Possession(Sons of Odin MC)(41)

Tina tapped her chin. “Haven’t you heard? Two women just graduated from the Army Ranger course.”

“Yeah,” he replied. “And look where they’re employed. The best-of-the-best usually have higher expectations than fifteen dollars an hour at a backwater joint like Valhalla.”

“Is that what you consider your nightclub?”

He shrugged. “It’s in Flour Bluff.”

Tina didn’t understand why locals poked fun at people and places in Flour Bluff. Fifteen or twenty years ago maybe, but now the city had worked hard to clean up and attract new business to the gateway neighborhood to Padre Island. In fact, Laguna Shores Road, the street where the club was located, boasted plenty of high-end real estate.

“Well, in the name of equality, take it under advisement from your attorney: hire a woman.”

He rolled his eyes as he reached for her. “I have better uses for my lawyer.”

She avoided his grasp. “Before you get too comfortable,” she called over her shoulder as she dashed from the kitchen and into the hallway to her bedroom, “I think we should seriously discuss my retainer.”

“You expect a deposit after I let you come in my mouth?”

Seconds later, they tumbled onto her bed, a tangle of limbs and laughter. Somehow Tina ended up underneath him, her hands stretched over her head.

“What’s the going rate for your services?” he teased, feathering kisses down her neck.

She struggled to stay focused; his lips were just too damn sexy. “Two hundred and fifty dollars an hour.”

“One of those classy…”

“Wait.” She pretended to be serious. “Are we talking about the same thing? I’m not a call girl.”

“Well, at that price…” He nipped her bottom lip. “Maybe we could pretend just once.”

She kicked her feet in protest. “Role playing?”

“Call it a social experiment if it makes you feel better.” He spread her hands wider, then used his knee to part her legs.

“I’m beginning to think you came over for a booty call.”

“Finally—she gets it.” He went for the kill—sinking his tongue between her lush lips.

He released her hands, and she tunneled her fingers through his damp hair. Whatever his purpose for showing up early, she didn’t care. Feeling him on top of her, all muscle and need, reminded her why she’d held out hope of hooking up with this man for so long. He nuzzled into her neck, grinding his crotch against her. His masculine scent wrapped around her, sucking her in. Another heated kiss left her breathless. He broke away and stared down at her, his intense eyes all the communication she required to understand what he wanted.

“I don’t think I can be gentle,” he confessed as he lifted up a couple of inches and unzipped his fly.

Desperate for contact, Tina invaded his pants with her fingers, freeing his cock. She gripped it tight, his velvety hot skin stretched to the limit. She admired the mushroom-shaped head, tracing an imaginary line all the way down his shaft. His balls were tight, and she massaged them tenderly, relief only seconds away. In turn, he lifted the hem of her robe and short nightgown and groaned as he found her wet core, two of his fingers sliding inside her.

Her hips wiggled in anticipation. Sometimes foreplay was overrated. Nothing felt better than having him inside her.

“I don’t want to wait,” she whispered, letting go of his penis.

His thumb circled over her sensitive clitoris, eliciting a wave of pleasure that made her crazy. “Not even for my tongue?” he asked, already knowing the answer.

She shook her head. “Shut up and fuck me.”

“Whatever the lady demands.” Vincent sat up and shed his cut and shirt.

Tina ran her hands up his warm skin, whirling her fingers around his nipples. Covered with the perfect amount of hair, his toned chest remained one of her favorite features of his sculpted physique. And his arms, oh God, chiseled perfection. Did someone sew large rocks inside his biceps?

“Flex for me,” she said, squeezing his right arm.

He grinned, then indulged her. He fisted his hand and growled as he curled his arm. Hard as steel. Her gaze traveled down his torso, stopping on his cock. Correction: this man was encased in steel from his shoulders to his toes.

“Like what you see?” he teased.

“Pretty sure like doesn’t cover it.”

He nodded in approval, rolled onto his back, and stripped his leather pants off. Tina raised up on her elbows, drinking in his symmetry, his tapered waist and ripped thighs. She knew there was a gym at the clubhouse, but his kind of legs came from more than lifting weights. Hard labor or sports—maybe football or soccer. His calves were the size of his fists. And those tattoos didn’t help. Blue and orange flames wrapped around his left thigh, crisscrossed over his stomach, and continued up his right arm, combined with other ink that represented everything pagan. From Celtic knots to Thor’s ax, his sleeve of tats made him that much more tempting—and forbidden in the world she grew up in.