Snare: Road Kill MC (A Novel) Read online

  SNARE

  A Road Kill MC Novel

  New York Times Bestselling author

  MARATA EROS

  All Rights Reserved.

  Copyright © 2016 Marata Eros

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer's imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales, or organizations is entirely coincidental.

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be resold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to a legitimate retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Marata Eros Website

  Marata Eros FB Fan Page

  Cover art by Willsin Rowe

  Editing suggestions provided by Red Adept Editing.

  CONTENTS

  SYNOPSIS

  Works by Marata Eros

  Marata Eros NEWS

  1

  2

  3

  4

  5

  6

  7

  8

  9

  10

  11

  12

  13

  14

  15

  16

  17

  18

  19

  20

  21

  22

  23

  24

  25

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  SYNOPSIS

  A secret baby. A stepbrother that can't forget her...

  Forbidden Love

  Some women are untouchable. Like a stepsister who's alive because of his sacrifice.

  Snare is part of the Road Kill MC, and as sergeant at arms, he takes his role as protector seriously.

  He always has.

  Snare doesn't discuss the scar that almost took his eye or the ultimate protection it provided for the only woman he's ever loved.

  The sweet butts provide the distraction he needs and the emotional disconnect he craves.

  Snare is married to the club. He doesn't need a woman who disappears without a trace.

  Guilt

  Sarah tries not to think of Snare. It was one night. And he paid for it—they both did.

  The nightmares don't even interrupt her dreams. Much.

  Except for the secret she keeps of the child they had together, life couldn't be more perfect.

  Sarah knows that Snare isn't the type of man to toy with—or lie to. But when her abuser took things too far, Sarah couldn't allow Snare to protect her any longer. She fled and hasn't seen her stepbrother since.

  The price for their love was more than fists and rage.

  It was flesh and blood.

  Can Sarah hide the truth from the one man who protected her with his own life? Will Snare deny his true feelings because of scars that run more than skin deep?

  DEDICATION

  Cherri-Anne

  Works by Tamara Rose Blodgett:

  The BLOOD Series

  The DEATH Series

  Shifter ALPHA CLAIM 1-6

  The REFLECTION Series

  The SAVAGE Series

  Vampire ALPHA CLAIM 1-6

  &

  Marata Eros:

  A Terrible Love (New York Times bestseller)

  A Brutal Tenderness

  The Darkest Joy

  Club Alpha

  One of Many (co-authored with Emily Goodwin)

  The DARA NICHOLS Series, 1-8

  The DEMON Series

  The DRUID Series

  ROAD KILL MC

  Shifter ALPHA CLAIM 1-6

  The SIREN Series

  The TOKEN Serial

  Vampire ALPHA CLAIM 1-6

  The ZOE SCOTT Series 1-8

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  1

  Snare

  Five years prior

  Sara's hips are small in my hands, and the bare skin of my palms rasps against the silkiness of her ass cheeks.

  “Snare”—she breathes hot against my neck, and I shiver—“I'm scared.”

  I am too. Fucking terrified. But I want her more than I'm afraid of loving her. So we'll have sex, in the small, dark closet, and no one will be the wiser.

  Not her stepdad.

  Not even her stepbrother who's about ready to bury his aching hard-on inside her.

  Sara reaches up, her hand lightly tracing the scar that almost took my eyeball, and I tremble a second time under the gentle touch of her finger.

  I'm too far gone for tender. I've been soft with Sara a hundred times. A thousand times I've laid my tongue on her body, my fingertips on her willing flesh—my mouth everywhere she has skin. This time I take.

  I warn her again. “It'll hurt, baby. Bad.”

  Sara nods.

  She's been briefed. I've prepared her in every way a guy that's twenty-one years old and desperate to be inside her could.

  Using my hips, I glide the tip of my dick back and forth on the wetness of her, clit to her entrance, knowing I shouldn't take this next critical step, not being able to help it. I'm one of those men who has to physically own what's mine.

  Sara's pussy's been mine since I've been defending her against my father for the last three years. When Sara moved into our house, I claimed her against my will. Not with my body.

  With my soul.

  She widens her knees to accept me within the cradle of her hips, and I slip that first hot hard inch inside. Sara arches her back, and a bead of sweat slithers from my temple to my jaw, hanging like a wet gem of lust from my chin.

  It dangles, falling between her slick breasts.

  I suspend myself above her, poised and stiff as a plank. My body. My dick.

  Better to move fast. She's as ready as someone can get a virgin without the finality of stabbing their innocence away.

  I shove forward.

  Sara yells inside the heat of the closet, her muscles fighting the intrusion of my cock.

  Guilt and a perfect lust beat the fuck out of my insides, even as my balls beg to unload inside her.

  “Hurts,” she whimpers with a hitch in her voice. Her eyes shine in the weak light of a single candle glowing in the corner.

  I lower softly onto her body, my dick twitching for depth even as I hold back from rocking further.

  I smooth back from her face the sweaty hair that blends with the depths of the closet. Looking into the pools of her eyes, I see the dark secret treasures shared between us, and she sighs with me impaled inside her, relaxing deliberately.

  Sara's lips stretch into a tiny smile. Relief, pleasure—and pain—ride the balance on her full mouth, softly parted to accept my kiss.

  It's not sweet. It's brutal, hard—crashing down between us like a car wreck of mouths, tongues, and heat. Sara's as tight as I knew she'd be. I tried to forget her while we lived together as brother and sister.

  Sharing meals.

  Time.

  Abuse.

  But it's not enough. There was no other girl that could wipe away Sara from my mind. Forbidden to have. Destined to protect.

  She's offered herself. I accepted.

  I pull out, never taking my eyes from hers, kissing her again with a hard churn of lips, wrapping my hand into her hair and fisting it at the base of her skull.

  I pin her beneath me like a cap
tive.

  I rock back inside, and her muscles caress my cock on the way in, and I shudder, my head dumping forward, her longish hair sliding across her breasts.

  Sara moans, arching as her hands tangle in the loose strands that whisper over her skin. Her thumb presses on the small knot of scar tissue that rides just at the arch of my eyebrow, and she strokes it.

  I sink to the end of her, and she gasps. “Ahhh, Snare.” I hold still, knowing I've got a big cock. For a virgin, it'd be a tree trunk, but I'm gentle when what I want to do is pound her into the ground.

  I know only one way to fuck, but Sara makes me relearn who I am piece by struggling piece, moment by moment. Sara makes me want to be a better man.

  Her hips rise, angling me inside sharper, further.

  I groan. “Don't, baby. You'll make me go.”

  I prop on my elbows, smelling laundry soap, Sara—everything that smells like home in this space we've been meeting for the last three years.

  I cover her breasts with my hands, kneading the soft flesh against my calloused fingers. I tweak the nipples into tender peaks for my mouth. Lowering my face to meet the sensitive flesh, I suck her nipple in deeply as I mound her tit.

  Sara trembles.

  The earlier work I'd done on her pussy is helping. I arc my body over hers, my lips still wrapped on her nipple, and slide my free hand between our slick bodies.

  My fingers find her clit, and I press the pad of my thumb onto the tiny wet bundle of nerves between her pussy lips.

  “Snare!” She yells my name like a prayer.

  I answer, sliding my thumb down as I roll her nipple between my teeth and stuff my dick the rest of the way inside, kissing the end of her.

  Throbbing to fill her.

  I hook my thumb back up, landing on her clit and pressing down as I move to the other nipple.

  Her eyes find mine as I suck, and her tight pussy gives a deep pulse around my cock.

  I can't help myself. Sara's nipple drops from my mouth, and I jerk my head up, trying to fight the need to fill her.

  Losing.

  I move with the urge and slap my palms on the floor on either side of her head. Swinging my hips, I move out of her. Slam home into that wet tight goodness.

  Sara lifts her hips to catch my thrusts.

  My lips part, my jaw going slack. “Close,” I say in a voice that's more breath than sound.

  Then Sara goes first. Her great rhythmic squeezes and releases strangle my cock.

  I can't stop—don't want to. My toes curl as I come from the bottom all the way to the top. My scalp tingles like it's on fire. I plant my prick as deep as it'll go, unloading my release inside my stepsister's pussy. The woman I love. The woman I can't have.

  The woman I'd kill to protect.

  2

  Sara

  His body beats inside of mine. Relentless. Deep.

  Lovingly.

  Our mutual orgasms grip us in frozen pleasure. If it's to be only once, I have to be in this moment for real.

  I close my eyes, wrapping my arms and legs around Snare, willing this heartbeat of perfection to never leave.

  He seems to sense my need and draws me inside his much larger body, protecting me with his presence, his body. All of it.

  I feel safe with Snare, loved.

  Snare tried to deny me, and I've tried just as hard to resist him. He's family. Not by blood, but by marriage.

  Family in every sense of the word. Loyal, protective, unconditional love. The only time I've ever had a sense of family is with Snare.

  There are all kinds of men in this world. And I should choose anyone but him. But sometimes choices are made without our consent. Decisions of the heart, where the mind is otherwise engaged.

  Like my stepbrother. How can I not want him?

  My protector—now my lover.

  This is how we spend my eighteenth birthday. Not with candles on a cake but hidden in a closet that is just ours.

  It's always been ours.

  We found this spot when I first moved into his house at fifteen. And it's been ours ever since that first time.

  The first time Snare's dad split my face open. Snare knew where to take me when the alcohol Riker had consumed, erased his restraint.

  The first time Riker tried to rape me, Snare paid with his face.

  CPS took Riker for a while then. But Snare lied. He had too many mouths to feed, and Snare was eighteen. Too young to help, too young to protect me.

  But he did protect me.

  Snare hurts me with his love, driving his dick deep, owning that part of me that no one else can. I would never have given myself to anyone but Snare. I love him that much.

  That's why I have to leave him.

  The scars on his body are proof of his love for me. Whenever Riker wanted to beat me, Snare distracted him so I could survive.

  Snare wears the scars of his protection.

  The scars of my guilt litter my mind, my memory—my heart.

  I can't allow Snare to protect me anymore. It's the ultimate injustice. But I can let him have this piece of me that is precious. To be given only once. To be taken once.

  My virginity, my love. They are his forever. The only gift I have to give him. The only symbol of worth. They've been Snare's since the first time I caught sight of a young man with black hair like a crow's wing. Blue eyes like the sea kissed by autumn skies. Tall and muscular, he took my breath away.

  His father wasted no time beating the breath out of me.

  Why did my mom marry Riker? Why does any woman commit to a violent man? She thinks he won't be that way with her.

  He is.

  Snare says Riker always had his eye on me, though. Between drinking binges.

  I remember being fourteen and Riker would show up at our dive of a rental. Mom worked two jobs just to pay the rent. My birth father is some guy that got her pregnant and took off.

  I'm determined not to do the same thing. Be the same woman.

  After this stolen moment. After I give what I can to Snare. My virginity and love aren’t enough to redeem me. All that Snare has sacrificed—I could never pay him for.

  I'll pay in blood and innocence.

  Once I'm gone, he won't have to protect me. I'll squeal on Riker, and he'll be taken forever. Mom will be free, and Snare can have his life back. He won't have to take care of a stepsister that he never wanted to have. I don't want to be an obligation.

  I want to be a choice.

  I'll never forget his hands on my body. His tongue on my sex. The pleasures he gave me to erase my hurts.

  My hand cups his face, and an uneasy grief slides out of my eyes, dampening my hair.

  “Don't cry, baby. We'll make it. You can leave now. We can finally be together.” His large hand palms my face, rubbing the tears away. Smearing my sadness.

  “I didn't hurt you too bad, did I?” His smile is crooked. It pulls at the scar above his lip where it ends in a tight knot of flesh.

  I nod. “Yes, it hurts.”

  Snare looks stricken, and he tries to withdraw.

  I squeeze my vagina to hold him prisoner inside me.

  A dark chuckle breaks the seal of his lips. “Hey”—he kisses the tip of my nose—“I thought—”

  I kiss him like I want to eat his mouth. Nipping and biting his lips, running the tip of my tongue over the little ball of scar tissue at the tip of one lip.

  Snare grows again inside of me.

  “Baby, you're tight as fuck. I—don't want to make you more sore.”

  I nod, my tears running freely. “I know, but I want the pain. I want all of what you have. I never want to forget you.”

  His face closes down, a frown seating itself between his brows. “This isn't the last time we're going to have sex.” His hands move to each side of my face, my tears cascading and overflowing his fingers like a breakwater of flesh.

  “Just give me all of you, Snare.”

  Pain slides behind his eyes as they search mine in the murk o
f the closet. “You have all of me. I love you, Sara.”

  “I love you too, more than you'll ever know.”

  He begins to move within me, making slow, gentle love to me again. Beautifully. Reverently.

  All the things that make Snare hard and brutal slow to a crawl. The man that can take pain for another keeps that part of him at the edges of our lovemaking with a steel will.

  But I feel his savageness at the periphery of the tenderness he reserves only for me.

  Riker has left us both damaged.

  I want to give Snare this chance to heal without having to worry about anyone but himself.

  Snare doesn't need anyone but himself. He's smart. He graduated high school with honors, despite his upbringing.

  Or because of it.

  Snare got a full-ride scholarship to the University of Washington. And it's not just because he's part Native American. He got a full ride because he's just that great.

  My Snare.

  But no longer.

  *

  I throw everything into my backpack, without a thought to organization.

  Panties, socks, yoga pants—my one piece of jewelry I clench in my fist. A heart necklace from Snare. I slip it on, clasping it without looking. Everything else gets tossed into the backpack.

  I choke out a sob, covering it with my palm. You're so dumb, Sara. So dumb.

  I swipe the slim plastic tube from the top of my battered chest of drawers. Drop it twice.

  The twin pink lines damn me from the ground. They damn me to the hell of my carelessness.

  I told Snare that I was on birth control, because it was true, during our stolen moment within the warm, womblike depths of our hidden closet. But there's that window of time when the injection is weakening, when another is needed to set my body to thinking I’m not fertile.