Alter Egos:

Running Wild

Running Wild
Riptide Publishing
June 30, 2014
ISBN-13: 9781626491540
ISBN-10: 1626491542

Havoc MC, Book 1

Embrace the danger…

Sean Rush is an adrenaline junkie. That’s why he was in the Army, why he steals and races classic muscle cars . . . and why he can’t stay away from bad boy Ryker, a Havoc Motorcycle Club lieutenant. Fortunately, Ryker can’t seem to stay away from Sean—he’s spent the last eight months breaking into Sean’s apartment and stealing into his bed, leaving Sean physically satisfied but increasingly restless.

Sean has always avoided relationships. He likes to come and go without being controlled. And Ryker is possibly the most controlling man he’s ever known. Still, he finds that he wants more from Ryker than their silent nighttime encounters.

Then one of Sean’s thefts goes bad, and Ryker’s protective instincts kick into overdrive. He takes Sean to the Havoc compound, determined to keep him safe. But Sean’s past threatens the safety of Havoc—and everything Ryker holds dear. Worse, Ryker’s hiding secrets of his own. Soon it’s obvious that the adrenaline rush can’t keep them together anymore. But maybe love can.

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Read an Excerpt

Prologue

Running Wild

Don’t need love

I still wasn’t entirely convinced it wasn’t a dream.

Every single time he broke into my house, I had to convince myself it wasn’t a dream.

I never knew when he’d show, couldn’t plan for the times he’d yank the sheet off me before the mattress shifted under his weight. His hands were big and rough on my bare back, and when he flipped me over and skimmed between my legs, that heated rough on my cock was heaven.

So was the big, hot body on mine.

I didn’t know if I should be stopping it. But why would I? Hot sex, no commitment. Hell, no talking. Most of the time just a soundtrack of classic rock, punctuated mostly by the Grateful Dead, which made the whole thing so goddamned hot. It was the perfect non-relationship for a guy like me, since my lifestyle was completely non-conducive to relationships.

But this guy wasn’t just any guy. No one in my twenty-four years had ever had the balls to pull this kind of break and enter shit with me. I was impressed. Fascinated.

Guy was a shadow. I was used to moving through places unnoticed, but he had it down to an art form. But he definitely wanted to be noticed when he came into my bed. And he was strong. Stronger than I was, which was no easy feat.

He was tattooed. Always bore a couple of bite marks after we finished. I couldn’t help myself—I liked the idea of leaving my mark, but then I was always hoarse the mornings after he visited.

He liked to study me in that brief space of time post sex, before I crashed. I could see the appreciation in his dark eyes, and it made me squirm. He’d notice that I was somewhere between embarrassed and enjoyment and he’d chuckle, low and husky, and that made my cock hard. Again.

I wanted to ask him why the hell he kept breaking in, but I didn’t. It was obvious to me—he wanted to fuck. And I was acquiescing when I normally wouldn’t have. I liked control, all types, all the time. But during these visits, it didn’t matter.

He made me dizzy. Pliant. Incoherent.

I could tell he liked me that way. Expected it.

He’d take his sweet time—always did—but I always got what I needed when I needed it. He didn’t hold anything back, would stop me from thinking, worrying. Taking all the shit from my shoulders for those hours.

The whole thing was a free fall every single time. I pleaded for it, gave it up with no shame because sex shouldn’t have shame. And I wasn’t ashamed of this at all…but I didn’t know if I was supposed to be his secret…or if he was mine.

Why the hell did I think about it this hard, this much?

I was getting seriously laid on a regular basis. More orgasms than anyone had a right to. Fucked blind and dumb.

Fucked to sleep.

And then he’d leave. I never knew how long he stayed, pretended I didn’t give a shit. But I’d wake up in the morning and tell myself he’d stayed for a while after I went to sleep, even though I had no idea if he had or not. Because I pretty much passed out by the end of it, the good kind of exhausted where I was so comfortable I probably had a stupid smile on my face when I did so.

Did he tire me out purposely?

Running Wild

Furthermore, how did he get into my place? It was locked down tight. In my more lucid moments, I thought about adding another dead bolt, more locks and a different security system, all at once, just to see if he could still get through.

But what if he couldn’t?

It was what stopped me every single time.

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