BARE HANDS - A Bad Boy Romance Novel Read online

  © Copyright 2016 by Gabi Moore - All rights reserved.

  In no way is it legal to reproduce, duplicate, or transmit any part of this document in either electronic means or in printed format. Recording of this publication is strictly prohibited and any storage of this document is not allowed unless with written permission from the publisher. All rights reserved.

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  BARE HANDS

  A Bad Boy Romance Novel

  By: Gabi Moore

  Table of Contents

  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

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  ADDITIONAL BOOKS IN THIS ANTHOLOGY:

  FANTASY/SCI-FI:

  Manipulator Of Elements – A Young Adult Urban Fantasy

  Wicked Legacy – An Urban Fantasy

  Chosen – A Sci-Fi

  STEAMY CONTEMPORARY ROMANCE:

  DAMAGED – A Bad Boy Romance

  LUST – A Bad Boy Romance

  DOING IT FASTER – A Bad Boy Romance

  PREVIEW of other STEAMY books by Gabi Moore:

  BREAK – A Bad Boy Romance Novel

  TEMPTATION – A Bad Boy Romance Novel

  ROUGH – A Bad Boy Romance Novel

  BARE HANDS

  A Bad Boy Romance Novel

  By Gabi Moore

  Chapter One - Viktor

  “I’ve never done anything like this before,” she giggled.

  They always say that. It’s like there’s some universal slut handbook out there, and the first chapter begins with “twirl your hair and swear you’ve never, ever done anything even remotely like what you’re clearly about to do”.

  Because they always do it.

  And they love it.

  And that’s why all the play-acting and flirting and ridiculousness beforehand is just fine by me. I smile and go along with their protests; acting like just for today, we’ll both make a little exception. She’s not like the other girls. And even though I know they’re usually sweet and well-behaved, and they never look for trouble, just for today, we’ll pretend that I’m the bad influence.

  “I feel like I’m little red riding hood in the forest or something,” she said, and walked clumsily ahead of me, picking through the bushes. It wasn’t yet dark. But it would be by the time I was done with her.

  “Are you trying to tell me I’m a big bad wolf?” I teased, and caught her by the waist, pulling her towards me. She squealed and laughed. We were far from the village now. I held her close and looked down into her face. Her eyes widened and she parted her lips, but I released her and pushed her ahead of me, giving her a little slap on the ass as she stumbled forward.

  “Go on,” I said, “it’s getting dark. And we’ll never get to where we’re going if you keep trying to seduce me like this.”

  Girls fucking love it when you say shit like that. She laughed, pulled her tongue out at me and carried on walking ahead on the path, pretending like she wasn’t making the most deliberate effort to wiggle her hips for my benefit.

  The next time you go outside and walk past any plain looking, ordinary white girl under the age of 30, take a really close look at her. Look at her figure. Look into her eyes. I’m not talking about the very confident, polished ones. The ones who talk loudly and know they’re pretty. I’m talking about the most commonplace, average girl you can think of. Are you imagining her?

  Well, I’m here to tell you that the more unassuming she looks, the easier it is for men like me to take her. The plainer she seems, I can guarantee you, the dirtier she is underneath. Girls like this flock to me. Like little lambs. They can’t help it.

  Sure, they pretend it’s me that did it. It was me who was a bad influence. It was me who encouraged them, me who lured them in. The nastier ones even like to imagine I force it out of them. But it’s all them. Believe me when I say that: it’s all them.

  We reached the clearing and she looked around, like a little kid looking for trouble. Like most of the girls who end up in this part of the world, and more specifically here in the forest, with me, she was American, young, and utterly stupid. I’d like to remind you though: I never preyed on these girls. In fact, like I said, it was always them that made the first move. Always them that went after me.

  She slinked up to me and smiled with a kind of drunk look on her face. I guess she thought she was sexy. She stroked the tips of her fingers idly against my forearm, playing cute.

  “You have such big arms,” she said, drawing out the words.

  I laughed.

  “All the better to catch you with, my dear!”

  She laughed as well.

  They’re always surprised when the noble savage acts a little witty, too. She leaned in closer and dragged her fingertips higher up my arm; close enough to kiss her, if I wanted to. But I stood firm. I wanted her to come to me.

  “Hmm …now let’s see …what big eyes you have…” she said, taking the bait and playing the game.

  “All the better to see you with my dear” I said, so softly it was a growl.

  She giggled and lifted her lips to my cheek, lingered them there a little.

  “And what lovely big lips you have” she whispered up close.

  “All the better to kiss you with.” I closed gentle lips on hers. She stood up on her tip toes to meet my kiss, and soon threw her arms around my neck.

  The forest air was fresh and primal, the big trees sighing overhead as we caressed in their shade. She would tell all her friends about this when she got home. She’d still be fantasizing about me long after she went home and paired up with some fool and had his babies. And the thing I’d do to her next? Well, she’d think of that for the rest of her life.

  I grabbed the hair at the base of her skull and pulled her hard towards me. She gasped and I flung an arm around her waist, pulling her excited little body onto mine, and pressing my rock hard cock into her.

  She started giggling again.

  “Oh, Vik, what a big …what a big…”

  She couldn’t finish the sentence. She knew the game but didn’t have the guts to play her turn.

  “All the better to fuck you with, my dear,” I said, and with one movement yanked at her trousers, and the buttons went flying as I pulling them off her squirming body. I felt the weight of her as she collapsed into my arms.

  They’re always a little shocked, the first time they see it. Usually, it’s the biggest they’ve had, and they play cute and coy for a while but when they actually see it, when the full heft of it’s in their little hands and they realize what they’re really in for, oh they change their tune pretty quickly.

  It’s usually some lame Tarzan and Jane fantasy that lures most of them out here. They all love the idea of the wild guy ravaging them, of a fun, exotic tryst with a native in a far off land. But once they’re actually pinned down and yelping, sweat beads on their little faces and my fat cock jammed in to the hilt …well, nothing is sweeter than watching that cocky confidence melt as they realize that I won’t be going easy on them.

  “No seriously, that actually looks a little too big…” she tells me, and there’s t
hat look. There it is, right there. Her eyes go big again and she stops smiling, instantly nervous. My dick swells at the thought of the little animal noises she’s about to make, and how she’s going to take it, whether it’s too big or not.

  “Get on your knees,” I say.

  Chapter Two - Penelope

  People say “goody two shoes” like it’s an insult. Like being good is …bad. How does that make any sense? It’s never made sense to me, personally. So, these days, when someone tells me how righteous and high minded I am, I take it as a compliment. How can you be too right?

  Dylan understood that instantly about me, and that’s how I knew all at once that he was the man for me. Other women are quick to tear girls like me down. I’ve experienced it first hand: they tell me I’m too young, that I don’t know anything and that I’m crazy for jumping into marriage so quickly. But maybe it’s too scary for them to admit that actually, they’d love to be me. They’d love to be so certain about their futures. If something is right and you know you want it, why wait?

  “Babe, do you think I’ll need the malaria card in my hand luggage or can I just pack it away in the big bag?”

  Obviously, I already knew the answer to this question. I had Googled it just seconds before. But it’s good to give your man as many opportunities, every day, to lead you. It can be just small things, but why wait till marriage to start developing those foundations?

  “Bring it with you in your hand luggage,” he said, without raising his eyes to look at me.

  Dylan Moore. My living proof that prayers can be answered, and that when you’re the person you’re supposed to be, you’ll naturally attract the people who are supposed to be in your life. That’s just natural law. I know that girls my age are all about the hot guys, but I see deeper than that. Dylan is slightly out of shape, but so what? He doesn’t look like a celebrity, but all those guys that do? The girls who go for them can come and cry to me later about how well that worked out for them. I bet all the six packs and tattoos are going to be real helpful once he knocks you up and you realize he can’t support you and wants to run for the hills.

  Loving Christians ought to look beneath the surface. To be compassionate. There are sadly too few people in this world who can do that. Anyway, Dylan. He was clean shaven and employed and knew exactly what he wanted from a future wife. He had drive, like me. He had got down on one knee at my parents’ home a few Sundays back, and told me how he had wanted to make me his wife since the day he laid eyes on me. Dad said yes. It’s true, we hadn’t known each other for that long at that point, but he didn’t want me going off to Africa without having “nailed it down”.

  Nailed it down. Nailed like Jesus on the cross. Did you know that “nailed” can sometimes be used as a vulgar sexual slang? As in, he nailed her. Disgusting. Did you know, also, that some historians believe that at the time Jesus was crucified, it may have been the custom to tie the victim to the cross, and not only nail them. With ropes, or possibly thin strips of leather, so that they didn’t slide and move around, and stayed still enough up there to properly receive their punishment.

  Anyway, where was I? I sometimes go off on tangents like that, it’s a bit weird. All growing up my youth leaders told me I was blessed with quite an imagination. But to be honest, it doesn’t feel like a blessing most of the time. Sometimes, I can’t stop my thoughts from just …running away with me.

  “Earth to babe? Hello?”

  Dylan was snapping his fingers in front of my face. It was a thing he did, a joke really, but I had a hard time when he did stuff like that.

  “Sorry,” I said, “I was just thinking about something…”

  “I was asking you where you put those locks I gave you.”

  My heart sank. I had hidden them far away, somewhere he wouldn’t find them.

  “I don’t know, babe, I couldn’t find them. I’ll just go with my bags as they are, no need for locks.”

  Shoot. This was getting to be a nasty habit. Lying.

  “Couldn’t find them? How can that even be possible? Come on, let’s find them quickly, we have a few minutes before we leave.”

  “Babe, I’ve looked, can we just forget about the locks?”

  He shot me a stern look. His eyebrows were pale and wispy, but you sure could make them out when he frowned.

  “I’m not sure I like your tone, Babe. Can you acknowledge that I’m trying to look out for your safety here, and that you’re willfully making that difficult?”

  “I’m sorry,” I said. Instantly. Apologizing was another habit I was getting into these days. I was just stressed. This missionary trip was the biggest, scariest thing I had ever done in my 19 years, was it really my fault if I was a little emotional at times?

  I walked up to him and draped my arms round his neck.

  “I know you’re just trying to keep me safe. I’m sorry.”

  He shrugged and carried on zipping up my overstuffed luggage. I didn’t really want to leave him on a sour note. Six months was a long time to be away from one another. Of course, we would manage it no problem, I just didn’t want to leave things on a bad note.

  “Anyway, I looked it up, and the crime statistics are actually not as bad as you would guess…” I said, tossing my hair.

  “You looked it up?”

  “Yup. I was actually surprised. I think Malawi has this reputation or something, but it’s really not so bad…”

  “So that means you can just lose the locks I bought specifically for you?”

  My arms felt awkward around his neck.

  “No, of course I’m not saying that. But whatever, it’s just clothing in there, and what are the chances someone tries to steal something out of my bag? They’re just people after all. And if someone was desperate enough to do that, to steal, then let them just have it, right?”

  His eyebrows were still tight. But as he looked down on me, his face softened and then he kissed my head.

  “Babe, that’s very sweet and all, but these people can be dangerous. I don’t think you quite understand that.”

  “You don’t have to call them ‘these people’ like that.”

  His eyebrows tightened again. Something kicked at the pit of my stomach. To hell with the locks, though. Why always this obsession with locking things up, anyway? Lock it down. Didn’t the lord say he would take care of us? I suddenly had a sickening thought. What if he looked for the locks and found them, and realized that I had hidden them? It was a good hiding place …but would it hold for six months? I pushed the thought away.

  He slammed my bag down from the bed and onto the floor, and it landed with a thump. My plane left in a few hours. For six months, I’d be joining the mission there and helping an impoverished village rebuild their community garden. And, naturally, spreading the word of the Lord. But that would be the easy part.

  “Look, I can see there’s no reasoning with you. You’re headstrong, and I’ve always accepted that in you. I know that you need to get out there, to see things. I understand. I needed to do the same when I was your age. Just promise me that if anything, and I mean anything comes up, you’ll be on the next plane out of there. Can you at least manage to do that?” he said, and stared at me hard.

  I felt the pang in my gut again. It’s true what they say. When you know, you know. And I knew that Dylan was the man for me. No question. But sweet Lord was it a challenge for me sometimes. Dylan kept me accountable. He never let good be good enough – he always wanted more from me. And I respected that. But at times like these I felt …I don’t know.

  “I’m sorry, babe. I know you’re just looking out for me.”

  We closed up the house, piled my luggage into the car and set off. The parents would meet us there to see us off, and I had everything. Plenty of suitable clothing, mosquito repellant, a dictionary, toiletries, my bible, and a photo of Dylan. He had made me take out the razors and the fashion magazines, but he was right, there really wasn’t room for those.

  Somewhere under a floorboa
rd in our basement hid two still-wrapped pairs of mini travel locks with keys, both in magenta and baby blue flowers. It was a lie, technically, but maybe I was allowed just a little rebellion? At the end of the day, he was wrong. “These people” were just people, and I didn’t have to be worried about being robbed or killed or …worse. That was just racist. Even I could see that.

  We drove in silence and merged with the highway traffic. I could tell something was up by the way he was a little rougher with the gear shift than he needed to be, and his body language seemed just a little too closed. Poor Dylan. I knew how hard it was for him. His wild fiancé getting ideas and running around to strange countries. I tried to force myself to think of how difficult it must really be for him, and then my irritation with him dissolved.

  I extended a cautious hand to rest on his leg. Nothing crazy, just there on his knee. He angrily brushed it off. I felt a lump rise in my throat.

  “Have you completely forgotten the discussion we had last night, Penelope?” he said, his voice cold.

  Ok, I have a confession. The night before, seeing as it was the last night we’d see each other for a while, and seeing as I’d be going away for so long, and seeing as we were already getting married anyway, just as soon as I returned, I figured it wouldn’t hurt that much to …well, you know. In this day and age, it might be hard for most people to believe, but, well …I’ve never seen it before. Him, I mean. His manhood. I didn’t want to do anything with it, just see it. It would be something we’d have to get used to as a married couple anyway, so what was the big deal?

  But last night, it was, apparently, a big deal. He had hissed at me and slapped my hand away, and my stupid grin fell right from my face, and my whole body burned up with shame. I really can be an idiot sometimes. I told him I was sorry, and that I’d take it back, but he was real mad. He said he thought I knew better than that. That just because I was going on some big fancy holiday that now I wanted to behave like a slut. Well, he hadn’t used that word. He was too much of a gentleman. But what can I say …my imagination gets the better of me.