Page 27 of Property of the Hellfire Riders

We both know what he's implying. My insides coil in revulsion and an even deeper wanting.

“Come here, then.” He points to the floor right in front of him.

I hesitate for a split second before I do as he commands. I'm at his feet now, my heart thumping in my chest like it's trying to escape.

“Look at me,” he growls. I reluctantly lift my eyes. His are so dark and mesmerizing, and I find myself drowning in them.

“Good girl.” The words roll off his tongue like honey and venom. “Take off your clothes and let me get a good look at you.”

I'm frozen. I can't do this. He's a stranger, a biker, and a man I know nothing about. Except he just made me want to beg for more with a simple glance.

I fume, but I know I agreed to this. Every fiber of my being protests as my shaky fingers go to the zipper of my jacket, but my traitorous body listens nonetheless.

There's a prickle on the back of my neck, that unmistakable sensation of Hawk’s dark eyes watching me.

I slide off my jacket, my movements stiff, more mechanical than fluid.

Hawk’s gaze is almost tangibly, like a weight pressing against my skin. It's intense, deliberate. I unbutton my jeans, the sense of exposure gnawing at my resolve. They drop in a pool at my ankles, and I step out awkwardly.

Pulling my shirt over my head, the fabric catches for a moment on my bracelet, and I curse under my breath, tugging it free.

Hawk's eyes sharpen, narrowing with a predatory glint in them.

Left in my bra and panties, I swallow down my pride and meet his gaze.

His smirk widens, a cruel, crooked thing. Then he reaches down, grabbing the remote from where he had plucked the joint. In a second, he presses a button on it and Aerosmith starts playing through a stereo system under the television.

“Now, you dance.”

I want to tell him where he can shove his order, but the words die in my throat as I meet his eyes—dark, bottomless pools that dared me to defy him.

This can't be happening. Not like this, not with him watching. But I can't find it in me to stop.

My weight shifts between my feet, and I inhale a shaky breath, willing myself to find some sliver of bravery. My hips move stiffly at first, but as the adrenaline kicks in. The drinks downstairs with Tank and Vance help to numb the sheer embarrassment of it all.

Hips swaying, arms in the air, I dance for him as he leans against the couch, his eyes never leaving my body.

I spin, my eyes darting around the apartment for some kind of weapon.

There’s a knife in the kitchen, one of the glass liquor bottles, carved metal of figures littered about. Probably too heavy for me to swing, but a smaller one might do.

I move closer to the kitchen, trying my best to feign some sort of sensuality.

Hawk clicks his tongue.

“Come back here, Izzy,” he says, motioning for me.

Damn it.

Turning, I saunter back to where he lounges on the couch, every step a silent protest. Gesturing with his finger, he summons me close to him.

I'm trembling. I don't know if it's from fear or anticipation.

“Take off the rest.”

I hesitate, my fingers trembling as I unclasp my bra, letting it fall to the ground. The cool air rushes in, making my nipples harden.

“Slower, sweetheart,” he drawls, his voice sending shivers down my spine. The heavy rhythm of the music continues to thump overhead, matching the beat of my pulsing heart.

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