Ruled: New for 2018! A hot bad boy biker romance story that breaks all the rules. Perfect for fans of Darker!

I could start with that man headed toward our table. He’s good-looking, he’s definitely friendly and he’s managed to hunt down a cocktail waitress with a tray of drinks.

Jack. His name is Jack. I’m too old or too tired—too something—because I have to fight the urge to write his name on my hand lest I forget it. I’d been hoping he’d rate higher on the droolworthy factor.

“I told you he was even cuter in person,” Samantha crows as she catches me watching Jack. Unlike so many dating app pictures, he actually looks like the picture I picked out on my phone at the lake. Turns out, the six intervening days have not been enough time to rediscover my libido. I’ve done some solo workouts in bed, but a few self-induced orgasms haven’t made me hungrier for one-on-one action. Guess it was like hoping running a mile would prepare me for the marathon—so I shouldn’t feel so disappointed.

Jack is a good-looking guy and he has lovely manners as promised. He looks really nice in his jeans and a blue button-up shirt, too. He’s a vice president of something at one of the casinos, which means that not only is he pretty on the outside, but he’s gainfully employed and scores frequent free drinks. The man is total keeper material, which is exactly what I told Samantha I wanted.

This is torture.

I don’t care if Jack never finds our table again, and that’s just not right. He’s so perfect on paper, and yet there’s not a single spark of chemistry between us. There’s nothing horribly, wonderfully electric, no sparks. I should try harder. Hell, the sparks between that biker and me were enough to start a forest fire or some other kind of world-ending conflagration and my libido needs a good talking-to. No bikers.

“Wasn’t sure what you’d like,” Mr. I’m Perfect On Paper says, tipping the waitress generously after she sets the drinks down on the table. “So I got a bunch of stuff. You can try it all or go for the fallback beer.”

God. Could he be more thoughtful?

He gestures toward the row of drinks and I grab the first drink I touch. The crap in the glass is frozen and sweet, some kind of adult slushie. Okay. That’s a departure from my usual beer, but I definitely want to try new things. I want to dance, to grind against Jack and to discover he’s my Mr. Right. I’m so ready to get right on that happily ever after. Get married, start a family, do things right. Jack ticks all the boxes. He’s absolutely perfect. I knock back the first inch of my drink, trying to ignore the way it suddenly tastes too sweet.

Jack slides an arm around my shoulders, tucking me against his side. He goes for the beer, and we stand there all couple-like for a long moment, watching Samantha bob and weave across the casino floor to greet someone she knows. It feels as if we’ve been married for ten years already and not in a good way.

Run away, my bad voice whispers.

Not listening.

“Let’s dance.” I slip out of his hold. The bar and burger joint has live music tonight, and a group of people are already dancing. I grab his hand, threading my fingers through his. He lets me tug him out into the heart of the dance floor, following my lead effortlessly. Maybe it’s a sign that I’ve found a man who can take direction? Jack even turns out to be a decent dancer. We dance a few faster songs, and then sway slowly in place when the band drops a romantic number on us. This is perfect. Still, when the band segues into a faster song, I pop out of his hold.

“Little girls’ room,” I tell him and he nods.

I make a pit stop at our table for my shoes, which turns out to be the best decision I’ve made all night. The bathrooms are at the end of a narrow, dirty, dark hallway. Every time I pick my feet up, a sticky, crunching sound assaults my ears and I make a mental note to Lysol the bottom of my shoes when I get home. I do my business as quickly as I can, wash my hands and exit. Clearly, the casino wants its ladies out on the main floor or knocking back drinks at the bar, because absolutely nothing about the grimy, dark facilities encourages you to linger. This place has a pee-and-get-the-hell-out vibe.

When I come out, turns out the night has at least one surprise in store for me. Rev is leaning against the wall opposite the door, beer bottle held loosely in his hand. He raises the bottle in a silent salute when he sees me. He doesn’t look surprised to see me, although I hadn’t pegged him for the club scene. When he takes a swallow from the longneck, the muscles in his throat working, I start wondering what he’d taste like.

“Hey,” he says, and my feet immediately cease their forward momentum. I have no idea how he does that to me.

“Hey yourself.” I gesture toward him. “You waiting for someone or do you regularly stake out the women’s room?”

We’ve only met once before, but somehow I already know he’s not the kind of guy who holds his girl’s purse while she pees. Plus, I was the only gal in the restroom, so I’ve kind of already answered my question.

A slow smile touches his face. “Saw you out there on the dance floor. Bought you a beer.” He starts to hand me the second beer bottle and then pauses. “You like that lime crap?”

I make a face before I can stop myself. “Not really.”

“Good call.” He flicks the offending lime toward a nearby trash can and then swipes his thumb over the mouth of the bottle before passing it to me. “Gotcha covered.”

Free beer is always good, right? We drink in strangely companionable silence for a moment.

“You come here often?” I joke lamely when the whole not-speaking thing starts to feel uncomfortable.

He bumps my shoulder companionably with his, gesturing toward the dance floor with his bottle. “Worse places to hang out.”

“True,” I agree. “But I hadn’t pegged you for a clubber.”

He takes another swallow of his beer. “I like watching.”

He’d said he’d spotted me on the dance floor earlier—did he watch me? Did he like what he saw? Is that what this beer is about, or is he still trying to track down Rocker and he figures buttering me up is a shortcut? Since there’s no way to know for certain, I decide to just enjoy the scenery for now because looking at Rev is pretty darn awesome. I let my gaze trail the length of his body, taking him all in—and there’s lots to admire. His faded jeans hug powerful thighs and the T-shirt beneath his leather vest outlines a chest that promises to be downright perfect. Whatever the man does with his free time, he doesn’t sit around on his ass all day. His big body radiates power, deadly but relaxed enough for now that I don’t sprint for the dance floor or the safety in numbers it offers—which makes me as stupid as the slowest gazelle in the pack, because Rev is a predator and we both know it.

About three inches from the bottom of my beer, the band starts in on one of my favorite songs, making my feet itch to be out there on the dance floor. A lazy smile tugs at the corner of Rev’s mouth. Whatever he is tonight, he’s in no rush and somehow I’m in no hurry to return to Jack, either. When my buzz dies down, this will probably worry me.

His shoulder bumps mine gently. “You in a dancing mood tonight, princess?”

“You dance?” Shoot. I sound breathless.

He takes another swig from his bottle. “Do I look like I dance?”

“Uh—no?” I inspect him again, looking for any reason to say yes. “But you’ve got two feet, right? It’s not hard.”

He looks down at me, reaching out to circle my wrist with his fingers. Heat shoots through me. Jack and Samantha probably think I’ve fallen in or gotten lost, and yet I don’t want to move away from Rev. Of course, he’s hot and I’m buzzing, but even so I know that standing here with him is a bad idea.

“Come on.” He tugs me out of the hallway, then heads for one of the booths lining the side of the bar. Stupidly, I follow along. I do manage to fish in my purse and find my phone so that I can shoot off a quick text to Samantha.

Met friend. BRB.

Friend is a misnomer, but since Samantha didn’t spot Rev at the birthday party, she wouldn’t know who he is anyhow.

Rev slides my purse down my arm and tosses it toward the back of the booth. The little pink square at the end of a silver chain doesn’t hold much. I slide in after it and then wonder if I’ve made a mistake. Now the only way out is through Rev. Not that I really think he’d hurt me, but I barely know him.

“You look nice,” he says, snagging my phone and sliding in after me. Somehow, I’m not surprised when he looks down and reads the message I just sent.

“Thanks. Maybe we should talk about boundaries.”

He looks up and winks at me. “If you’ve got hard limits, you tell me.”

Did that sound sexual to anyone else?

“We what you said?” He gestures toward the phone in his hand and then tucks it into my purse.

“Friends?”

“Yeah,” he says. My beer is mysteriously empty, so I snag his and help myself to a drink. “Never had a girl friend before.”

“I’ll go easy on you,” I tell him and finish off his beer.

His fingers graze the bare skin above my knee. “You here with someone?”

My pulse rockets into overdrive.

“Kind of.” I blurt the words out. Think them over. “Not really. Yes. No.”

He gives me a slow smile. “Hard to be all of those things.”

“I’m here with friends,” I say firmly.

He nods thoughtfully. “You should know that if you stay here, I’m gonna want a taste of you.”

I stiffen before I can stop myself. This is not the kind of thing you discuss with an almost total stranger. “You did not just say that.”

His fingers move a little higher. I slap them and only end up smacking myself. Real smooth. “That’s disgusting.”

His grin gets broader. “You not a fan of oral, Evie?”

Great. Now my face and my pussy are on fire.

“Not really my thing.” I blurt the words out before I can think them through.

“Why not?” He sounds thoughtful, rather than pissed off or offended, so I tell him the truth.

“I’ve tried it, but it wasn’t all that.” I give my previous boyfriends full points for enthusiasm, but oral sex just isn’t the fireworks-inducing pleasure that my Cosmo assures me it is. I can and have lived without it for years. There’s just something about the enthusiastic licking and the slurping that put me off. Reminds me of puppy dogs or something, and that’s not sexy at all.

Rev gives me a look. He’s totally still, but somehow I get the feeling he’s about to pounce. “We really friends?”

“I think so.” I nod cautiously. Probably shouldn’t have finished his beer because now the room whirls gently around me and a pillow sounds like nirvana. Bet Rev would let me put my head on his chest. Bet he’d let me do a lot of things.

“Then I gotta tell you something, as a friend.” He pulls me onto his lap, settling my back against his chest as he rests his chin on my shoulder. “Fucking waste, your not liking oral.”

He doesn’t sound mad that I’ve shot down his friendly offer, but this is undoubtedly my cue to go back to my own table. Still, when he pulls me tighter, the closeness doesn’t feel scary or like a threat. More like he’s putting himself between me and the rest of the world, just in case shit starts happening. Which it probably does in his world, now that I come to think of it.

“So show me how you like it,” he rumbles in my ear.

“What?” Pretty sure I sound as dazed as I feel.

He tugs the empty beer bottle away from me and sets it on the table.

“Kiss me the way you’d like to have your pussy kissed,” he offers. “Promise you one thing, Evie—I’m a fast learner.”

“But I don’t like it,” I point out with the careful logic of the slightly inebriated. “And we’re just friends. Friends don’t go down on friends.”

Or have conversations about oral techniques in the middle of a bar—but, details.

He sounds sincere when he says, “Nothing wrong with one friend making another feel good.”

I think about that while he runs his hands down my back, cupping my butt and lifting me until I’m sitting on his dick. The only things between us are my panties and his jeans. Or wait—maybe he’s pro-underwear and not naked underneath his denim? The beer must be talking, because I skim my fingers under the edge of his jeans on an exploratory mission. Not commando. Okay. That’s one question settled.

“This is a bad idea,” I inform him even as I turn and straddle him. I can’t be that drunk, because I manage it without sticking my knees in any unfortunate places. Or maybe that’s because his hands guide me and it’s so easy to let him take control.

“Never a bad idea to tell me what you want.” The words sound like a promise. I lose the thought as I slide my hands up his chest and over his shoulders to cup his neck. God, his skin’s warm. I wonder how he feels about licking, because right now his dick is aligned with my pussy and it feels absolutely perfect. “Plus, sweetheart? I’ve got one rule. The game stops the minute you tell me you’re not having fun.”

That’s a good rule and I tell him so.

He nudges my chin up until I meet his eyes. “You’ve got my promise on that.”

“And you always keep your promises.”

“Damn straight.”

He’s smiling when he says it, but the words are like a safety line. Nothing too bad can happen now. He’s said so.

“First thing? I don’t like to rush,” I whisper, leaning up.

“Got all the time in the world,” he tells me.

No.

He’s so wrong.

All I have is right now, this one stolen moment.

I cup his head with my hands, one thumb tracing the soft line of his ear. Must be the only place the man isn’t hard, because I’m definitely sitting on an impressive erection and his chest isn’t any softer. I tug his head down toward my mouth before I can think too much. He helps me by cupping my butt and boosting me up his chest, his fingers skimming the curve of my butt just below my panties.

“I don’t like to go for gold right away.” I brush my mouth over his throat. He’s inked in so many places. In addition to the dark bands on his wrists and forearms, he’s got more ink on his throat.

“This is pretty.” I trace the black swirl nearest his ear with my tongue.

“Got nothing on you,” he growls. “Girls are pretty.”

“Mmmm.” I eat him, kissing my way toward his ear.

I lick him and he groans.

“Pretend you’re a girl,” I whisper. “And let me call you pretty.”

“Fuck,” he says hoarsely. “Asking the impossible, princess. I’ve definitely got a dick.”

The tip of that dick bumps against my clit in a bull’s-eye. Nothing subtle about the move, but somehow the very bluntness of it makes me hotter. Plus, he grabs my hips when I buck, holding me rock-steady in his hands. My internal temperature rockets up to on fire and it’s all I can do to not grind down on him and come right now.

“Are we still playing show-and-tell?” he asks with a hoarse groan. “Because you’re giving me ideas.”

“Shut up.” I lick his ear lightly, teasing him. “This is my show.”

“For now,” he agrees, making it clear I’m only in control because he’s letting me be. That apparently turns me on, too, because my pussy clenches, reaching for the dick I’ve decided it can’t have. Still, since he asked for a lesson in how to lick my pussy, I need to be thorough, right? Just in case we ever end up putting this plan into action, I’d hate to be the one to give him bad advice. So I go back to work on his ear, sucking hard on the lobe until he’s the one bucking up. Imagine that. What works for the princess works for the big, bad biker.

“I think we’re gonna be real close friends.” His hands trace the top of my thong through my dress, and when he tugs gently on the tiny strip, I feel it right in my clit. My panties are his own personal leash to my libido. God, I should get up. Should go. Should—

“You like it slow,” he whispers roughly, and my thoughts grind to a happy halt. Right now, I’d like it however he wanted to give it to me.

“My fantasy,” I whisper back. “My rules.”

“You want to hear about mine?” He wraps my hair around his hand, pulling my head back until I meet his gaze.

“I have friends waiting for me.” I sound the opposite of decisive.

“Had a real shitty day, princess,” he growls. “Don’t make it worse by leaving now.”

“Funny,” I gasp. “Because mine is getting better by the second.”

“Tease,” he whispers softly, but he doesn’t sound mad any longer. “Didn’t think you’d play these kinds of games.”

I press down on him. “What kind?”

“The dirty kind.”

His fingers tighten in my hair and my heartbeat jacks up, announcing the imminent arrival of my first heart attack. We’re in public. Sure, the booth gives us some privacy, but it’s nowhere near enough for him to be all but fingering my pussy. Why don’t I mind? Why am I still sitting here on his lap, my legs hugging his hips like he’s my life raft in the Sea of Orgasm? His legs shift beneath me, the muscles bunching and pressing, and a new heartbeat explodes between my legs. Rev is dirty. Wicked. Biker. Outlaw. All the words drain right out of my head when his hand disappears between us. Oh my God, he’s going to touch me.

“Didn’t think you’d let me do this.”

His fingers stroke beneath the edge of my panties.

“Why not?”

“You usually date bikers?” His fingers move higher.

My breath catches.

“I don’t usually date,” I admit. “Tonight’s the first time in a long time for me, and I’m kind of sucking at it.”

I should care. I should feel bad that I’ve left people waiting for me at our table while I climb all over Rev like he’s the only orgasm left in town. Instead, all I can feel is the pleasure. He strokes along the crotch of my panties and my world stills and then explodes in a new beat. He works his finger beneath the edge and my pussy rolls out the welcome mat. Like he knows all I can do is wait, holding my breath and trying not to beg, he works the damp cotton against me, rubbing and pressing. They’re not even good panties, date night panties I wouldn’t mind flashing the world, but they’re my lifeline in the storm that is Rev. Just an everyday Hanes cotton thong that’s practical, sturdy and out of this world in Rev’s hands.

“You like these?” He tugs the side of my panties.

“They get the job done,” I say drily and he laughs.

“Guess that means you won’t miss them.”

He rips my panties apart with two sharp tugs and I don’t have a problem with that, either. Apparently, I’m up for whatever he wants to do tonight.

“Tell me about your day,” I gasp, desperate for distraction. I so need to put the brakes on this crazy attraction.

His knuckle finds my bare clit and presses. It’s too much, too fast, his fingers sliding over my slick, wet flesh. I feel my orgasm coming, and I want to stretch this moment out. Make it last as long as possible, because the best sex of my life shouldn’t be this short.

“Got some unresolved club business.” He circles my clit with his thumb and I reward him with a moan. “Some guys trying to run drugs on our turf. Not good for the neighborhood—civvies keep getting shot.”

“You’re worried about your neighbors?” It’s a minor miracle I can get the words out, because he makes another slow pass around my clit.

He gives me a hard look. “You don’t think I should love my neighbor as myself, sunshine?”

Right now, the only loving I’m worried about is what’s happening between us. He presses. I moan.

“I don’t worry, princess. I fix shit.”

From the expression on his face, those drug dealers will be out of business shortly. Rev clearly has a plan and a goal for shutting them down and part of me wants to stand up and applaud him. I mean, I probably don’t want to know exactly how he intends to eliminate the drug trade from the streets he’s claimed, but the idea’s solid. Instead of saying anything, however, I slide down, more than meeting him halfway. God. I need him in me, and not just his fingers.

A throat clears behind us. “Eve?”

Oh shit. I turn around at light speed, ignoring the way Rev groans when my knee rams into his thigh. Jack takes an involuntary step backward, looking uncomfortable.

“Hi,” I bleat, sounding like the idiot I am.

“I’m headed out.” From the way Jack’s looking at us, he knows exactly what we were doing—and he won’t be calling me. “Play some blackjack and then head home. You okay?”

“Fine. You go on.” My face is probably tomato-red. Jack is the perfect recipe for a forever man, and he’s just busted me humping another guy. It’s not like meeting him here at the casino was my idea (thank you, Samantha), but I still feel bad. I picked him out of the phone lineup, and now I officially suck. He won’t give me a second chance—and worse? I don’t want one.

What I want is to come, to demand Rev finish what he started. We haven’t exchanged much small talk, and we haven’t done any of the get-to-know-you stuff that you’re supposed to do before you hook up. But I know some important things about him already. He’s a member of the Hard Riders MC, which means that he lives for the club and he plays by a code I can’t always agree with. He’s loyal. He’s protective as fuck. He’ll never bring me roses or stop by Hallmark, but it’s not as if I’m planning on doing that for him, either. I’m an equal opportunity kind of girl and I might be up for borrowing his penis, but there’s no long-term in dating a biker.

Which is why I scoot off his lap as Jack turns and walks away. I’ll bet he’s thinking he had a near miss. That if I’d hook up with a different guy when we’d just met that I’d do worse down the road. Rev’s phone buzzes and naturally he checks it. Those fingers moving over the screen were just—

He makes a rough sound. “Got a meeting or we’d be discussing this further.”

This is a first. My dating life hasn’t been a flaming success, but the guys I’ve met have been interested in pussy first, fun second and nothing else third. Sometimes, they’ve mixed it up and put the fun first, but they’ve never left a sure thing for a meeting.

That’s okay.

“Go.” I slide out of the booth. Rev is more than a little out of my league. I like playing games, but I’m not even sure this man knows how to play.

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