Total pages in book: 111
Estimated words: 109640 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 548(@200wpm)___ 439(@250wpm)___ 365(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 109640 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 548(@200wpm)___ 439(@250wpm)___ 365(@300wpm)
Sex didn’t have to be a marathon; sometimes it could be a fast and furious sprint and still be more than satisfying.
“Cami…”
“I’m ready,” she insisted.
“Warning you now… The second you come, I’m done.”
He said that as if it was a bad thing. “I’m okay with that.” If he stayed tonight, they had until morning.
“I doubt you’ll have a choice.”
“Then, we’ll just have to do it again.” She said that as if it was not a bad thing.
“I’m okay with that,” he echoed her.
“I doubt you’ll have a choice,” she echoed him.
His chuckle shook her, but not for long. As soon as she began to move again, she was determined to get to the finish line this time without any more interruptions.
She evicted all unnecessary thoughts from her head and concentrated on the man whose cock she was riding.
The man who hadn’t lied about coming a second after her.
Crew kept his head down, but still managed to keep one eye on his phone and one eye on Cami as she stood over by the key rack talking to Rez.
In Spanish.
She had stopped upstairs to grab the keys to the pool car since she was heading to work a shift at Hawg Wild.
He still didn’t like it but, at this point, was smart enough to keep his mouth shut. About her being undercover at the biker bar, as well as speaking Spanish to Rez or Torres. Both of his original team members knew it got under his skin, so they did it as much as possible.
That wasn’t the only thing he was smart about. Last week he found an app that translated someone speaking one language into another.
Was it perfect? No, but it gave him the gist of what was being said.
They knew enough not to use his name, but that didn’t mean they weren’t talking about him.
And if they weren’t, he still wanted to know if she was telling either of them any trouble she was having with the Demons. Something she might not want to share with Crew to avoid him pulling her from the job.
Confidence was great but it wouldn’t get her out of a jam. And even though she was proving herself as time went on, he still worried about her being around all those outlaw bikers without any kind of backup.
And if anyone asked, he’d tell them he’d never stop worrying.
Not until she was done with that assignment.
Plus, the late nights put a kink in them spending time together. And that kink wasn’t the good kind.
In the past few weeks, he found himself heading over to Fletch’s empty house most nights, letting Murphy out to do his business, watching some late night TV, then falling asleep in Cami’s bed. On his request, she’d check in with him throughout the night via text when she could.
In the early morning hours, after dragging herself home, taking a quick shower, she’d climb in beside him, wake him up in a variety of ways he couldn’t complain about, then they’d have a quickie that still more than satisfied them both.
Afterward, she’d roll over and crash while he’d stare at her sleeping in the dark. Like a fucking creeper.
Once it was time for him to head out, he’d press a soft kiss to her bare shoulder before rolling out of bed quietly and carefully so he wouldn’t wake her. Before leaving, he’d set up her coffeemaker so she had a fresh pot when she woke, then let Murphy out again and feed him.
Some nights, he’d don his Throttle persona and head down to the outlaw biker bar himself to keep an eye on her for a few hours, ignoring her assurance that he didn’t need to do that.
Yes, he certainly fucking did.
He had no idea how long this routine would last. But for now, this was his life.
He caught himself thinking about her just as much as his kids. That was how important she had become to him.
When Cami walked through the door of The Plant a little while ago, she had hardly acknowledged him except for a chin lift and a, “Hey, boss. How’s it hanging?”
They still acted like they weren’t fucking like rabbits just about every night when she didn’t head into Hawg Wild or early morning when she did. If they could find the time, sometimes both.
What they did in private was their business, not the rest of the team’s. Or his brothers’. Or even her father’s.
He didn’t need to be served a rash of shit.
But now she stood with the pool car’s keyring hooked over one finger, wearing a black leather mini-shirt—too short for his liking—her black knee-high boots with a heel, and a very snug camisole with Harley-Davidson emblem that pushed her tits up enough to make them look bigger than they were.
She’d probably be tucking that bottle opener in her cleavage again and those motherfuckers would be tempted to touch her there.