The Dust and the Roar Read online

  “Grace—you got it?” he asked. “I’m not going to last much longer. You’re making me fucking crazy.”

  How considerate of him to communicate.

  I had learned how to be self-sufficient. There hadn’t been much real communication with the men I had slept with over the years, just a lot of show on their part. I ground up into Miller and chased my peak. I tightened my inner muscles around him and circled my hips. His mouth hung open, his forehead furrowed with the strain. Then his gaze darted down my body. His hand dug into my hip, his teeth sank into my shoulder.

  Miller stroked faster, over and over. The only thing left was to succumb to that rolling storm of sensation. It finally burst and crashed over me. My fingers dug into his back, and I released myself into that sweet, crazy haze. His grip on me tightened, his body suddenly stiffened. I held my breath as he jolted into me. He buried his face in my neck where he muffled a string of curses. Our bodies were veiled in a sheen of sweat. He raised his head, his eyes were fierce. His mouth crushed mine, and I hooked both my legs around his, my fingers raking through his short hair.

  Miller’s hand slid down my damp skin, stopping at my hip. “Babe, you are some kind of hungry,” he said, his breathing shallow.

  “Oh?” My nerve endings still vibrated with electricity. “You were pretty enthusiastic yourself.”

  “You fired me up.” His fingers teased one of my nipples. “Has it been a while?”

  Was I that obvious?

  “Yes.”

  “How long is a while?” His voice was gentle.

  “Does it matter?” I closed my eyes against the tingles his fingers created.

  “Tell me.” He pressed his pelvis against mine. I squirmed at the sweet pressure. My hands slid over his smooth contoured chest barely visible in the glow of light. Disappointment crept over me that I couldn’t see that tattoo. “Grace?”

  “A year. . . or so.”

  “Or so?” His eyes flashed through the shadows, his lips brushed mine.

  “Hmm.” My body shifted underneath his, but he didn’t unpin his formidable weight from me.

  “Why, babe? You’re beautiful, you’re. . .”

  I put my fingers to his lips. “Needed a vacation from the bullshit, that’s all.” I didn’t want to continue in this line of conversation. His lips sucked my fingertips into his mouth, and my defensiveness melted into a puddle at his feet.

  “There is plenty of bullshit out there.” He let out a sigh. “Plenty.” His tongue traced a wet trail around my nipple as his fingers caressed my other breast.

  “It’s just not worth it most of the time,” I whispered. My gaze was riveted on his mouth taking in my aching breast and sucking on it. My body tightened and released to him all in one wave.

  “But you took a chance on me?” The edges of his lips curled against my delicate skin.

  “Yeah.” My fingers burrowed into his crop of very short hair.

  “Was I worth it?” Miller rubbed my wet, aching nipple between his thumb and forefinger, then pinched it. I gasped, and my foot dug into his rear. “Did I make up for what you’ve been missing?”

  I lightly kicked at the firm muscles of his sublime ass and smirked. “You made a dent.”

  His eyes narrowed over me as his thumb grazed my swollen lips. He didn’t laugh, smirk back at me, or return with a clever comeback. He didn’t take the bait. My ribbing, my jokes to distract and deflect from any kind of serious inquiry into me didn’t seem to work with Mr. Miller, like it always had with other men. He remained still and studied my face, his warm fingers stretched out over my throat and around my neck, my heart thrumming at his touch. We studied each other in silence, our shallow breaths mingling.

  “I’m honored,” he whispered.

  I believed him.

  He pulled out of me slowly and leaned over me. His mouth hovered over mine for a second, his breath warm on my skin while my fingers lingered on the side of his face. His lips nuzzled mine gently, then he tilted his head the other way and kissed me again, very slowly. His mouth pulled away just a bit, then descended once more, even softer, relishing every part of my lips. His tongue finally found mine, but then he trapped my bottom lip in his teeth.

  “Oh—”

  “You good for another go?”

  “Hmm.” I rubbed the back of one of his long legs with my foot and savored the sensation of his body pressed against mine.

  “That a yes or a no?” His warm mouth nuzzled my throat, his tongue flicked at my skin.

  “Yes, yes,” I said, and he only chuckled. The sound of his subdued laughter deep in his chest only turned me on more without a trace of shame.

  “Let me get rid of this condom first.” Miller pushed himself up off the bed. I sighed and stretched out. He licked my navel, and I laughed. He peeled the used rubber off himself and tossed it in the wastebasket between the bed and the table and quickly found another packet ripping it open. A very motivating sound in my current state.

  “Let me do it,” I said. I suddenly needed to touch his hardness, to feel it, to feel him. I sat up. Miller’s face was partly visible in the shadows. He pressed the condom into my unsteady hand.

  My fingers skimmed over his tense abs and wrapped around his cock. It was thick, warm, and slick with his release. My fingers stroked its hard length, and I bent over and licked around the smooth crown. I took his thickness in my mouth and sucked slowly from base to tip. Miller’s fingers dug through my hair, and he raised his hips higher, hissing in air. My body jerked at the illicit sound.

  “Babe. . . oh, shit. . . wait,” he murmured. “I want to fuck you now, want to come inside you.” His fingers found a nipple and squeezed, then released it just as quickly, a blaze of heat spiking through me. I slid the condom over his shaft and smoothed it firmly down his length.

  His hand squeezed my shoulder, then he pushed me back against the mattress and my eyes lifted to his searing gaze. There was hunger in those dark orbs and a steely ruthlessness. No mercy. His mouth sank between my legs, and I let out a deep moan.

  He took his sweet time.

  “Miller!”

  My back arched off the bed. He immediately flipped me onto my knees, raising my hips, and rubbed his hard length between my ass cheeks. His cock slid down, teasing my needy, grateful center. My breath snagged, my pulse jammed.

  “Hold on, Grace.”

  My fingers curled into the tangle of sheets, and he drove inside me.

  * * *

  My eyes came unglued in the haze of a pale halo of light around the dark curtains of the single window in the room. I was pinned to the bed by an enormous weight, and the tingling in my limbs prickled. My insides were sore, and my skin smelled of sweat and musk. And sex.

  Now it came back to me. Lots of sex.

  I moved in small increments, and a still-asleep Miller finally rolled off me with a slight moan and settled on his back. I blinked at the sight of a large tattoo of a great eagle in profile. The eagle’s wings were spread across Miller’s shoulder and down his chest. I raised myself up on my elbow to get a better look. I never got to see it last night as we never turned on the lights. My fingers traced the outline of the majestic creature emblazoned across his tawny skin. One large wing pointed down, the other wing pointed up, and its end reached around the back of his neck. The image was rather elegant, dignified.

  Miller’s hand fluttered across his chest in response to my tickling touch. I bit my lower lip to suppress the giggle that rose in my throat. He let out a heavy sigh and twisted onto his stomach.

  And then I saw it.

  Ripples of pain tore through my gut.

  It had to be an illusion. A cosmic joke.

  But it wasn’t.

  My throat constricted. That ancient, wild thing inside me shifted and cut loose. That primitive beast that had taken me years to leash and constrain shimmered before me again in all its hideous glory.

  No. No. NO.

  Tattooed on Miller’s back was the logo that had been fo
rever burned into my brain, branded on my heart, and scorched onto my soul from a very young age. I struggled for air. My bleary eyes took in the familiar lines of the skull with one eye socket enlarged, and a great star glowing its fiendish light from its blackened hollow. The leering skull was framed by that indelible name.

  The One-Eyed Jacks Motorcycle Club

  South Dakota

  My stomach caved in as if I had been punched, my mouth went dry, and icy darts shot down my spine.

  “Holy shit,” my voice broke. I clenched my jaw to stem the sour tide that rose in my throat.

  “Get gone!”

  My eyes widened as a voice from my past, from inside the deepest recesses of my soul, resounded in my brain and pummeled through my chest.

  “Get gone now, sweetheart!”

  I squeezed my eyes shut for a moment. “‘Miller,’ my ass,” I whispered to myself.

  We’d even had the goddamn Harley conversation, and he didn’t mention he rode, or that he had a bike. He didn’t even use it to get down my pants. Now that was impressive, Mr. Miller, or whatever your road name was. I sure was easy, wasn’t I?

  I gritted my teeth. Of course, this was all my fault. As if I hadn’t known when I first laid eyes on him: Here was biker material, here was rough, rugged American man. This was the kind of man I hadn’t let myself get close to in years. Was the attraction so overwhelming that I kicked all my logic out the door at the sight of him? Was I so much in denial about what made me tick? Obviously, the answer to those questions was a resounding yes.

  My eyes fell on the eagle ring on his finger. I knew I’d seen that very same ring before on someone else in the good old days. My instinct had warned me last night, but I had brushed it off in the name of hot sex. Such an idiot. I had plummeted headlong into the very thing I had wanted above all else to avoid.

  I had to get out of here. I had to get away from him. I eased up off the mattress and twisted my hair into a messy knot securing it with a band.

  There had been a sign at the entrance of the bar that declared “No Colors.” Any bikers who entered had to cover or remove their colors, the leather vests they always wore with their club patches, or not wear jackets that were marked with the same identifying patches. Dead Ringer’s Roadhouse was a decades old landmark on this stretch of the highway. Plenty of riders passed through here, and the owner wanted to avoid any trouble.

  Therefore Miller had himself covered up. But he was driving a cage—a vehicle, not a bike. He must have been making a delivery or a pickup somewhere under the radar. If you were in a cage you weren’t supposed to wear your colors, mandatory gear on your bike.

  Miller had probably stopped at the bar to take a leak and get a drink on his way home or on his way out. No, if he had time to spare to get laid he must have been on his way home to Meager. He had even pointed out his truck to me last night as we crossed through the parking lot on the way to the motel. I had actually smiled at the sight of his black GMC.

  “Get gone now.”

  I stuffed my duffel bag with the makeup, face cleanser, body lotion, deodorant, and perfume that I had scattered on the small bathroom counter. I dashed to my jeans that lay twisted on the floor and yanked them up my legs, not even bothering to look for my missing panties. My bra poked out from under Miller’s jeans, and I snatched it up and hooked it on. . .that I couldn’t do without. I nabbed my socks and boots and shoved them on. My crumpled T-shirt reeked of last night’s indulgences. I shoved it in my bag and plucked a fresh one, stretching it over my head and through my arms.

  The heel of my boot stepped on something unusually thick, and my gaze darted down. A black leather vest with the club’s logo on it and a variety of patches was stuffed inside his black hoodie.

  I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

  Part of a silver and black patch glared at me. I could barely make out the words “Road Captain.”

  He had most definitely been under the radar last night. If he had only unzipped that hoodie in the bar, if I had seen even a hint of his colors, I would have run like hell on the spot. But no, I had to kiss him back, I had to suck on his beautiful tongue, I had to push my tits into his chest.

  Stupid.

  I bit down on my trembling lip as I slowly zipped my duffel bag closed. I nabbed my car keys, the room key, slipped on my old leather jacket, and swung my large studded suede handbag over my shoulder. My fingers gripped the doorframe as I turned to take one last look at Miller. The incognito biker’s magnificent naked body lay face down on our snarled sheets. His sleek tattooed back rose with every deep and even breath of sleep. The hard angle of his lean jaw jutted forward on the smashed pillow, the lines of his intriguing face slack, his fingers curled around the edges of the pillowcase. The silver eagle ring glimmered in the soft pink glow of dawn sifting through the drapes.

  That gorgeous hard ass my hands couldn’t get enough of last night mocked me now. The sleek, powerful body that had held me, moved inside me, and gave me so much pleasure for hours was now only an ominous presence and left me numb. I slumped against the doorjamb, my eyelids sank.

  “Get gone,” I whispered.

  I carefully turned the knob and pulled open the door, stepping out of the room into the cold cloudiness of a day that I had dreaded dawning for a long, long time.

  Now it was here, and I had even more reasons to dread it.

  * * *

  Start reading Lock & Key, now free on all retailers

  Four epic tales of redemption & revolution,

  Blazing secrets & daring risks

  Burning first loves in their 20s

  Bold second chances in their 40s

  1 - Lock & Key

  2 - Random & Rare

  3 - Iron & Bone

  4 - Blood & Rust

  * spinoff standalone - FURY

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  Books by Cat Porter

  Lock & Key

  Random & Rare

  Iron & Bone

  Blood & Rust

  Lock & Key Christmas

  Lock & Key Series Boxed Set books 2 - 4

  The Dust and the Roar

  Fury

  Dagger in the Sea

  Mediterranean Romantic Suspense Adventure

  Wolfsgate

  Historical Romance

  Acknowledgments

  This book would not have been written if it were not for the passion of my dear friend and reader fan, Jo Stevens who insisted Wreck needed a book. After several years of online sisterhood with Jo and her bestie MJ, I finally met them both at a signing in Kentucky this past year, and again, they both said “You’re writing Wreck next, right? Wreck needs a book, and we need Wreck.” And that is the sole reason that, when I got home halfway across the planet, I sat down with Wreck, a notebook and pen, and an espresso at my local beach bar and said, give me what you got. And Wreck didn’t stop giving.

  Initially, I thought I’d get away with a slice of life novella, but his and Isi’s story took on a huge, transformative, unexpected life of its own which has only enriched the Lock & Key series and my new book ideas, and also enhanced my own writing life. And I loved every minute of it. Thank you Jo, MJ, and all the Cat Callers who seconded Jo’s motion!

  To my editors, Christina and Jenn. You’ve both, guided me and supported my vision, held my hand and lit the way when things got cloudy and unclear and noisy. Thank you for keeping me true to myself and pushing me in all the right ways and directions for more, more, more. You are both my queens and I can’t imagine creating without you at my side. And Christina, thank you for all the South Dakota goodies that got my wheels turning fervently last summer, especially my Black Hills toy buffalo from Wall Drug! Such timing, as ever.

  To Lori for another fantastic and so much fun collaboration on the cover and feel of this special book. It was truly magical how i
t all came together. It’s a joy to work and play with you, babe.

  To my beta readers, Alison, Dawn, Jan, Larri, Lena, Natalie, Needa, Lena, Rachel, for all the precious nuggets of wisdom you each shared with me to make this book flow and shine in the best possible way. It’s not glamorous work, but it is a fundamental and vital part of the journey. Each of you offered something unique and necessary. (And special thanks to Jenni for all your proofreading backup!)

  To Linda of Foreword PR and Alissa for all your crazy navigational skills through the high seas at all hours!

  To authors Willow Aster, Carian Cole, Autumn Jones Lake, Victoria Paige, Claire Riley and to Ellen of The Book Bellas blog, for your friendship and support. To my Dirties in the Nati, my Nashville babes, and to Alison, Kim (and your big ass truck), and Korrie, you are the besssst! To all the book bloggers, readers and reviewers, Twitterers, and bookstagrammers, I thank you for reading and taking the time to write and leave reviews and for generously sharing your book love online with your amazing artistic imagery and kind words. And to my Cat Callers for their passion and enthusiasm, I am so grateful for our corner of Facebook and so thankful for you.

  And South Dakota, one day, one day soon.

  About the Author

  Cat Porter was born and raised in New York City, but also spent a few years in Texas and Europe along the way, which made her as wanderlusty as her parents. As an introverted, only child, she had very big, but very secret dreams for herself. She graduated from Vassar College, was a struggling actress, an art gallery girl, special events planner, freelance writer, restaurant hostess, and had all sorts of other crazy jobs all hours of the day and night to help make those dreams come true. She has two children’s books traditionally published under her maiden name.