Page 1 of Jagger
Chapter 1
Molly
“That’s it, Angel. Let me hear how damned good that feels. Show me how much you like it,” the deep voice growled in my ear. I couldn’t help myself and I moaned louder as his hands clutched my jean-clad hips and pulled me flush against him, grinding his thick erection into me. God, I wantedmore. He slid one hand down my thigh, grasping my leg just behind my knee and raising it to curve around his waist. I was perched on the edge of his desk, legs spread wide, precariously balanced against his body, and I circled my arms around his neck so that I didn’t fall off. I’d never had sexy times on a desk before, and I wasn’t especially graceful, so the potential for injury was real. It wasn’t enough for me to call a halt to this though, I thought, as yet another shiver of sheer pleasure surged through my body.
“Fuck yeah, right there,” he groaned, thrusting against me, and circling his hips so that he was hitting me just right. His erection felt huge against me, and my body tingled from the contact. His mouth moved across my jaw and down my neck, nuzzling along the base of my throat before sucking gently on my skin.
“You smell so damned good, Angel,” he whispered, nudging his nose along my neck again as if he couldn’t get enough of my scent, and I shivered in response to the warmth of his breath ghosting over my sensitive flesh. His hands roved all over my hips, squeezing and kneading my ample curves. His mouth moved lower, licking, and sucking his way across my collarbone, then lower still, as he edged closer to my breasts.
“I want – “
It took a few seconds for me to realize why he had stopped speaking mid-sentence, then I hazily registered the urgent knocking on the door.
“Jag? Uh, sorry to interrupt whatever you’ve got going on in there, but we gotta problem out here.” The music coming from the bar area was muffled back here, but I heard the voice of the man clearly through the office door. Terrific. That likely meant he had also heard the moans frominsidethis room. I felt myself flush as Jagger dropped his head to my shoulder with a groan, then stepped back a few inches and helped me off the desk.
“Yeah, I’ll be right out,” he barked, looking beyond pissed that our whatever-the-heck-this-was had just been interrupted. A quickie? A hook-up? A sleazy, wham-bam-thank you, ma’am in the back room of a biker bar? Yep, that last one. That’s exactly what this was leading toward, all right.
Jagger adjusted his sizeable erection in his jeans, and I felt myself flush again and couldn’t bring myself to meet his gaze. I was so out of my element here. I didn’t do things like this. Never in the history of ever had I found myself simulating a sex act with an almost-total stranger. I was not a wham-bam kind of girl. I was a kindergarten teacher, for Pete’s sake! I dated, I got to know a guy, and we had an actual relationship that sometimes progressed to sex. We sure as heck didn’t start with desktop sex less than nine hours after meeting each other.
“Why don’t you wait in here for me, and I’ll be right back,” he suggested huskily, turning, and reaching for the doorknob as I adjusted my clothes. He stopped and turned to look at me when I didn’t answer.
“Angel?” He took a step back toward me, which I knew only because I was studiously looking at his feet in an effort to avoid his gaze.Angel.We hadn’t even exchanged our real names. He’d started calling me Angel about five minutes after we’d met, when I’d refused to tell him my actual name. I’d maintained that if he could go by a nickname, orroad name, as he’d corrected me, then so could I. He’d grinned and agreed.
He put his finger under my chin to lift my head, then dipped his head so that he could meet my eyes. As I met the heat of his warm brown gaze, I knew I was blushing. I could feel the heat spreading from my cheeks, down over my neck and to my chest. He gently cupped my jaw before slowly sliding his hand around to the back of my neck. He lifted his other hand to my face and tenderly ran the back of his fingers over my cheek. I could feel the heat under my skin, and knew my embarrassment was likely telegraphed by the flush of red covering my entire face.
“You OK, Angel? I’m sorry if I came on too strong. You’re just so damned irresis – “
Bang, bang, bang!This time, the knocking gave way to an insistent pounding of fists on the door, before a deeper voice boomed out “Jag, put your cock away and get your ass out here!”
“Fuck!” Jagger muttered, dropping a kiss on my forehead before nudging me toward the sofa in the corner of the office.
“Sit, Angel. I’ll be back as soon as I can. There are bottled waters and shit in the mini fridge over there, if you need anything in the meantime.” He pointed vaguely to the opposite corner of the room as he strode over and flung open the door. A tall man, even taller than Jagger’s own six-foot-two or so, stood there frowning, glancing over Jagger’s shoulder, and flashing a surprised look when he caught sight of me huddled against the arm of the sofa. Yeah, I was probably not the kind of woman he was used to seeing in this office, judging by his request for Jagger to put his…cockaway, not that it had actually been out.
I’d seen the other women in the bar as we’d walked in, and most of them looked like what you’d expect when you hear the termbiker chick. Scantily dressed, many in skin-tight jeans or barely-there skirts, huge – probably fake – boobs, teased hair, heavy make-up. A couple of the rougher looking ones could best be described by the old phrase “rode hard and put away wet”. I was definitely the odd man – well, odd woman – out in this situation, so the guy’s look of surprise was to be expected.
The music coming from the bar’s sound system was loud for a moment, and I recognized the sound of a classic AC/DC song before Jagger slammed the door shut behind him, leaving me to wonder how on earth I’d found myself in this position. And by this position, I meant almost having wham-bam desktop sex with a gorgeous biker I’d just met this afternoon.
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My day had started off as mundane as most of my Saturdays are. I’d had a list of errands, the most exciting of which was a hair appointment at the ungodly hour of eight o’clock. As a kindergarten teacher, I was used to getting up at the butt-crack of dawn during the week to get to school by seven. On the weekends though? The weekends were for indulging my inner sloth, and she was a lazy creature who wanted nothing more than to sleep until ten o’clock or so. But my hair stylist was going on vacation and in order to get an appointment before she left, I’d had to take her early-bird slot usually filled by the little old ladies that came in for a wash and set. It was worth it though. My naturally wavy, blonde hair now fell in face-framing layers, with the length hitting just a few inches below my shoulders. I could still put it up in a ponytail or a messy bun for those mornings when I hit the snooze button one too many times – Ilovedmy snooze button - but it was much more manageable now.
After leaving the salon, I’d stopped at the post office to mail off a baby gift for a friend from high school, who had moved across the country after graduation. Then it was off to the mall to return a pair of jeans that fit across my hips but gapped at the waist, a common problem for those of us with a little too much junk in the trunk.
I’d often wished that I could shift some of the padding from my backside to my chest to even things out a bit. My breasts were perky, but barely a C-cup on a good day. I was content with my figure, for the most part anyway, but a bit more even distribution would be nice, so I didn’t feel quite so pear-shaped. My waist nipped in just enough to emphasize the wide flare of my hips, my stomach was a bit softer than I’d like, but abs or even a flat, taut tummy required a dedication to healthy eating and exercise that I simply didn’t possess and likely never would. My thighs were a bit too thick, but they balanced out my behind. I’m not sure I’d ever had a thigh gap, but that was OK. My calves were well-defined from being on my feet all day, often in heels that got switched for ballet flats by the time the school day was over. All in all, it was as good as it was going to get, unless I decided to give up chocolate for lettuce and took up running. I’d long maintained that if anyone ever saw me running, they would know I was trying to escape an ax-wielding murderer. The sorry truth was, even in that scenario, I probably wouldn’t even bother trying to run. He would just catch me, and I would die anyway – only I’d be sweaty, red-faced, and out-of-breath when I left this world. No thank you. I’d take my chances with the guy and his ax. My body might not be intact when it was over, but my dignity would be.
After trying and finally succeeding in finding a pair of jeans that fit both my waist and my butt – Halle-freaking-lujah – I’d made a final stop at the teacher supply store to pick up some new posters for my story time area. I’d left there a little over one hundred dollars poorer, because I could never get just what I went in to buy. I always, no matter how determined or how broke I was, always got sidetracked by something new on display, and before I knew it, I was browsing up and down the aisles as if I’d won the freaking lottery and had money to burn.
I’d been in desperate need of a caffeine fix by that point, and the growling from my stomach had told me it was past time for lunch. I’d needed a Diet Pepsi in the worst way. A big, juicy bacon-cheeseburger wouldn’t hurt either, I’d thought as my stomach had growled again.
I had spotted the diner down the block and decided that would satisfy my hunger. As I’d turned my three-year old Honda Civic – a college graduation gift from my parents - into the parking lot, I’d been lucky enough to grab a spot by the door. The parking lot was full otherwise, so I took that as a sign that the food would be pretty good. As I got out of my car, I’d absently noted the parking enforcement officer pulling up to the curb, right behind a gorgeous motorcycle parked right in the middle of a no-parking zone. The gas tank had what appeared to be a custom paint job, with a ring of flames surrounding a skull. I had seen that biker emblem around town, they were called The Guardian something-or-other, and I knew they hosted a charity motorcycle ride every year to raise money for the local youth center. They apparently weren’t a hard-coreSons of Anarchykind of club, but they weren’t exactly choir boys either, or so I’d heard anyway.
The smell of delicious food had assaulted my senses as I’d pulled open the door, and my stomach had growled again right on cue. A quick glance around showed only a couple of tables open. A waitress had caught my eye and motioned for me to pick a table, and I’d walked past the front counter to get to the table in the corner. I wanted to be able to read my Kindle in peace while I ate, and it had looked like the quietest spot.
I had noticed the stool at the end of the counter was occupied by a man wearing a black leather vest with the same flame and skull emblem on the back, presumably the owner of the motorcycle out front. A quick glance over my shoulder had shown that the parking enforcement officer was standing just behind it, taking down the license plate number if I’d had to guess.
I had hesitated a moment – he was a biker, after all – and then approached him quietly.
“Um, I assume that’s your motorcycle parked out front?” I’d asked softly, trying not to gawk as he’d swiveled around on his stool, and I had gotten my first look at his face.
