Total pages in book: 117
Estimated words: 113996 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 570(@200wpm)___ 456(@250wpm)___ 380(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 113996 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 570(@200wpm)___ 456(@250wpm)___ 380(@300wpm)
I tried to swallow, but my mouth was dry. I looked away but he lifted my chin so I had no choice but to meet his gaze, and in that moment, I was a goner. I felt my cheeks flush. He was going to kiss me and I wanted him to.
“Tell me you don’t want this,” he said hoarsely. “And I’ll show you how your body is telling me you’re lying.”
Without thinking, I bit down on my lip and he groaned. It was all he needed. With a growl, he sank his lips to mine and kissed me with a searing passion. Shock and excitement took a backseat to the pleasure of his mouth moving luxuriously over mine, and I whimpered. His lips were soft and luscious, his tongue confident and commanding, both of them driving me toward a dizzying mindlessness.
With a moan, I melted against him, powerless to stop, and when he felt my surrender, he took the kiss deeper, dragging his fingers through my hair and tilting my head back.
His lips dropped to my jaw, and slid along my arched throat, and I gasped at the sensation. It was like I was drunk and high, and every touch was amplified with primal pleasure.
“I want you, little bird,” he groaned against my throat. “And it’s driving me insane.”
He had me crushed against him, the full length of his powerful body pressed hard into mine, and I could feel every wonderful inch of him. It was exciting. Intoxicating. And so damn delicious, it made me hungry for more. I was breathless and wet, my clit wildly throbbing in time with my racing heart, begging for more. Ravenous for more.
“I’m trying to resist you,” I moaned.
“Well, stop,” he growled.
His lips crashed to mine again, and they were warm and delicious, and so fucking irresistible, and I was ready to give into every fantasy and let him take me there on his desk.
But just as I was about to submit everything to him, there was a knock on the door.
It was a short, sharp knock. One he must’ve recognized because he sank against me, disappointed.
Exhaling with frustration, he took a step back and adjusted himself before replying. “Come in.”
The door opened, and Mrs. Stephens walked in carrying a clipboard.
She had worked for the Kings of Mayhem for years. Somewhere in her late forties or early fifties, she looked more like a boarding school matron than a personal assistant to the president of a motorcycle club. Tweed skirts. High-cut silk shirts. Modest heels. Horn-rimmed glasses. Brown hair tied into a tight bun at the nape of her neck. A face bare of makeup.
She looked like she belonged at the opposite end of the social spectrum to a bunch of booze swilling bikers who grew pot and talked about pussy.
But she was responsible for organizing all the events for the club, including the booking of jelly wrestlers and the purchase of blow up dolls for the occasional bachelor party. Tasks she did without batting an eyelash.
“I hope I’m not interrupting,” she said, making eye contact with me. I blushed, certain she knew exactly what she was interrupting.
Bull signaled for her to come in.
Embarrassed, I stepped farther away from him and straightened my tank top as subtly as possible. But if Mrs. Stephens realized, then she didn’t show it. Forever the professional, she would never allow her emotions to show in her job.
I, on the other hand, was just about to give it up to my boss on his desk.
“These need your signature so I can organize the deliveries for this week,” she said, handing Bull the clipboard of papers.
“I’ll leave you to it,” I said, backing out of the room.
Bull fixed me with those bright, otherworldly eyes, and his expression told me that this wasn’t over.
But he was wrong.
It would never happen again.
BULL
My house was in a quiet part of town, a converted three-bedroom terrace overlooking the river. Ten years ago, I’d finally moved out of the little house Wendy and I had bought shortly before our wedding because I needed a respite from the memory of her lingering in every damn room. I lived alone and never invited anyone over. I had never taken a woman in my bed. Never touched a woman within these walls. My home was my privacy. My sanctuary from a world that could weigh heavily on your soul.
The clubhouse was for fucking, but I rarely indulged in it there either. If sex happened, then it happened in someone else’s home, or for privacy reasons, in a motel out of town.
But never here.
Never in my bed.
But now, as I lie awake and alone, my mind scratching over the events of the day, I longed for the warmth of a body next to me. For someone to touch. For the pleasure of skin on skin. To lose myself in the heat and the comfort of lovemaking. My body was tight with longing, to the point of pain. The mayor and I were well and truly over, and since her there had been no one. Hell, I hadn’t even taken care of the morning woods or random hard-ons in weeks because I had been so preoccupied by my lust for revenge.