Page 21 of Bullet

The rumble vibrated between my legs. Heat bloomed in my center, my clit tingled, and my nipples tightened into hard little stones. “Bullet,” I whispered and gripped tighter to his cut. “I’m not sure about this.”

His dark chuckle seeped into me.

Drunk butterflies fluttered wildly in my stomach. Or maybe my belly growled with hunger. My mouth watered with every restaurant we passed. Sweet scents from the bakery and coffee from Vintage Brew. We’d rushed out before we’d eaten the breakfast Bristol had made.

We rolled up to an intersection. “I smell bacon.”

“Are you hungry, brown eyes?”

I leaned closer to him and nodded.

“I’ll feed you when we get to the MC.”

A little girl in the backseat of the car next to us smiled at me and rolled her hand. “I think she wants you to rev the engine.”

Bullet glanced to the side and revved the bike long and hard. I instinctively wrapped my arms around Bullet’s torso. My hands fluttered over his abdomen, and I rested my forehead between his shoulder blades. His back rippled with muscle, and my pussy quivered with arousal.

Oh god. I shifted on the seat, quelling the ache building in my core. This was wrong. Bristol belonged on the back of his bike, feeling the heat of his body in her nipples, and his strength between her thighs.

For this moment, I could pretend he wanted me on the back of his motorcycle, that he’d know I was wet for him.

But it was just the rumble of the bike, not the man because I wouldn’t be the other woman ever again.

Bullet slowed the bike as we approached an old church surrounded by a twelve-foot security fence. Mounted cameras focused on the gate. We rode up to a control box, entered a code, and the gate slowly rolled open.

Once inside the compound, the gate rolled closed. The asphalt parking lot was worn and cracked and mostly empty. A flatbed truck was parked alongthe fence next to a small yellow car. A couple of motorcycles rested in a row near the building. Bullet circled the lot and parked at the end of the line.

He killed the engine, dropped the side stand, and waited for me to climb off. My legs still trembled from the ride, and the rest of me was hot and achy. A few more revs of the engine, and a little grind against the seat, and I seriously could have spontaneously combusted in a white-hot release.

I’d keep telling myself my reactions were to the bike, not the biker.

I stared up at the stained-glass and brick building. An American flag waved from the top of the flagpole, and the Heller Raiders flag flew right below it.

“You good?” he asked.

I nodded. Good was relative. My money was with Bristol, and I was behind a gate with a scary as hell Heller who looked equal parts god and destroyer. I followed him into the motorcycle club.

In the main chapel, morning sun blazed through the stained glass. Dust motes floated in the mosaic of colored beams. Odd tables and chairs scattered throughout the room where there once would have been pews for services. Bottles of booze lined the wall behind the altar. The stale scent of cigarettes mingled with the aroma of fresh coffee.

A pool table sat on a raised platform in the rear of the club. The room was empty. No voices, just the drone of ceiling fans slowly spinning in the high rafters.

“Mugs for coffee are behind the bar. You can probably find some milk for creamer if you need it.” And then he was gone, leaving me alone in the room.

There was half a pot of hot Folgers. No milk or creamer. But there were rows of booze behind me. I was already half drunk on a cocktail of anxiety, fear, and because of the motorcycle and the man riding it, a double shot of lust. I splashed a hefty amount of Irish Cream into my mug.

Red and copper rays cut across a table in the corner of the room. I carried my mug to the table, sat with my back to the wall, and waited. There was nothing else I could do. A clock ticked next to a small flat screen television hanging over the bar.Tick. Tick. Tick.

A young girl, at least she looked young except for the belly protruding from her small body, entered the room. Her hair was pulled into a ponytail, and she carried a laptop computer. She plunked it down on the table, went behind the bar, poured two cups of coffee, turned, and noticed me.

“Oh shit,” she squeaked and sloshed coffee from one of the cups.

I jumped from my chair to help her. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“It’s okay,” she said and handed me the mugs. “Take these to Romeo and Bullet. They’re in the office. I just peed myself.”

“I’m so sorry.” I grabbed the hot mugs from her.

“It’s not your fault. The little bean is sitting on my bladder.” She hurried out of the room. “I’m Levi,by the way. You must be one of Bullet’s girls. I’ll be right back. I just need to change.”

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