Bait Read online

  BAIT

  Mia Carson

  No part of this book may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form without the prior written permission of the author.

  Mia Carson

  Copyright 2018

  Contents

  BAIT

  Prologue

  Carolyn

  Thom

  Carolyn

  Thom

  Carolyn

  Thom

  Carolyn

  Thom

  Carolyn

  Thom

  Carolyn

  Thom

  Carolyn

  Thom

  Carolyn

  Thom

  Carolyn

  Thom

  Carolyn

  Thom

  Carolyn

  Thom

  Carolyn

  Thom

  Carolyn

  DADDY SECRETS

  Ella

  Levi

  Ella

  Levi

  Levi

  Ella

  Levi

  Ella

  Levi

  Ella

  Levi

  Ella

  Levi

  Ella

  Levi

  Ella

  Levi

  Ella

  Levi

  Ella

  Levi

  Ella

  Levi

  Ella

  Levi

  GUITLY IN BED

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  About the Author

  BAIT

  BAIT

  Prologue

  I was about two seconds from coming when Trip-B slammed the door open and rushed into the room. Because I was right on the edge of my second climax, the banging open of the door didn’t register with me. It was just more background noise in the always noisy clubhouse. That was my first mistake.

  Trip-B’s name was actually Randi Halston, but at six feet tall and full of bad attitude, everyone called her the Big, Badass, Bitch—Triple B—or Trip-B for short. The guys liked her and kept her around because she had big breasts, liked to rough fuck, and could drink and swear equal to any of the men. The rest of us women didn’t like her because of her attitude. She seemed to get off on hurting people and had kicked the shit out of more than one woman in the club who had crossed her, so we avoided her as much as possible. She wore the fact the women in the club ostracized her like a badge of honor and went out of her way to stir up trouble.

  Scott Rockford, road name Rock, was the President of the Ravens Motorcycle Club, and even though he was twelve years older than me, he was still one good-looking son-of-a-bitch. Not only was he good-looking, but he liked fucking, knew how to use his cock, and was using it on me right now.

  I’d started out as a RMC club girl, putting out for whoever wanted a piece, but after six years of sucking and fucking on demand, Rock had taken an interest in me. After two more, he made me his old lady. We weren’t married because Rock wasn’t the marrying type, but being his old lady put me off limits to the other Ravens unless Rock gave his permission. That was the way of the club. Women were property to be guarded or shared as their man wished.

  When I arrived at the club after work, Rock was waiting for me. He was horned up, hard, and ready to go. As soon as he saw me, he came to me, pinned me against the wall, and dry fucked me as he kissed the shit out of me. I was always up for a good hard fucking and having him come on so strong made me instantly horny. I gave as good as I got, thrusting against him as he bit and sucked my neck, and we began stripping each other. Our passions were taking us, so we retired to one of the five guest quarters contained in the Ravens’ clubhouse before we started fucking in the common room.

  “What the fuck are you doing!?” Trip-B snarled as I bounced on Rock’s hard cock.

  Even though I heard her speak, her words were lost to me as my climax washed over me, and I groaned through another hard orgasm. She never gave me a chance to recover. I was still caught in the teeth of my climax as she strode the three steps to the bed, grabbed me by the hair, and pulled me off Rock’s cock. I fell to the floor on my knees, my hands gripping Trip-B’s fist tangled in my hair as I tried to relieve the pain.

  “What the fuck, bitch?” I snarled as I tried to get to my feet.

  “I’m going to kick your ass!”

  I should have called time out and found out what was going on, but I was so enraged that she burst into the room, grabbed me by the hair, and pulled me off Rock just as I was coming, I went red with fury. The fact her shirt was hanging open, showing off her tits, should have clued me in something was amiss, but I was too mad to care. I also knew if I backed down from the challenge, my standing in the club would be diminished. Getting your ass kicked wasn’t as damaging as backing down from a fight.

  All of that flashed through my mind in an instant. I was acting on pure rage and adrenaline, and the fact I was already at a severe disadvantage, bent over at the waist with Trip-B’s hand in my hair never entered my mind. That was my second mistake.

  “Fuck you, bitch! I’m going to make you wish you’d—” I snarled, trying to get her hand out of my hair.

  I screamed in pain as she hauled me upright by my hair, forced my head back to expose my throat, and drew her free hand back. Her slap left my ears ringing as I reeled backwards and fell across the bed, my death grip on the wrist of the hand in my hair pulling her down on top of me.

  You can’t be in RMC for ten years without learning a few things. The men let the women sort out their own problems, and I’d been in couple of catfights where I’d come out on top. Thinking I could handle Trip-B even though she was five years younger, seven inches taller, and at least forty pounds heavier, was my third, and most egregious, mistake.

  We bounced on the bed, the fall allowing me to get myself together. I was still hurting from the hair pulling and the slap, but now Trip-B didn’t have all the advantages. I wrapped my hands in her hair and hauled her head sideways. Even though she was lying on me, she couldn’t pull my hair and I took full advantage of my position.

  Anyone who thinks women fighting is sexy has never seen women actually fight. Catfights in porn, where two women are humping and grinding themselves to orgasm while pulling hair and grabbing breasts, is a bunch of shit. There’s nothing remotely sexy about a fight in real life. Trip-B had hurt me, and I was going to hurt her as much as I could in return. She shrieked with pain as I hauled on her head, my teeth bared in a feral snarl. Even though I was pinned, now I was the one dishing out the pain.

  We were frozen, unable to move, hands tangled in hair, our teeth bared as we struggled to destroy each other while trying to withstand the pain the other was inflicting. Suddenly, Trip-B was gone, hauled off me by Hearts and Luscious. I cried out as I went with her, Trip-B refusing to release my hair.

  “Let them go!” Rock roared as Hearts and Luscious separated us. “This has been a long time coming. Let them settle it!”

  I looked at him in shock, wondering what the fuck he was talking about. “What?” I snarled.

  “But, Rock,” Hearts began. She was my best friend and the wife and old lady of Jim Buehler, road name Scooby, the Vice-President. We always had each other’s back.

  “Let them go!” he ordered as other men and women arrived to see what the screaming was about, crowding into the room and looking in through the door.

  The president’s word was law, so Hearts released Trip-B as Luscious did the
same to me. Trip-B lunged at me, losing her shirt as Hearts held it for a fraction to give me a tiny advantage. It wasn’t enough.

  I tried to set to take her charge, but she hit me like a fucking freight train as men and women began to cat-call and cheer. She drove me backwards into the bathroom door, the door crashing open as we tumbled to the hard floor with a teeth-rattling thud.

  We scrambled around on the floor, kicking and squirming, crying out in pain and rage as we tumbled and rolled, banging into the hard porcelain of the toilet and tub or the wood cabinet supporting the sink. She was too strong to handle, and I was getting my ass handed to me. We stumbled to our feet, my arm locked around her head. She was slapping and clawing at my back, stomach, and breasts as she tried to fight her way out of my hold. I twisted her, trying to get away from her claws, screaming in pain as she opened bloody gouges everywhere.

  She forced the heel of my foot against the tub and I began to overbalance. I strained with everything I had, trying to force her back, but it wasn’t enough. We both cried out in anticipation of the pain as we tumbled into the tub, tearing the shower curtain down as we fell.

  The impact broke us apart, my shoulder searing in pain from the impact. We both lay still for a moment, gasping in pain, but Trip-B recovered first. She slipped my loosened hold and rolled over so I was on the bottom. Realizing I was in mortal danger, I grabbed her hair and pulled savagely to the side. We tumbled, sliding and banging around in the bottom of the tub as we fought for advantage. I wanted to escape, but we were stuck, wrapping ourselves in the shower curtain, the slick vinyl making it impossible to get any grip on the tub, which prevented either of us from quickly disengaging. It was our last stand, and we both knew it. We would finish it here.

  We tumbled again as she arched her back, throwing me off. I still had my hands in her hair and had her head back, but my arms were exhausted and she finally pulled my hands free. Because we were ensnarled by the shower curtain, there wasn’t a lot she could do, but what she was able do was enough. Holding me down with her weight, she grabbed my head, lifted it, and slammed it into the bottom of the tub. It wasn’t enough to knock me out, but it hurt like a bitch and I saw stars. Then she did it again. Then again. I clawed at her, trying to hang on, but she swatted away my feeble attempts to grab her hair away and banged my head again. I wailed out in pain.

  “Stop! I give!” I cried, but she smashed my head again.

  My vision dimmed a moment as she pulled my head up to slam it again. Then she was gone, pulling my hair as I shrieked in pain, Trip-B almost pulling me out of the tub as Hearts, Luscious, and Saddle pulled her off me.

  “Let me go!” Trip-B yelled, lunging at me, but Luscious and Saddle dragged her out of the room as Hearts knelt beside me.

  I began to cry. I hurt everywhere, and I still didn’t know what happened or why Trip-B jumped in my shit. I rolled to my side, my back to Hearts, as I sobbed in pain. She carefully placed her hand on my shoulder.

  “Come on, Mikki. Let me help you,” she murmured after a moment. I rolled over to my back, and she took my hand as she assisted me out of the tub.

  Carolyn

  I snapped the leash on the hundred-pound ball of fur that was my charge for the week. I was babysitting Hoover, the Old English Sheepdog that belong to Mr. Ryder, the owner of Charlotte Harley Davidson. The Ryder family was out of town, visiting friends in Europe, and I’d volunteered to house- and dog-sit for the week so they wouldn’t have to board him.

  This was what my life had become in the three months since I turned my back on RMC. My free time used to be full of partying, fucking, and good times with friends. Now, all my old friends were lost to me and I was housesitting because I had nothing better to do. On the up side, Hoover was a loveable mutt, lying with his head in my lap Friday night, allowing me to slowly scratch his ears as I watched the Ryders’ giant television. Though the Ryders had a fenced backyard, it was such a lovely day I thought Hoover might enjoy a walk in the park. I knew I would. We were in the earliest part of spring and I was tired of being cooped up inside.

  “Come on,” I urged, leading the dog down the front steps to my car parked in the drive.

  I paused, frowning at my Mustang, wondering how this was going to work, or if it would work. I shrugged, unlocked it, and opened the passenger door. I slid the passenger seat forward and held my hand with the leash into the back.

  “Uh…jump!” Hoover looked at me, almost like he was laughing at me, his amazing blue eyes bright and his mouth hanging open. I twisted my mouth to the side as I thought, then patted the rear seat. “In you go, Hoover!” This time he jumped in with no trouble. “You’re such a good boy,” I purred, scratching his head as I dropped the lead into the floor.

  I slid the seat back, shut the door, then hurried around to the driver’s side. As I started the car, a giant fuzzy head appeared between the seat, the dog’s breath hot as he panted on the side of my face. I put my hand up between the seats and nudged him back. I turned the air conditioning up to high and directed the airflow to the back as much as possible.

  When the car started moving, Hoover settled into the seat. I couldn’t see him anymore, but I knew he was back there from the steam engine-like panting and the occasional smacking sound as he licked his lips. The car was warm, the interior heated by the spring-time sun, but even as the air conditioning cooled the car, the dog continued to pant. I finally decided that was normal for him and stopped worrying about it.

  When we reach the park, I picked up the leash and slid the seat forward. The dog nearly knocked me down in his enthusiasm, jumping out before I was fully out of the way. I snickered at his exuberance as he paused and looked at me, that same grinning look on his face. I smiled back at him and scratched him vigorously behind the ears before we started off.

  He walked with me pretty well, though I found out if he really wanted to go somewhere, there wasn’t a lot I could do to stop him. I only weighed thirty or forty pounds more than he did, and he had four-wheel drive. About ten minutes into the walk, he and I reached an unspoken agreement where I wouldn’t pull on him so long as he didn’t try to go too far off the path and didn’t stop for very long at a time.

  We were coming up on the backside of the park where there was a big open field. According to the sign that showed all the paths, if I stayed on this path I would eventually end up back at the parking lot where my car was parked. The total distance was about three miles, and the way Hoover was puffing and panting, that was probably plenty. I didn’t want to have to explain to Mr. Ryder how I walked his dog to death.

  As we came out of the copse of trees, Hoover stopped, his head up and ears perked forward. He stood still for a moment, then began charging for the two men playing Frisbee. I dug in my heels, hauling on the lead.

  “Hoover! No!” Shouting ‘no’ and pulling on the lead had, so far, been enough to make the dog stop pulling, but not this time. “No! Hoover!” I tried again as I held on tight and struggled to stop the dog. He was amazingly strong and nearly pulled me down.

  Hoover darted behind a man running along the path. As the lead snapped tight behind the man’s legs he stumbled as his stride was broken. Hoover continued to pull, determined to get to the men playing Frisbee. He pulled me sideways and right into the path of the man. Between his stumbling and my off-balance pulling on the leash, the impact was jarring, hard enough that I lost my grip on the lead.

  I cried out from the impact, surprise, and dismay as we began to fall, our legs tangling together and destroying any hope of either of us regaining our balance. His arms went around me, clamping me tight to his body as he twisted sideways, taking the brunt of the impact of the fall on his shoulder. We hit the ground in a bouncing, rolling, tangle of arms and legs.

  We lay still, stunned by the sudden and unexpected tangle, before he rolled to his back, still cocooning me protectively against his chest. The impact hurt, but the man’s protective embrace had spared me the worst of the fall. The collision had happened so f
ast, I couldn’t do anything for several heartbeats as I waited for my wits to return.

  “Oh my God!” I cried as I bounced to my feet, horrified by what had happened. “I’m so sorry! Are you okay?”

  He grimaced as he sat up and looked at his knee. I chilled as my eyes instinctively went to where he was looking. His knee was bleeding badly.

  “What the hell, lady?” he growled as he inspected his wound.

  “I’m so sorry! Oh my God! You’re bleeding! You want me to call an ambulance! I’m so sorry!” I was almost in a panic and was babbling, talking over him.

  “You need to get control of your damn dog!”

  “I know! I’m sorry! Are you okay? Do I need to call a doctor?”

  He stood up. “No,” he growled, limping around in a tight circle, trying to walk it off.

  As he tried to shake it off, I looked around and found Hoover, almost sighing in relief. The dog was standing at the side of the one of the guys with the Frisbee, looking at him with tongue lolling expectantly. The man pretended to throw the toy, the dog paying rapt attention, then running full speed in chase when the man threw the disc, the leash flapping behind, before the dog looped around the other man and stopped to watch and wait, ready to give chase again. It appeared he was happy where he was for the moment.