Total pages in book: 50
Estimated words: 47714 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 239(@200wpm)___ 191(@250wpm)___ 159(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 47714 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 239(@200wpm)___ 191(@250wpm)___ 159(@300wpm)
I could still taste her on my tongue.
Fuck.
It didn’t matter how many times I blinked, she was still there. Pressed against that wall, breathing my name in her soft, husky voice. My real name. Chance.
I leaned back in the chair, the leather creaking under my weight. Dragging a hand down my face, my fingers brushed my jaw, rough with a day’s growth, then settled over my eyes like that might be enough to block the memory. It wasn’t.
Every detail hit me in flashes. The scent of her hair. The heat of her body when I lifted her. The way her pulse jumped against my tongue. The trust in her eyes right before I lost control.
That last one fucking wrecked me.
She’d looked at me like she believed I’d never hurt her. As though she didn’t know what I was truly capable of.
The rational part of me—the side that lived by the club’s code and had seen what losing control could cost—knew it had to stop. But the rest of me wanted to go back and do it again. And again.
Slower. Harder. Longer.
The craving for a cigarette clawed at me, raw and abrasive. I flipped my old lighter open and shut, the soft click echoing off the walls. Once. Twice. Each time, the flame hissed, flared, then died.
The smoke I didn’t have filled my head anyway, but the scent was different. It smelled like…her.
Shit!
I stood up fast, the chair rolling back until it hit the wall with a thud. My body felt too tight for my skin. I paced, running a hand through my hair and breathing harshly. The motion didn’t burn the urge off—it just stirred the fire higher.
Through the open door, I caught the faint sound of engines starting outside. Brothers coming in and out of the lot, laughter carrying under the low thrum. It brought me back to reality. Anchored me the way only family noise could and reminded me where I belonged. What I couldn’t fuck up.
But even that wasn’t enough to drown out her voice in my head.
“Thank you.”
Two words—sweet as sugar and soft as sin.
She’d smiled when she said it, not realizing that the smallest brush of her fingers on my arm had already undone me.
I should’ve walked out before the kiss. Should’ve never let it happen.
But I had.
And I wasn’t sure I’d ever stop tasting it.
Imagining what would have come next.
Big fucking mistake.
Because my brain filled in the blanks too easily—too vividly.
Her soft moan breaking against my mouth. The slow slide of her tongue against mine. The heat that would build if I’d kept going—lifting her, carrying her to the bed, and laying her out for me.
Dropping back into my chair, I leaned my elbows on my knees and braced my palms against my skull like I could squeeze the images out. It didn’t help. They kept coming, hot and real.
I could almost feel it—the scrape of fabric as I slowly undressed her. My eyes soaking in the exquisite curves of her naked body. Then the shock of skin meeting skin as I pressed my body to hers.
Every detail came alive—the curve of her hip under my palm, the warmth of her thigh brushing mine, and how her pulse would race when I pushed inside her. Her body moving with mine, throbbing around my shaft as both of us got lost in the same rough rhythm until there was nothing left between us but heat and desperate need.
I could see her eyes on me, hazy and trusting, her lips parted on a sound that would undo every ounce of control I had left.
The fantasy hit so hard my pulse kicked against my ribs, the ache in my cock spreading through my body until every muscle felt wired. My skin was too damn tight, and my dick was painfully swollen. The air in the office felt thick, heavy enough to choke on.
The room stayed still, but my head was in chaos—flashes of her, the scent of vanilla and salt, and the trust in her eyes when I should’ve been the last man she trusted.
Fuck, I wanted her. I wanted every shiver, every sound, every look she’d give me when I finally stopped holding back.
But I couldn’t have her.
Didn’t matter that she was grown now, or that she’d looked at me like I was the only safe thing in her world. She was Jax’s little sister. And I’d seen him nearly burn the world down for less.
I needed distance.
I needed control.
But all I could think about was walking into her apartment again, closing that door, and finishing what we started. No interruptions. No fucking phone calls.
The thought hit like a punch, dragging a low growl from my chest.
I knew fucking better. I’d spent years mastering restraint—holding steady when the world went to hell, keeping my brothers alive, and not letting the line between right and wrong blur too far. But with Alanna? That line had disappeared.