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HARDCORE: Storm MC

By:Zoey Parker



HARDCORE: Storm MC



By Zoey Parker





I’m a hardcore man in a hardcore world.

She’s a diamond in the rough.

But if she’s not careful, she’ll fall into the wrong hands…

Mine.



SIENNA



Working at the strip club wasn’t my first choice, but it paid, and I was good at it.

Things were going as well as they could, all things considered.



Until my sister made a fatal mistake.



Now, her bad choice haunts me, and all I want is revenge.

The only reason I’m still dancing is to get close to our sleazy boss, the bastard who sent my sister to her death.



The problem is, he’s surrounded himself with an army of muscle – a motorcycle club for hire. They’re all brawny, tattooed, and wouldn’t blink twice before ending my life.

But consequences be damned.



I’ve got a man to kill, and a plan to get my hands around his throat.

It would have worked, too.

If it weren’t for Dom.



***



DOM



“No one leaves the club.”

It was always just a saying, a slogan, a reminder that loyalty is everything.

Then our president accepted a deal with the devil.



Now, our whole club is at the beck and call of some slimy porn kingpin, and anyone who tries to break the contract gets killed.

I hate what I’ve become, but I didn’t have a choice in the matter.

I didn’t have a way out, either.



Until Sienna.



The fiery dancer tries to kill our mark, and I’m the one who stops her.

Now, her life is mine to do with as I please.

And I’ve got an important decision to make.



What do I do with her?



She’s got a body worth taming, worth claiming as my own.

Or even better – worth selling to the highest bidder.



Once I’ve gotten a fair price for her, I’ll be able to buy my own freedom and get the hell out of this nightmare.

She’s my golden ticket, my way out.

But nothing is ever as easy as it seems.

Sienna isn’t worth anything dead, but keeping her alive might cost me my life.





Chapter One



Sienna



The club was pulsing with the heavy beat, and my body moved to the music like it was born to it. The beat was perfect for sex. Heavy, steady, driving, hard.



The man beneath me was passive for the moment, allowing my body to control the contact between us, but it felt wrong. Dom was holding himself back, restraining himself, and I didn’t like it. I wanted his touch, I wanted his rough hands on me. Fuck, I wanted his mouth on me. I sat on his lap, my clit pressed against his monster hard-on, my wetness soaking my black G-string. I put my hands on my own breasts, kneading and squeezing them together, rolling my nipples, trying to duplicate my memory sense of his rougher touch. It didn’t work. I didn’t have much time left to get what I wanted, so I put my hands on his shoulders, digging in with my fingers, and said, “Touch me. I want your fucking hands. Fuck! Touch me.”



“Such a mouth, you nasty girl,” he chuckled. “You know hands are off. Don’t want you to lose your job, bossy.”



“Put. Your. Fucking. Hands. On. Me.”



“That mouth.” He shook his head. “I should put them on you. And not in the way you mean. But you want it, you do it. Show me what you want.”



I drifted my hands down his fabulously muscled arms, his bulging deltoids and biceps, and lower down past his elbows and heavily boned wrists to finally grab his rough hands, which were nearly twice the size of my own. I drew them to my chest, pressing them to me, using his hands to squeeze my aching, heavy breasts—god, it felt so good—then guiding them down, scraping my sides to my waist and hips and finally around to my ass, while I continued the dance, my eyes locked on his the whole time. This had recently become our pattern—though I hadn’t ever screwed the rules like this with anybody else—so it didn’t come as any surprise to him. But it was our little secret, and I knew it turned him on, too. The corner of his mouth tilted up.



The music kept up its beat, and I continued to gyrate on top of him, our faces so close, sharing breath. I reveled in the hard definitions of his body. He was like a hot work of art: all big, tall, powerful male, beautifully muscled, dark mussed hair and tanned skin, strong bones and gorgeous planes in face and body. And those beautiful green-silver eyes.



He should have been intimidating—and he was—but he also drew me to him like a freaking magnet. It was like my body turned on as soon as he entered the space, and I was powerless to keep myself away.



That in itself should have been a warning to me. Of course, I was never great with heeding warnings.



I wanted to see him, to see all of him, to see that six-pack and the V at his hips that I could feel between my thighs. I wanted to taste him, but that crossed a line, and I didn’t dare.

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