Total pages in book: 117
Estimated words: 111416 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 557(@200wpm)___ 446(@250wpm)___ 371(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 111416 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 557(@200wpm)___ 446(@250wpm)___ 371(@300wpm)
As she continued to thoroughly claim his mouth, he drove his fingers into her shoulder-length hair, curled them into tight fists and captured her resulting gasp. Nudging her black leather cut open to make sure, if anyone was watching, they could see what he was doing when he squeezed her breast roughly.
That made her rock her ass against his cock, grinding against him, until he was hard as fuck.
He finally had to grab her hips to stop her motion. If she kept at that, he’d come in his fucking jeans and they’d have to leave. Because fuck if he was sitting all night with a wad of cum in his boxers.
When she finally pulled back, the pupils in her eyes had expanded to the point they were mostly black.
They stared at each other for a few seconds, both breathing heavier than they should be if the kiss had only been for show. Then without a word, she rose from his lap and turned to walk away. He snagged her wrist and yanked her back to him.
He lowered his voice so only she could hear him. “Was that you or Kitten?”
Her expression gave him nothing. “Does it matter?”
Fuck yeah it did. He closed his eyes for a second, then released her wrist. “Be careful. Gonna keep an eye out. If you need to scrape someone off, head back over here.”
That exchange had been over an hour ago.
So now here he was, sitting by himself in the corner, nursing his second draft, puffing on a cigar he’d tucked into his cut at the last minute. Trying to look relaxed as he both scanned the crowd and kept an eye on Nova working the bikers.
She was damn good at it, too.
He had no idea what she was saying and the music was too loud to actually hear the exaggerated laughter coming from her whenever she threw her head back, but whenever she did, it drew more than Fletch’s eyes.
Yeah, Kitten was a meal on more than one biker’s menu tonight.
He lost track of how many games of pool she played, but even when she lost, one of the many men gathered around the billiards area would give their turn to her.
She didn’t have to leave the pool table once. One biker or another was constantly bringing her a fresh beer or a shot. In fact, full glasses were stacking up on a high-top table nearby.
Occasionally she’d go over and fake taking a sip—most likely out of concern with her beer being spiked—but by keeping busy playing pool, it was a good excuse not to drink too much, anyway.
In game after game, she moved smoothly around the table, knocking her target ball into the pockets like she’d been playing pool all her damn life. Every time she bent over to line up a shot, she had a crowd, either behind her to watch her ass or practically next to her to give her unneeded “advice.”
Since the majority of patrons in the Hawg Wild Saloon were bikers, he took note of the MCs names displayed on their backs. One or two of the club names seemed to be familiar, but the rest he’d never heard of.
While the majority were also one-percenters, every last one of them—outlaw or not—could be trouble.
But, for fuck’s sake, he still hadn’t seen one damn Demon yet. Not only was that disappointing, he hated wasting time in this bar if their club members no longer made Hawg Wild a regular stop.
Leaning back in his chair with the stub of his cigar clamped between his teeth, his eyes sliced through the bar one more time before landing back on Nova just in time to catch a man wearing a Twisted Steel MC cut lean into her and say something into her ear. Her answer to whatever he said was to fling a thumb over her shoulder in Fletch’s direction.
Fuck.
When the biker glanced his way, Fletch acted like he didn’t notice it when, in truth, he was paying careful attention.
When the TSMC member said something again to Nova, she turned toward the man and leaned on her cue stick. Whatever she was saying to him, she was not being nice. Her expression was hard, her eyes sharp, her body tense.
No mistake about it, she was serving him up some attitude.
As to be expected, the biker didn’t like it.
Fuck.
When he went to grab for her arm, she pulled it away in time and stepped out of reach, gripping her cue stick like she was about to enter into combat.
Fletch started to rise from his chair but plunked back down when Nova jerked her chin toward his table, still giving the man shit. She then shut her mouth, tilted her head and stared the guy down with her fingers flexing on her makeshift weapon.
Even from where Fletch sat, he could see the biker’s tight jaw start popping as he stood there for a few seconds more, his expression showing a whole shitload of unhappy.