Raw and Dirty(21)

Crap.

So I guess this afternoon wasn't a dream after all.

But that doesn't mean it has to matter. It was a quick little thing between consenting adults. I'm sure Royal has a dozen encounters a week just like that.

I find my hands curling around the steering wheel again.

“Do you want to come over?” he asks me, his voice like warm leather against my skin, soft and buttery and well-worn. I want to wrap it around my shoulders and wear it everywhere. I'm in big trouble.

“Okay,” I find myself answering without hesitation.

Royal tosses me a wolfish grin in response and stands up straight, the smug look on his face making me wonder what the hell it is that I just agreed to.





Bringing the mayor's daughter over to my house in the middle of the night probably isn't the best idea I've ever had, but the moment I fucking saw her sitting in her car at the gates, my cock went rigid and everything I had on my mind just up and disappeared.

There's only one thing on my mind right now.

“Are we going to take your truck?” Lyric asks, pausing next to the red Ford as I dig my keys out of my pocket and pass them to Dober. He can take the dogs home with him tonight; I have company.

“What kind of question is that to ask the president of a motorcycle club.” I turn around and manage to catch Dober shaking his head at me. I flip him off when Lyric glances over her shoulder at the row of gleaming bikes in front of the clubhouse. We have a few out of town guests staying in the dorms tonight, and a few guys on watch, but the biggest bike of them all, that one's mine.

“We're … oh God, no. I'll take my car,” Lyric says, taking a step back like the she expects my bike to grow teeth and bite her ass off. And what a nice ass it is. “I'll follow you.” She turns and then pauses, giving me a nice uninterrupted view of her curvy body from head to toe.

Lyric Rentz was pretty in her ugly gray skirt suit. She was sexy as hell in that tiny red dress.

In torn up blue jeans and a denim jacket? Bloody fucking hell.

The wind tousles her thick, dark waves around her heart-shaped face, sticks a few loose strands to her full lips.

“Actually, you know what? I think I'll just go home. I don't even know what I was thinking coming over here in the middle of the night.” She turns and makes herself smile at me, a practiced professional smile that means nothing at all. “It's too late to talk business anyway.”

I raise an eyebrow.

“Who said I invited you over to talk business?”

Lyric turns to face me fully, her green eyes narrowing as she glares back at me.

“What else would we have to talk about?” she asks coolly, making my lips twitch into a smile. Her blasé attitude is enough to convince me; I'm getting this girl on my motorcycle whether she likes it or not.

“Get on the bike, Lyric,” I say and her mouth drops open, those pale pink lips just begging to wrap around my cock. My sudden urge to take her home suddenly makes a whole lot more sense. Sex. Of course it is. It always comes down to sex. I got a little taste of her earlier, and now I'm hungry for more.

So why the hell does it feel like a bullshit lie?

“I'm sorry, Royal, but no.”

I take a step closer to her, enjoying the way her head has to tilt back to look up into my face. But she doesn't look weak, no not at all. On the contrary, I can feel the strength radiating from her small frame.

“No?”

“I don't like motorcycles,” she says and both my brows shoot up.

“You don't … like motorcycles?” I ask and she nods, reaching up to touch her loose brunette waves, like she's just realized it's not all swept up in one of those atrocious little buns. “Oh, Pint-Size, you really are amusing, you know that?”

“I'm sorry,” she says, glancing around like she expects to get jumped with a switchblade at any moment. Lucky for her, we don't often carry switchblades around here. Or guns. Both of those things are considered weapons in the eyes of the law and that eye always seems to be looking our way. Back in the day, when the previous president was holding my seat, guys would get picked up on illegal weapons charges on a weekly basis. The cops'll do anything to get a Wolf pulled off the street. Thing is, a hammer isn't a weapon, right? It's a tool. So all my boys carry hammers on their belts now. Bloody brilliant, right? “I just don't like them.”

Lyric crosses her arms over her chest, the movement pushing her breasts up and giving me a much better view. It's cold as hell out here and her nipples are pebbled into hard points, visible even through her bra. I'm tempted to bend down and take a bite out of one of them.

“There's your problem then, sweetheart. Nobody likes motorcycles.” She gives me a look like I'm crazy, but it only makes me smile wider, take a step closer. “You don't just like your boyfriend do you?”