Throttle's Seduction(Insurgents MC Romance Book 7)(12)

I'm hard as a fuckin' board. There was something about her that made his  dick stir. He wanted to tear off her uniform and give her a hard  fucking on Hawk's desk, shove his length into her dripping pussy. She  ignited a fire in him so intense he thought he'd explode. He couldn't  remember ever wanting a woman as much as he did Kimber at that moment.                       
       
           



       

As he plunged his tongue in and out of her luscious mouth, a loud knock  broke through their daze of lust. Kimber pulled away. Panting, she  rested her head on his shoulder. "I'm busy here. Come back." Throttle  placed his hand behind her head, securing her against him.

"Need your help in front. Patrick's gone on break, and I'm up to my  balls in work that's gotta get finished today," Dwayne said gruffly.

"Fuck," Throttle muttered under his breath before calling out, "I'll be there in a couple minutes."

"Just hurry it up." His retreating footsteps oozed in through the crack under the office door.

Kimber broke away from Throttle and smoothed her hair down, mumbling, "It was a mistake. Sorry."

"A mistake? There's no way that was a fuckin' mistake, sweetheart. We both been wanting that for a while."

"Speak for yourself," she said as she finger-combed her hair.

He gripped her wrists and turned her to face him. "You gonna look me in the eye and tell me you didn't want me to kiss you?"

With a downward glance, she shrugged one shoulder.

"Damn, you're a piece of work. You can't even admit you wanted and  enjoyed our kiss? Shit, babe. You been eye-fucking me for the past  several days, and you know it."

She raised her eyes, anger flashing in them. "So what? You're a  good-looking guy and I was curious. You don't have to act like it's  anything more."

"You can act like it was no big deal, but I know chicks, and sweetheart,  you loved it. You'll be back for seconds. I can guarantee it."

She narrowed her eyes. "It's too bad I'm not the betting type. I could  use the money." She pushed past him, flung open the door, and stormed  off.

Throttle guffawed, wanting her to hear how he didn't give a shit if she  wanted more or not. He didn't waste time chasing chicks. The only reason  he'd even consider a second round with the smart-assed mechanic was  because he wanted to nail her. He didn't like giving chicks the upper  hand. He'd show Miss Know-It-All that he couldn't care less about her.  He gave her a week max before she came crawling back, begging for him in  her pussy.

"You comin' out?" Dwayne said.

"Yeah!" Throttle picked up the iridescent skull that Kimber had  forgotten to take and slipped it in his pocket. She'd need him sooner  than he thought. He shoved his hands in his pockets and walked to the  front of the store.

The rest of the morning, Throttle waited on customers and finished  inputting the numbers into the inventory software. Kimber stayed in the  service garage, sending Jorge, one of the technicians, to retrieve the  hood ornament from Throttle. He didn't want to admit he was disappointed  that she was hiding out from him. He knew she felt the charge between  them. She was the most stubborn and infuriating woman he'd ever met. Why  couldn't she give in to the feelings that were coursing through her  body? The way she kissed and pressed herself against him showed she was  hot for him, and he was cool with that because he was hot for her. So  what was her fucking problem? He knew later on, in the quiet of the  night as he lay on his bed watching the clouds skate across the moon,  he'd remember the feel and taste of her. Fuck! This woman is screwing  with my head. Damn!

His phone rang and he answered it, grateful for taking his thoughts off  her. It was Rags telling him that one of the guys became ill in the heat  and had to leave. Throttle told him he'd be there shortly, as soon as  Hawk returned.

As soon as he hung up, Hawk walked in. "Hey, man. How much headway did you make with recording the inventory?"

"Finished it. Rags just called, said one of our guys went home sick. I gotta go. I'll catch you later."

"Thanks, man."

Throttle swung his leg over his Harley and turned the switch, making his  favorite lady come to life. He adjusted his sunglasses and made a  U-turn in the parking lot. When he drove past the shop, he spotted  Kimber standing by the window, peeking out at him. Satisfaction radiated  throughout his body, and his lips curled into a cocky smile. He revved  his engine and blended into the traffic, confident that he'd be between  the sexy mechanic's legs in less than a week.





Chapter Eight





Detective McCue glanced over at the petite, dark brunette who stared at  the ground, her nose dripping. He exhaled. At times like that, he hated  his job, despised the broken pieces the bad guy left, expecting the  justice system to put them back together. The investigator glanced down  at his notepad. The woman's name was Sela Ramirez and she was  twenty-five years old. The one-bedroom house was the first place she'd  ever lived alone. She had a good job at an accounting firm, made a nice  salary, was pretty, and should've been having the time of her life, not  sitting on her chintz sofa staring at the ground as a team of law  officers swarmed around.                       
       
           



       

McCue trudged over. "Miss Ramirez? I'm Detective McCue, and I have a few  questions I need to ask you. May I sit down?" No reaction. He slumped  down in a straight-back chair near the sofa. He pushed a couple tissues  into her hand, and the touch of his hand against hers appeared to have  startled her. She whimpered, her brown eyes searching his face. He  smiled faintly, flipped open his notebook, and uncapped his pen.

After a tearful, stammering rendition of the chain of events that  brought McCue to the victim's home, he stood, thanked her, and went over  to the crime scene investigator. "Did you get anything?"

The lanky man smiled, pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose, and  nodded. "A few drops of semen near her bed. I can't be sure it's the  intruder's, but we finally have something concrete."

McCue's eyes lit up for the first time since he'd arrived. He thumbed  through his notes. "I'm damn certain it's the perp's semen. The victim  said he jerked off into her yellow lace panties while she lay tied up  and duct taped on the bed. According to her, she hasn't been intimate  with any man in her house since she moved in eight months ago." Elation  spread through the room, and a thread of hope that the perpetrator's DNA  would be in the database weaved its way around the crime team. "Do your  magic," McCue said to the CSI, "and let me know the minute the tests  are done."

As he left the house, he glanced over at the victim; she rested her head  against her hand as a victim advocate spoke softly to her. He walked  out into the bright sunshine and pervasive heat. The perp was a cruel,  depraved sonofabitch who had to be stopped before he did more than take  pictures, jerk off, and steal the women's bras and panties. A funny  feeling twisted around his gut; the intruder left evidence, which meant  he was becoming sloppy. Sloppiness usually indicated tension and  frustration on the part of the criminal. The twisting inside him told  the seasoned detective that his perp was growing bored with his usual  antics. That concept turned his blood to ice. They had to find the  sociopath before his actions escalated to the next level. So far, the  women had been degraded, mentally and emotionally traumatized, but he  hadn't exhibited any violence toward them.

McCue tightened his grip on the steering wheel as he pulled away from  the curb, his gaze sweeping over the small group of people who gathered  on the sidewalk. He wondered if one of them was the intruder. Another  twist in his gut.

The man had to be caught …  and soon.

* * *

"Have you made the trip arrangements for the motorcycle expo at the coliseum in Denver?" Banger asked.

"Yeah. I secured all the tickets, hotels, and contacted our charter to  see if they could put up some of the single men. We're good to go."  Throttle leaned back in his chair. The motorcycle expo was one of the  biggest in the Rocky Mountains, and it attracted biker aficionados as  well as clubs, both mainstream and one-percenters. Each year, several  Insurgents would ride down to Denver to attend the event. The collection  of bikes, the gear, the custom jobs, and the newest models was  something most of the members didn't want to miss, even though the  Sturgis rally was coming up fast. In the past thirty years, there had  been major tension between the Insurgents and the Deadly Demons, but now  that there was a truce, the expo and Sturgis were a lot calmer, at  least for the Rocky Mountain clubs. Most of the time, the rival clubs  exchanged glares and scowls, but everyone pretty much stayed away from  one another.