Ride me, p.1
Ride Me, page 1
RIDE ME
JORDAN MARIE
RIDE ME SWEETHEART/RIDE ME
Copyright © 2021 / © 2022 by Jordan Marie
All rights reserved.
No part of this publication may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever, including but not limited to being stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the written permission of the author.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, groups, businesses, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Cover Designer by: Cormar Covers
WARNING: This book contains sexual situations, violence and other adult themes. Recommended for 18 and above.
Created with Vellum
CONTENTS
Blurb
1. Finley
2. Keys
3. Finley
4. Keys
5. Finley
6. Keys
7. Finley
8. Keys
9. Finley
10. Keys
11. Finley
12. Keys
13. Finley
14. Keys
15. Finley
16. Keys
17. Finley
18. Finley
Epilogue
Sneak Peek
Jordan’s Early Access
Social Media Links
Also by Jordan Marie
As the Vice President of the Chrome Saints MC, “Keys” Valor is a complete cynic.
Nothing could surprise him.
* * *
He’s seen the absolute worst in people.
But he’s never seen the likes of Finley Akers.
* * *
She’s sassy and sweet, with a body that makes every single part of him stand at attention.
* * *
In his world, women only have one use.
And he sure wouldn’t mind taking Finley for a ride, but that’s it.
* * *
The problem is, she doesn’t fall for his charm.
Instead, she gives him hell every time she gets a chance.
* * *
Too bad that just turns him on more.
* * *
If she keeps it up, Keys might just keep her…
Forever.
1
FINLEY
It’s Colorado.
We’re supposed to be cold this time of year, but someone forgot to tell Mother Nature about that. Clearly, she’s hot flashing—which explains why I’m sweating like a hooker in church at altar call. Still, I can’t complain. I get to wash up all my babies and make them presentable—in hopes of getting them adopted to their forever homes this week.
Valentine’s Day is a mere six days from today and though the traditional gift is usually diamonds, chocolate and flowers, I’m hoping the flyers I’ve given out along with the ad I’m running on the local radio station will encourage people to give the gift of adopted fur babies instead.
“Come on, Stinker! It’s just a bath!” I grumble to the giant—mostly Saint Bernard—doggy, which has been in the shelter for three weeks now. He’s adorable, but he’s also older. He’s at least five or six, and his hopes of being adopted are slim at best. “You’ve got to help me help you!” I encourage him. Stinker—yes, that’s the name I gave him, but purely out of affection—just whines. His paws and head are lying flat on the cement, refusing to budge.
I’ve bathed every single dog here, but I saved Stinker for last because I know he hates baths. I also knew he would fight me. What I didn’t know was that he would lay down on the cement and somehow flatten his body out so that his normally overweight body at two-hundred-fifty-eight pounds is now dead weight, feeling more like a thousand. I have a guy that helps me with this kind of thing, but he’s off sick today. I thought I could handle it all on my own.
Clearly, I was an idiot.
I could just wait until tomorrow, but I really want this done. If there’s any hope at all for Stinker to get his forever home, I want to do everything I can. I’d really like to keep him with me, but I don’t think I’m going to stick around. I took the job with the Sweetheart Animal Shelter, because I wanted to help the abandoned pets find forever homes. It was an added bonus that the shelter gave me a place to stay while I figured things out.
Sweetheart is a great town, I guess. I just don’t feel like I belong here. I keep trying, but I don’t think this cheerful town that seems to have overdosed on Cupid is for me.
It’s not that I’m depressed or even sad. I just don’t believe in happily ever after and Sweetheart, Colorado definitely does.
I work for thirty minutes trying to get Stinker to the tub. Pushing him in that direction only succeeds in frustrating me and making Stinker whine while letting out a big wave of gas.
Yep, that’s how he got the name.
I swear when this dog lets gas out, it smells bad enough to raise the dead. I try holding my breath, but some smells can’t be blocked. I decide to move to the front of the dog. Stinker’s breath isn’t great, but anything is better than what I’m currently getting. I bend over and secure my arms around Stinker, doing my best to pull him toward the water. It takes me a bit and a lot of effort, but I finally get a little movement.
“Jesus, Stinker, we need to put you on a high protein diet or something,” I huff, still tugging away. Stinker, for his part, just breathes out and manages to sound annoyed with me. I tug and tug, but Stinker resists. My legs hit the back of the tub, which startles me. I really didn’t think I’d made that much progress. It must surprise Stinker, too, because he jerks backwards. The movement of his head somehow dislodges my hold. I’m already off balance because I hit the tub of water and it splashed out on my pants. When Stinker moves like that, I fall backwards so abruptly that I can do nothing but cry out, landing into the tub of soapy water. I blow soapy bubbles out of my face, scrunching my nose up and wiping the rest with the back of my hand.
Suddenly, I hear laughter and look up to see a really tall guy standing over me. He’s wearing a leather vest with a plain white undershirt. His arms are bare except for the worn sleeves. He’s got sunglasses on. His hair looks like it was more on the dark blonde side of life at one time, but now has grown more brown with a hint of gray here and there. He’s tall, but not overly so, maybe somewhere around five-eleven to six foot. Of course, I’m five-nine, so that could just be my opinion. He has obvious muscles, but he’s not a gym rat, which I can definitely appreciate. I’d probably enjoy the show he’s offering if I wasn’t soaking wet and cold—not to mention the fact that Stinker is walking away and going to the old willow tree where he likes to lay when I let him run free in the fenced-in yard of the shelter.
“Great, now he’s gone. I’ll never get him back here for a bath,” I mutter to myself.
“No offense, but you seem to be the only one here taking a bath,” the man says, laughing.
I climb out of the tub—and I’m not graceful about it. The truth is, I’m not really graceful in general. I stand up, wiping down the big, fluffy, white bubbles that are clinging to my pants. And shirt.
“Can I help you with something?” I mumble, not bothering to hide my annoyance.
“Just stand right there and let me enjoy the show,” he literally purrs.
I look up at him, my brow furrowed with confusion until I see him leering at me—and really, that’s the only word for it. He’s leering. I look down and see my shirt has been soaked. You can see my blue bra beneath, the color visible now against the wet shirt. That would be embarrassing enough, but clearly it’s cold and my nipples don’t like it.
I refuse to cover up. Somehow, I think that would just make the man happier. So instead, I choose to ignore it—probably not my smartest move, but it is what it is.
“Yo, Einstein, eyes up here,” I snap.
“As gorgeous as your eyes are, I have to say, the view is better a little lower,” he says with a smirk, taking his sunglasses off and hooking them on his pocket.
“You seriously did not just say that to me.”
“I guess I did. What’s your name?” My body snaps tense, eyes narrowing.
“It doesn’t matter because you won’t be using it,” I huff.
“Up to you, sweetheart. I’ll just make up my own name for you.”
“I wouldn’t waste my time. Is there a reason you’re here?”
“My bike broke down on the main road and for some reason, ever since I hit this damn town, my cell signal has been as non-existent as a motherfucker.”
“Lucky me it was my place it happened at,” I grumble with a sigh.
“More like lucky me from where I’m standing, baby.”
“I’m not your baby,” I reply, not able to even believe how ridiculous he’s being.
“You could be,” he says with a smirk.
“You should shut up now before I decide not to let you use my phone,” I warn him. “Come around front and I’ll get my phone so you can call George.”
“George?”
“He owns Sweetheart Garage and Towing,” I respond, already walking toward the front of the building. I can hear the weirdo—good looking, but still weird—following behind me.
“Oh, I just need to call the Saints in Stillwater,” he says, and I frown looking over my shoulder.
“Saints? Are you with a church?” I ask, not bothering to hide the mocking tone in my voice.
< br /> “I’m not sure they’d let the likes of me in a church, sweet cheeks. It’s my club—well a chapter of my club. I’m from Kentucky.”
“You’re a biker?” I ask, pumping him for information, as we round the corner of the house.
“You got something against that?” he asks, and I roll my eyes even though he can’t see.
“The only thing I have against you is the fact that if you don’t stop calling me that obnoxious nickname, I’m going to have to kill you. I don’t really want to go to jail. I need to wash my hair tonight.”
I hear the man laughing, but I don’t bother turning around.
“I’ll be right back with my phone.”
I run inside, grabbing a jacket, putting it on before I do anything else. When I come back outside, I have my cell phone in my hand. Mr. Cocky is standing there leaning against the railing of the steps, waiting. I know the minute he laughs he’s mocking me for putting a jacket on. I ignore it.
“Here you go,” I tell him.
He reaches out to get the phone, his fingers brushing against mine. He’s got ink on his arms and his fingers. I’d like to say it’s not hot, but it is. I ignore that fact, along with the fact that his touch feels like an electrical current.
“Thanks, sweet cheeks,” he says, dialing the phone.
“Seriously, just stop,” I demand, but he’s already talking to someone on the phone.
“They’ll be here in an hour,” he says when he hangs up.
“That’s good,” I respond standing there watching him.
“Want some help washing your dog?”
“Excuse me?”
“You looked like you could use some help,” he says with a shrug. “I apparently have some time.”
“No thanks. I think I can handle it.”
“Scared, sweet cheeks?”
“Of you,” I laugh. “Not hardly. I just find you obnoxious.”
“I don’t know. It sounds like you’re scared to spend time with me.”
“Oh, please.”
“C’mon. You and I both know you’re not going to get that dog bathed without help. I’m offering. What have you got to lose?”
I scrunch my nose up, knowing I need to send the guy back to his bike and away from me.
“I don’t want—”
“Bawk, bawk, bawk,” he laughs softly, trying to imitate a chicken and doing it rather badly.
“I must be insane,” I grumble, walking toward the back of the yard.
“Is that a yes, sweet cheeks?”
“I think it’s only fair to warn you that while you’re washing the dog, I’m going to be plotting your murder,” I warn him.
“You wouldn’t be the first woman to do so,” he responds dryly.
“Now that I would believe,” I reply, snarky as hell. I can’t believe I’m letting someone so annoying help me. I have no idea why I’m agreeing either. He’s a jerk and I’m sure it has nothing to do with the fact that he’s hot. Seriously it doesn’t. Really! “Let’s get this over with,” I tell him looking around for Stinker.
“Sounds good. Since we’re going to be working together, are you going to give me your name, or do I just go ahead and make one up like I threatened?” he asks as we walk over to Stinker. I look up at him, cutting him an annoyed look without replying. His full lips spread into a smile. I shouldn’t find that sexy—but I kind of do. Damn it. “Okay then, I’ll just make one up.”
“If it makes you happy,” I breathe.
“Does your dog bite?”
“Only if you’re a steak,” I tell him.
He somehow manages to pick Stinker up in his arms without any help.
“That’ll work Alotta Melons.”
Alotta Melons?
“Oh my God, you’re insane,” I laugh. I shouldn’t find his make-believe names hilarious, but I do.
“I did warn you,” he says, dropping Stinker into the water and not even sounding winded.
“I guess you did. Maybe it’d be better if you didn’t talk and we just hurry and get Stinker washed. Okay?”
“Sounds good to me. Feel free to take your jacket off and get your t-shirt wet again if you want,” he says.
“I’ll keep that in mind, Lance Softwood,” I respond with a smirk, refusing to look up at him again.
I’m rewarded with the man’s rich, full-bellied laugh. I don’t know why that should make me feel like I won some kind of special prize… but it does.
2
KEYS
“Damn. Do you do this all the time?” I ask her, sitting down on one of the chair’s she has sitting around outside.
“Not all the time, but often enough. I’m trying to get them homes for Valentine’s Day.”
“I thought girls liked chocolate and candy for that God-awful day.”
“Is there a law against both?” she asks and since she has a point, I just shrug.
I watch a smile play on the corner of her lips as she hands me a beer and sits down beside me. Her legs stretch out, resting on the small table in front of the chairs. My feet are right beside hers and I’ve got to say, I don’t hate how it feels. Her feet are encased in muck boots, but they have little pink and green umbrellas all over them. Now it’s my turn to smile.
I take a swig of my beer and my gaze moves to her as I watch her open her own. She takes a drink and lets out a big, “Ahhh,” in a groan that my cock likes almost as much as I like being close to her. Breaking down in a town that looks like it vomited pukey-pink diarrhea medicine sure is turning out better than I thought it would.
“You like beer?” I ask the obvious.
“Does a bear shit in the woods?” she asks and this time my smile becomes a full-on laugh.
“You’re different, Justine Beaver,” I mutter, watching her face for a reaction. She nearly strangles on her beer as she tries not to laugh. Her red hair has been gathered on top of her head. She doesn’t have make up on, and she’s still got that jacket on that hides those big, perfect tits of hers from my eyes. She’s the most gorgeous piece of ass I’ve ever laid my eyes on.
“Gee, Tom Wanker, I appreciate that,” she mutters.
I give out a chuckle. Right now, I’m wondering if there’s such a thing as a perfect woman. I didn’t think so, but this chick is definitely making me change my mind.
“I think you like playing games with me, woman,” I eventually respond, my gaze unable to move away from her.
“How do you figure?” she asks, her hazel eyes appraising me, and I swear I can see the green in them sparkle brightly.
“You’re trying to make me fall in love and you won’t even tell me your name,” I respond, making her roll her eyes. She doesn’t, however, give me her name. All this time, I thought I didn’t like the girls who made me work for it. Turns out, I’ve been wrong. “What’s next to do around here?” I ask out of mild curiosity. Mostly, I just want to get her to keep talking. Her voice is like aged whiskey—smooth and heats you from the inside out.
“I think I’m tapped out for the day,” she murmurs, and she’s looking down the road. I frown. Is she looking down the road wondering when the club will be here to pick up my bike? I don’t like that shit at all. I like this woman in a way I can’t remember ever liking another person—let alone a woman. When I first broke down, I pushed my bike to the driveway of the shelter, not knowing I’d find a woman who would shake my world on its axis, but that’s exactly what I’ve found. So, the fact that she might be looking for the people that are coming to pick me up is something I find more than a little annoying.
“What about the cats?” I ask her.
“Excuse me?”
“Don’t you bath the cats here, too?”
She stares at me for a minute and then shakes her head after giving a small laugh. “You’re volunteering to bathe the cats?”
