gorgeous. He’d do. He’d definitely do.

  A big hand encapsulated mine. For a moment the music dimmed, receded. It was just me and him. A single spark in the dark. I blinked. Behind him, Addy and Warren were in a serious make-out session. I licked my lips and addressed Ash, my voice measured and calm. “If your brother hurts my friend I’m going to rip his small intestine out of his mouth, then rip his large intestine out of his ass and use them as a skipping rope.”

  Derren heard. “That’s not physically possible,” he grumbled, mouth clamped around a cigarette.

  Lix crowed and clapped his hands. “Mentally unstable and pretty, two of my favorite things. Let’s dance, Crazy.” He grabbed my arm, yanking me from Ash’s side. With a smirk and a shrug, I followed Lix onto the dance floor.

  Two hours and two gallons of sweat later, I bellied up to the bar. I’d been dancing with Lix all night, my back to his front, dipping and grinding. The bassist knew how to move. I deposited myself next to Ash. A guy with an unbuttoned shirt and so much chest hair it looked like he was smuggling a forest elbowed in on my other side.

  “Marco.” He stuck out his hand.

  I nodded, pretending I couldn’t hear him over the music, though it was plenty quiet in this part of the club.

  “Dance?” he asked.

  “I’m taking a break.” I stared at the bar. Don’t make eye contact. I’d learned long ago, eye contact was equivalent to an invitation. You level gazes with a dude, and all of a sudden, he thinks you’re DTF. Not the way it should be, but until we smash the patriarchy, the way it would be.

  A cell phone waved under my nose. “Can I get your number? Maybe call you some time?” Ah, Marco was super persistent. Picking up on personal cues didn’t seem to be his strong suit.

  I smiled prettily. “Sure.” I took the phone and tapped out my digits.

  Marco’s grin was positively triumphant. I gave back his phone. “I’ll call you,” he promised.

  “Looking forward to it.” He faded back into the crowd.

  “You shouldn’t do that.” Asher’s glare turned up a notch.

  “What?” I tapped my fingers against the bar, considering the bottles of liquor all in pretty rows.

  “Give random guys your phone number.” He gave me impatient side eyes. His hands were wrapped around a beer bottle, a shot glass of some clear liquid rested nearby.

  I turned to him, eyes comically wide. “Wow! Thanks for the advice. What would little girls like me do without big, strong men like you to talk some sense into them?”

  A one-shoulder shrug was his only response.

  I refocused on the drink selection, narrowing in on the beers on tap. “I didn’t give him my number. I edited his mom’s contact to my name. Hope she likes dick pics and booty calls.”

  This earned me a terse nod. Guess he approved. His gaze redirected away from me to the end of the bar at a stacked brunette.

  “She probably has lower back problems,” I stage whispered.

  This drew Ash’s attention along with a hellish frown. “That’s not a problem. I don’t need her to do any heavy lifting,” he said.

  I nodded slowly, pretending to consider his words. “Still you don’t want to go after her. You may end up married, then you’re taking care of her through chronic back pain and breast reduction surgery.”

  Ash drained the rest of his beer, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, then took the shot. I watched his Adam’s apple bob as the liquor worked its way down his throat. Some women liked asses. Some women liked biceps. I had a thing for Adam’s apples. “I tend to keep women around just until they put out.”

  I pursed my lips, undeterred by his gruff honesty. I respected it. “I don’t date either.” I leaned in closer to Ash, dropping my voice an octave so only he could hear. He raised a brow, silently questioning me. Asher Price was a man of few words. I liked that about him. Especially since I seemed to have so many. Often I’d say something without thinking about it.

  “If I did date,” I continued, “I’d put my worst foot forward. Get all the shitty stuff out of the way. Things that would eventually drive us apart, like I don’t like to cuddle, spooning.” I mock shuddered. “In fact, separate beds merits consideration. I’m not into marriage, but if I were, I’d reinstitute medieval marital bed practices. That’s one thing those plague eaters had right. Also, I don’t like feet. I’m a messy eater. And I don’t shut doors or cabinets.” Pause. “Oh, and I don’t like hiking, it’s just anot
her word for walking.” I dated, and I use the word “dated” loosely, an outdoor enthusiast once. He loved the mountains so much he should’ve had the Patagonia logo tattooed on his ass. Our affair ended after he told me he liked a woman without makeup. Unfortunately for him, I liked men without vocal opinions on what women should do with their bodies. Doomed from the start, we were.

  “You say weird shit.” Ash signaled the bartender for two more beers.

  I shrugged, unoffended. “You have to be odd to be number one,” I quoted Dr. Seuss.

  The bartender deposited two beers in front of us. Ash threw down a few bills and slid one of the beers in front of me. I slid it back. “No thanks. I get my own drinks.” I waved down the bartender. He returned, and I requested a pint of their darkest brew. When he placed the beer in front of me, I sipped it, regarding Ash over the lip of the glass. “It’s all about equality, you know? I reject the societal norm that a man should pay.” I licked froth from my upper lip. His gaze followed the flick of my tongue. I grew thoughtful. “Then again women only earn seventy-seven cents to a man’s dollar, so I guess it’s economically fairer for you to pay.” I smiled brightly closing my free hand around the beer I’d originally rejected and pulled it toward me.

  We sipped our drinks for a while, my hips keeping rhythm with the beat. Next song change I stepped closer to Ash. The skin of my bare arm grazed his. I smiled, backing it up with an intentional lower-lip bite. Asher looked me over from head to toe. Slowly his body uncurled from the stool to its full height. My head barely reached his chest. I swallowed. Broad and well muscled, Asher Price pushed all the right buttons. His hand came to my hip and squeezed. I peered up at him, flattening my palm against one of his pecs. He followed the movement of my hand. His eyes glittered with triumph. I bet his mommy and daddy used to tell him he was the greatest and shit solid gold bars or something.

  “It’s loud,” I said.

  He angled his face down. “I know somewhere more quiet.”

  I smiled like a cat that caught the canary. “Lead the way.”

  Ash’s hand closed around my wrist, and he pulled me behind him. We wound through the crowd, passing Lix on the edge of the dance floor.

  “Crazy?” he called out to me, gazing at where Ash and I were linked. “You and him? I thought we had something special.”

  I smiled sheepishly. “Sorry.”

  Lix pouted, then smiled. “No worries, Crazy. Other fish in the sea.” That’s when I noticed the two women standing behind him, giggling, their hands creeping around his waist. Later on, I’d learn that Lix liked threesomes or foursomes, anything with a somes at the end of it.

  Ash tugged on my wrist, spinning me, and my back met a wall. We were in a hallway. A single lamp illuminated the crimson walls. “Fuck it. I thought I could wait.” His blue eyes cut to me, focused and penetrating. Then his lips were on mine. Damn. I didn’t believe in love at first sight, but I did believe in lust. My arms snaked around his neck, my mouth opened against his. His tongue dove deep. He tasted bitter and sweet, a combination of beer and mint. Strange and intoxicating. Our tongues rubbed together. I moaned. Asher reached for the hem of my shirt, pulling it up; the edge grazed the bottom of my breasts.

  “Wait.” I pushed at his chest. A futile effort. The man was rock solid, a brick wall. That should have been my first warning. When Asher Price wanted something he couldn’t be moved, couldn’t be toppled.

  “You don’t want Lix,” Ash ground out. Confused, my eyebrows darted in. “He used to go around school slapping underclassman in the crotch saying, ‘boner patrol.’”

  This drew a husky laugh from me. I caressed his chest. “I don’t want Lix,” I reassured. His taut body relaxed infinitesimally. Could the broody rocker possibly be jealous? I’d be a liar if I said the thought didn’t thrill me just a little. It made me feel powerful. I was kind of a control junkie. I liked the upper hand. Men were puppets and I made them dance. I ducked out of Ash’s hold and crooked my finger, pushing into the women’s bathroom. I was into many things, but public sex wasn’t one of them. Okay, maybe it was. But I felt like that was more third-date stuff, my version of serious. Ash followed.

  The bathroom was a one-stall affair, single toilet and pedestal sink. Graffiti covered the walls. Votive candles burned in sconces against the walls, the only light. It wasn’t super classy, but it was private and the door locked. Good enough.

  Ash stood there, big chest rising and falling with deep breaths. He took a step, cupped my face, his thumbs on my cheeks. His eyes burned into mine. A trickle of fear slid down my spine. Somehow this seemed more intimate than the kiss, like he was trying to stare into my soul, see my restless spirit and tame it.

  “This isn’t serious, okay?” I said.

  One swift nod. “Got it.”

  “I just want you for your body,” I clarified, lest there be any confusion.

  “Me, too.”

  “I’m going to be sticking around for a while with Addy. We’re going to be together on tour. I don’t want things to be weird.”

  His answer was to kiss me.

  Hard.

  His tongue darted out and stroked mine. I spoke between hot, wet kisses. “Don’t make things weird. Don’t get all clingy and ride in on a motorcycle and ask me to marry you.”

  He rolled his hips between my thighs. I felt his erection sliding along the barely-there seam of my cutoff shorts. His lips broke from mine, making a trail down my neck. “I don’t own a motorcycle.” He paused. “My driver’s license is suspended, too.”

  “For what?” I asked on a breathy sigh. He continued to grind against me, the friction making my clit pulse.

  “Reckless driving. I like to go fast.”

  Men without commitments drove fast.

  His hand slid down my side, cupped my hip, and dipped lower. Strong fingers caressed the band of my shorts, popped opened the button, then delved deep searching for my core. At the same time, his lips came back to mine. My eyelids fluttered shut. So good. I’d never felt anything so good. His tongue moved in time with his clever fingers. He drew back, flicking my bottom lip with his tongue.

  “Been needing to do this,” he said.

  “Yeah?” I whispered. His stubbled cheek rubbed against mine.

  “Yeah. Been watching you on the dance floor. Knew you would fuck like you moved.”

  “How’s that?” I asked in a daze.

  “Like a dream, sweetheart.”

  I should’ve recoiled at the endearment. Signs of affection usually had me running for the door. Instead, I leaned in closer. A moth to a flame. A sheep to the slaughter. I should’ve known then I was in trouble. Hindsight is always twenty-twenty. I blame it on being too drunk. Too high on Asher Price. Still, a little ball of apprehension lodged in my throat.

  I needed space, needed to put some distance between us. No more kissing, I decided. I swiveled so my back was to his front. I faced the mirror. Even with the movement, Asher had managed to keep his hand firmly planted in my pants. Holy shit, the sight had me squirming, my body begging for more. His other hand palmed my breast. My arm went up, wrapping around his neck. An evil smile curved his lips. A riot of nerves ran between my nipples and my sex. Outside, the music thumped, keeping in rhythm with my heart. Boom. Boom. Boom.

  “You’re so fucking sexy,” he hummed. His hand left my pants. I only had a moment to mourn the loss before my shirt was pulled up, along with my bra. One swift move by Asher and I was topless. “Fuck,” Asher ground out.

  “Better than the girl with big tits at the end of the bar?”

  Hands cupped my breasts, fingers pinching and molding the delicate peaks. “Got nothing on you.” He paused, eyes meeting mine in the mirror. “You shouldn’t ever wear a bra.”

  “I don’t usually.” This was true. “Bras should be a personal choice, not a societal norm. They don’t serve any actual purpose. They’re just a method of body shaming.” Another way to police women.

  “Then why are you wearing one now?�
� he asked, his breath hot against my skin.

  I smiled. “It makes me feel sexy. I find it affirming.”

  “Christ. I’ve never met anyone like you before.”

  I decided to take his words as a compliment. Asher cupped my breasts again, brushing his thumbs over the taut nipples. Every part of me tingled with excitement. “Not gonna lie, sweetheart. Don’t like the idea of you not wearing a bra. These tits are just for me.”

  A danger sign flashed in my vision. Asher’s words reeked of possessiveness and longevity. Two of my least favorite things.

  But then Asher sucked on my neck. “Oh, do that some more. Harder please.”

  “Bend over,” he demanded.

  I bucked backward, a warning shot. “Don’t be so bossy.”

  “Bend over.” Deep breath. “Please.”

  Good enough for me. Slowly, I bent, bracing my arms on the sink. I watched Asher in the mirror. His hands slid down my sides, over my hips, thumbs tucking into the waistband of my underwear. My sex squeezed tight.

  “Gonna fuck you hard,” he muttered, dragging my shorts and panties down my legs. He placed a kiss on each ass cheek as he rose. I was totally bare, laid out before Asher Price like a feast. Warmth speared through me even as I shivered. He kicked open my legs. He tore at the button and zipper of his jeans. My breathing stopped. He was bare underneath. His cock sprang forward and he stroked it, just before rubbing the head against my clit.

  “Wait,” I called out. “Condom.”

  He kept going, I moaned, the movement nearly drawing out an orgasm.

  “Condom, Ash.” Something in my voice must’ve broken through his haze. He paused and dug a foil wrapper from his back pocket, tearing into it with perfect white teeth. In one fluid movement, he rolled it on, then pushed inside me. My body rocked, welcoming the intrusion. The heat of him covered me. He rained kisses down my neck. I pushed into him, urging him to go deeper, faster, harder. His fingers dug into my hips. There would be marks in the morning. This was fucking. Down and dirty. So wrong, yet it felt so right.