Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 81245 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 406(@200wpm)___ 325(@250wpm)___ 271(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 81245 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 406(@200wpm)___ 325(@250wpm)___ 271(@300wpm)
His fingers close over mine before shaking free. “How much do you know about us? The Outlaw Sons?”
“Um, not a lot I guess? I know you’re a motorcycle club, and…” I cringe a little, not wanting to be rude, but I have to be honest. “You have kind of a violent reputation. People always want to think the worst, right? I’m sure it’s exaggerated.”
Stiff looks me dead in the eyes. “It’s not. I didn’t get this playing hopscotch.” His fingers flick to the scar that looks like it almost took his head off. “We’re not good men by the measure of your world, Dakota, but we fill a place in ours and we’re known for standing on business. Back when that picture was taken, the club was growing fast. We had a bunch of new members that were leftovers from a piece of shit club that the Screaming Eagles took out. General, our old president, should’ve seen the signs sooner, but that’s easy to say with fucking hindsight, you know?”
I nod like I have any idea what he’s talking about.
“They stirred up trouble and had General killed. It nearly started a whole fucking war, but we handled it. Lost a lot of brothers in the fight though, Ice was one of ‘em.” His jaw is so tense I’m surprised he hasn’t cracked a molar. I can tell there’s a lot he’s leaving out.
“Is that where you got hurt?” I ask, shifting a little closer.
A single nod.
Stiff is a bit of a mystery to me. Lash is constantly joking around, making himself the center of attention, and Jackal is more serious, stepping up to take charge, but Stiff seems to usually be content to hang back. Except he was the one to call and promise that Logan would be alright. He invited me to the Burnout, and he’s here tonight, bringing my baby his stuffed animal back, and sharing part of my sister’s history with me. He keeps his promises.
“I think if you meet the right woman, she’d be very lucky to have you.”
11
STIFF
She’s so fucking close, practically in my lap, wearing those ridiculous fucking pajamas that make her look like a rainbow colored dessert. It doesn’t take any effort at all to pull her the rest of the way. Dakota pulls in a surprised breath as she finds herself straddling my lap.
“Yes?” I ask.
From this close, I can see the specks of green and blue in her eyes. She hesitates, then nods.
I reach up, cupping her chin in my hands and tugging her mouth down to meet mine. Her eyes drift shut and her lips part. She tastes like coffee and cream. I can’t fucking remember the last time I wanted someone like this. Because of who she was, not just what our bodies could do together.
Her kiss is shy at first, but she gains confidence quickly. My jacket’s open, and she presses her hands against my cut, sliding them up until I know she can feel my ruined skin. I’m not ashamed of my scars. I earned those marks, both the visible and the hidden ones, in the defense of the men I’ve sworn my life to.
But just because I’d do it all again doesn’t mean I don’t know what other people think. It’s easier for them to pretend this is all a fashion choice when the violence isn’t right out in the open.
Dakota doesn’t seem to mind. Her hips rock against mine as my tongue slides beside hers. She makes a needy little noise in her throat and I drop a hand to her waist, pushing it up beneath her loose top. She gasps when my fingers touch the soft, sensitive skin below her ribs, but she doesn’t pull away. My cock is trapped between us, straining against my zipper. I lean back to let up on the pressure, and she leans in, following. It lines her pussy up with the rock in my pants, and she groans.
“Been a while?” I tease, nipping at her lower lip.
“Shut up,” she growls. It’s adorable.
And fucking hot.
I let out a groan as she grinds down. “Ride me.”
Dakota tears her mouth away and buries her face in the crook of my neck. Her arms are braced on the back of the couch and her hips start working like a fucking lap dance. I slide both hands under her top, and skim upwards until I feel the hot, soft weight of her breasts. She’s not wearing a fucking bra. I have to take a deep breath and pull myself together or it’s going to be a sticky, uncomfortable ride home.
“That’s right, baby.” I whisper in her ear. “Find it for me. I wanna hear you come.”
She whimpers as I cup her breasts, flicking my thumbs over her tight nipples. Her breath is hot in my ear, panting softly. One hand on her breast, I slip the other to her ass, palming her outside her fuzzy pajamas and urging her to grind faster, harder. Her breath catches and her hips jerk forward. I pinch her nipple and her back rounds as she shudders in my lap. I can hear her fighting to stay quiet, and it makes me want to hear her scream my name.