I was totally checking him out when he called me on it.
We both know it.
I am so wet right now I’m afraid it’ll start to show soon. I should probably excuse myself to the bathroom to do something about it, but I have to wait until he gets out here…and if I lock myself in there, I’ll probably end up touching myself to ease this throbbing ache.
I want this guy.
I want his cock.
I want his weight on me.
I want to see if he’s the type who’d throw me around like a rag doll and fuck the shit out of me until I can’t even remember who I am.
“What’s your name?” he calls from where I can’t see him. That deep rasp is killing me. I almost walk over, but catch myself and push harder into the door, right by my hidden 9mm.
“What does it matter?” I call back, low and husky. Shit, I can hear the sex in my voice. If I can, he can.
He laughs under his breath. The sound of faucet water stops abruptly and he reappears, this time completely missing the shirt. Half-naked. Jeez.
What a manipulative fuck this guy is.
A thorny tattoo with a C centered beneath it dances on his chest muscles as they tighten and release many times while he dries his hands with the cheap hand towel. He throws me a devilish grin and pokes at his rib, glancing down before looking up from under blonde eyebrows.
Is his pubic hair blonde, too?
Keep your mind in check, Luna.
“Not broken after all,” he announces, tossing the towel on a light brown dresser with the top drawer opened slightly. I glance to it and see the corners of a Bible.
“You needed your shirt off to check.”
“Yup.”
“Makes total sense.”
He grins, and it grows into a laugh. “Fuck, you’re somethin.’ You really are candy for the eyes.” Like he means it, his drifting, lingering gaze eats me alive, working slowly down my body and leaving a goosebump-wake.
“Stop eye-fucking me without my consent.”
His eyes shoot up to meet mine. I love that I made him lose that smirk.
“Why were you there tonight,” I demand.
He blinks at me on a long frown. Shoving his hands in the pockets of faded blue jeans, his belt dips down a little. The tips of a tattoo become visible, but I ignore it.
I’m here for a purpose, and finding the meaning behind a hot biker’s tats isn’t it.
His chatty charm is gone now.
I really shut him down. Which is fine. Maybe now I’ll get answers and I can get the hell out of here.
Observing me from a distance, he growls, “I was gonna ask you the same thing.”
“I’m not telling you.”
“Then why should I tell you?” he shoots back.
The next exchange is even quicker, each sentence more rapid fire than the last. As this goes on, Grey Eyes walks closer to me.
“Why were you fighting those men?”
“Why were you hiding?”
“Did you follow me?”
“No.”
“Yes, you did.”
“After, yes. Before, no.”
“Were you looking for someone in particular?”
“Were you?”
“It doesn’t matter what I was doing.”
“If you don’t tell me, why should I tell you?”
“Because I need to know!”
“And I don’t?”
“Did someone hire you?”
“Nope. We work for no master.”
This makes me pause. He takes a step closer. I stiffen and press my back harder against the door. His eyes pierce mine like he can read inside my mind or something. Hell, I don’t think he’s blinked once.
“Neither do I,” I breathe as he leans deeper in. Grey Eyes is so dangerously close to my mouth that I can feel his heat.
“Neither do you what?”
“Have a master.” I could use a good fuck, though. “And I don’t want one, either.”
“Every woman wants a master.”
“Not true,” I whisper, fighting him because I’m stubborn but inwardly knowing he doesn’t mean equality. He means in the sack. And he’s right.
“Deep, deeeeeeep down, she does want a master, Sunshine. She wants him to take charge. Make her pant his name as she quivers underneath him.”
With his eyes all hooded and his naked chest lightly touching the tips of my breasts through my jacket and shirt, Grey Eyes lowers his hand. I follow it, unable not to look. He hovers thick, calloused fingers from riding, just short of my jeans’ zipper and crooks his middle finger as though it were about to be inside me. He’s almost touching me there. I’ve stopped breathing.
With a low, slow rasp, he continues to tease me as we both stare at those fucking fingers of his. “Every woman wants a real man. One who knows how to touch her…here. And that man, Sunshine, that man she’d call Master.”