Pleasing Dom: A Bad Boy Motorcycle Club Romance: Broken Spires MC, #2

By Nicole Fox

Pleasing Dom is book 2 of the Broken Spires MC trilogy. Book 3, The Dom and Her, is available everywhere now!

I HAD A TASTE OF HER. NOW, I'M COMING FOR THE REST.

One more heist, and then I'll be done with this life for good.
In and out. I'd done it a million times. This will be no different.
At least, that's what I thought…
Then Erica showed up.

She was too delicious to pass up.
A pretty city girl in a world far removed from the one she knows.

In other words, easy prey.

Down here, we do things different.
When a man like me wants a woman like her, he doesn't stop to ask questions.
He just takes.
And takes.
And takes.
Until his hunger is sated.

And that's exactly what I did.
The stupid girl was about to get stabbed, but I had a different kind of penetration in mind.
I scooped her up, threw her across my bike, and took her home.

The rest was bare flesh and broken moans.

I wish it had ended there.
But you can't always get what you want.
And this little angel is trying her damndest to drag me back into the underworld I'm desperately trying to escape.

Cut it out, princess.
You don't give the orders around here – I do.
Now get on your knees.
I'm not going to ask twice.
 

• Language: English
• Publisher: MBK Hanson Inc.
• Release date: May 9, 2018
• ISBN: 9781386341352

Nicole Fox

Nicole Fox writes smart, sexy mafia romance novels. She is a crazy cat lady in her late 30s with a coffee addiction, an overactive imagination, and a husband who somehow puts up with her impulsive need to keep buying new plants for their house. Sign up for her mailing list at http://bit.ly/NicoleFoxMailingList. 

Book preview

Pleasing Dom: A Bad Boy Motorcycle Club Romance (Broken Spires MC) (Book 2)

By Nicole Fox

I HAD A TASTE OF HER. NOW, I’M COMING FOR THE REST.

ONE MORE HEIST, AND then I’ll be done with this life for good.

In and out. I’d done it a million times. This will be no different.

At least, that’s what I thought...

Then Erica showed up.

She was too delicious to pass up.

A pretty city girl in a world far removed from the one she knows.

In other words, easy prey.

Down here, we do things different.

When a man like me wants a woman like her, he doesn’t stop to ask questions.

He just takes.

And takes.

And takes.

Until his hunger is sated.

And that’s exactly what I did.

The stupid girl was about to get stabbed, but I had a different kind of penetration in mind.

I scooped her up, threw her across my bike, and took her home.

The rest was bare flesh and broken moans.

I wish it had ended there.

But you can’t always get what you want.

And this little angel is trying her damndest to drag me back into the underworld I’m desperately trying to escape.

Cut it out, princess.

You don’t give the orders around here – I do.

Now get on your knees.

I’m not going to ask twice.

Chapter One

Erica

It takes me an hour longer than usual to get home. Even though I have made the drive a million times before, I kept getting lost. Missing turns. Taking wrong ones. It was as if I was deliberately wandering the streets, looking for something.

Or perhaps, it was that going home meant closing my eyes. I suppose I was afraid of what waited behind those lids.

At last, however, exhaustion won over fear, and I found myself pulling into my dark, moonlit driveway. The air was cold when I stepped out of the car, but I did not mind it on my skin. It was as if everything––the cold, the pain in my chin, hip, and ankle––were a million miles away.

I entered the house, kicked off my clothing right onto the kitchen floor, and practically fell into the shower. The heat of it helped to get some feeling back into my skin, and I stayed in there for at least an hour, not even scrubbing, but simply letting the water wash over my trembling, aching bones. At long last, when the hot water ran out, I turned the shower off, toweled dry, and toppled into bed.

Still, I was afraid to close my eyes. To let my mind open up to the horrors that I was sure were waiting for me as soon as I relaxed.

I turned into my pillow, fighting back tears, my breath coming in great, wrenching gasps. It was then that I noticed, buried in the linen of my sheets and pillowcases, that familiar, intoxicating scent.

My sheets still smelled of Dominic. Cigarettes. Gasoline. Pine trees. The wind and skies and open roads.

My sheets smelled of freedom.

I clutched them to me, like a child clutching a comforting toy. Every scented breath I took was comfort, drawing life back into my body. It made me aware of the pain, yes, but also the good things. The fragrance, of course. The soothing coolness of my sheets. The soft embrace of the pillows. I realized that I missed a man’s touch. Brian’s? Dominic’s? I wasn’t sure. But a man’s.

Like someone meditating, I breathed in and out, only focusing on the smell, until, at long last, I fell asleep.

THAT NIGHT, I HAD A dream. I knew it was a dream in the same way that someone knows a movie must be fiction: because it is too good to be true. This dream was vivid––so lifelike that it could have been mistaken for real, if not for what happened within it.

I was back in my office. I could feel the linoleum floors beneath my feet. The polished smoothness of my desk upon my elbows. Hell, I could even smell that unique, but not unpleasant, office smell of freshly printed paper. The pile of reports I had been working on was splayed out before me, and even as I filled them out, the ink of my pen disappeared.

And yet, I did not despair. Instead, I raised my arms and swept them, in a single, fluid motion, into the bin. The fluttered down like leaves in the wind, and I smiled.

I’m sorry, Mr. Blade! I called, my voice deep and strong as a theater actress. But I simply will not do these! And it is preposterous that you asked!

Growling from behind exaggerated, slimy snaggleteeth, Mr. Blade emerged from his office. He was so bent and deformed he looked more like some golem or a troll than a human being, and yet the similarity was undeniable: this creature was my boss.

But, Erica, the thing wheezed, weak and twitchy. I told you to.

I don’t care! The dream-me declared. She stood up, at least five inches taller, and yet, somehow, ten pounds lighter. You’re a horrible boss, and an asshole to boot!

He leered at me, like a wolf baring its fangs, and approached.

Well then, he growled, I suppose I am just going to have to make you!

With greenish, long-nailed hands he reached to unbuckle his pants. His cock emerged, pink and ugly as a naked rat. He gripped it and lunged at me.

In real life, I would have been fainting with terror by this point. But in my dream, I did not scream. I did not run away. Instead, I lifted one, finely heeled shoe and kicked him square in the testicles.

Argh! He yipped, like a child, like a dog whose tail has been trodden on. He gripped his ugly manhood and toppled to the floor, twitching as if I’d electrified him. I laughed in triumph, towering over him, lifting my heel up, up, up, ready to slam down and finish the job, like a nail through a pair of oranges...

That was when I noticed the gun.

Hey! That’s not fair! I cried, stumbling back, as the creature regained its feet before me. Even as I watched, muscles seemed to swell over its sickly, lopsided frame, and its jagged, salient teeth sharpened into fangs.

It leveled the gun at me and said, in a voice like a wolf’s, Now, take your clothes off.

I stared at him, thundering not with fear but with rage, for he had cheated by using the gun. Any man is made powerful with a gun, even if he’s a weakling.

I won’t! I screamed, and yet I stumbled back. As he approached, he seemed to grow taller, while I, now, cringing, was shrinking.

BOOM! I did not see him pull the trigger. I did not see the bullet fly. I only heard the gun go off, had only a moment to think, I am dead.

But no pain erupted. I opened my eyes (for I had clenched them shut at the sound) and looked down: but there was no blood on my clothing.

Eyes wide with wonder, I lifted my gaze to Blade.

He was gaping at me, open-mouthed, like a fish yanked from the dark and slimy safety of its underwater home. The gun was still in his hands, now trembling, and even as I watched, his fingers gave a mighty twitch so that the weapon tumbled down to the floor. In astonishment, he looked from the gun, and then to his chest, which was blossoming with blood like red roses emerging from snow. It soaked his buttons, wicked up to his lapels, and flowed into steady streams down to his pants. As if in slow motion, he reached to his heart and touched it. His fingertips sank in as if it was jelly, and not bone, hidden beneath his shirt.

You...bitch, he gurgled, and then toppled to the floor. In horror, I watched him fall––that is, until I noticed the man standing behind him.

Dominic! I gasped, practically fainting with happiness. He had his legs spread in an athletic stance and his leather pants and jacket gleaming, while in his hands he held, completely level and sure, a smoking, glinting gun. With a smile, he released the trigger and slipped it back into the holster on his hip.

Are you okay, Erica? He asked, stepping over the still body of Mr. Blade with his steel-clad combat boots. I nodded, feeling at once both weak and incredibly, unbelievably strong, as he took me into his arms.

I am now, I murmured, opening up his jacket to rest my face on the soft cotton shirt beneath. He laughed and ruffled my hair. His fingertips smelt of gunpowder.

You were doing pretty well on your own, he complimented, kissing my