Page 3 of His Road Dog

The woman gazed at the line of motorcycles parked to the right of the door. "I've learned if you follow bikers, you'll find a party. I had nothing to do tonight, and I wanted to be around others. There's no harm in that, is there?"

She continually refused to give him a straight answer. Instead, in her own way, she questioned him. He recognized the tactic because it was one he used on other people. It was the only way he could find out what the members of Tarkio were thinking and let them have pride over the decisions they came to as a club. He could manipulate which way he wanted them to vote by letting them believe they'd decided on their own.

"I suppose not," he murmured.

He'd already spent more time talking to her than he usually took to get a woman underneath him. Studying her, he looked for any sign that she would be a willing sex partner. That she was open to doing whatever he wanted, and beg for more.

He enjoyed an adventurous woman who was game to entertain him.

Her eyes widened and then seductively narrowed before she stepped in front of him. Close enough, he could touch her. But he hesitated when he'd usually act.

He was curious to find out what she'd do next.

She placed her hands on his stomach and looked into his eyes. Lifting her brow, she dared him to stop her.

Hell, he wasn't going to do a damn thing.

She moved up to his chest, rubbing the front of him. "There's a lot of you underneath your clothes."

His cock twitched to life. He refused to move a muscle. Either she was ridiculously stupid for putting her hands on the president of Tarkio and ultimately taking a risk on losing her life, or the bravest woman he'd come face to face with in a long fucking time.

"Hm." She trailed her fingers along his shoulders underneath his leather vest. "I wonder why a big man always makes me feel safe?"

She reached his beard and looked at him. "May I?"

He grunted. At the moment, she could do whatever she wanted to him.

She gathered his whiskers together and tilted her head, then separated the beard, spreading it out again. Her tongue wet her bottom lip.

His ball sac constricted. He held still, surprised his body took notice when all she was doing was touching him. He found it hard to breathe through the tightening of his chest. His reaction fascinated him as much as her exploration. It usually took much more than a woman standing in front of him, playing with his beard, to get him hard.

She inhaled deeply and sighed, leaning forward and nuzzling his beard. The top of her head barely reached his chin. She was tall for a woman, considering he was six feet four inches.

Her hands lowered, and she palmed his stomach, leaning back to look at him. "Thank you."

"Don't stop," he mumbled.

She straightened, putting space between their bodies, and stepped back. Until then, he hadn't noticed the car, idling by the curb.

The woman smiled, held the side of her sundress up to her hip, and ran toward the vehicle. He stared after her.

She opened the car door, slid into the seat and tossed her hair, looking straight at him. The black Cadillac roared down the street, leaving him wondering if she had even stopped at the clubhouse tonight.

If she'd touched him.

If she'd controlled the whole damn night.

The front door opened. Curley and Rick walked out. Priest ran his hand over his beard, distracted from the last fifteen minutes.

"We're going to ride around the block and do a check-in." Curley looked out at the street, then back at Priest. "Problem?"

"All's good." He pushed away from the wall of the building. "It's been a hell of a night."

He walked inside the clubhouse. Grabbing Theresa, one of the women who were always willing to spend time with him, he led her to one of the vacant bedrooms and told her to strip.

Unbuckling his belt, he undid his jeans and took out his cock. "On your knees."

Theresa slipped out of her shorts and stepped over to him naked. He wound his hand in her hair the moment she kneeled and brought her head forward. Everything about her was wrong. She had blonde hair and not dark curls. She was too short, and even with no clothes on, her breasts lacked the carefree, wild appearance he sought.

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