Page 101 of Romeo

She would be happy to do so.

She got to her feet and walked slowly toward him, deciding where to start.

His cut, of course. A biker’s pride and joy. Also as important as his sled since it was proof of his brotherhood and his way of life. His cut defined him.

“Turn around.”

When he did, she slid her hands up his arms and under the shoulders of the leather vest before carefully slipping it off. The heaviness of the gun was unmistakable, and most likely hidden somewhere in the liner.

“Careful with that.”

“With that comment, I’ll assume it really is locked and loaded.”

“Ain’t worth shit otherwise.”

She went over and hung his cut on the hook attached to the back of her bedroom door. When she turned, he was watching her intently with his expression blank and his dark eyes unreadable.

His body language also gave nothing away.

Was he trying to hide something? Or was she overthinking it?

She stopped toe-to-toe with him and grabbed his shirt, peeling it up and off him, to expose his very impressive, tattooed chest. She smoothed both hands over his heated skin and followed the contours of his muscles.

He continued to hide his thoughts and, surprisingly, had zero reaction to her touching him. So, she bent her knees enough so she could draw her tongue from his belly button up his abs and between his defined pecs.

He fisted her hair tightly like a ponytail and growled, “Woman.”

Well,thatgot a reaction.

She paused to flick one of his dark, pebbled nipples with the tip of her tongue before doing the same to the other. When she straightened, the look on his face made her pussy pulse with every thump of her heart.

It was also getting slicker by the second.

They needed to get this moving before she ended up in a huge puddle at his feet.

Leaning into him, she drew her nose along his throat while inhaling the scent typical of a biker—exhaust, leather, weed and something else she couldn’t identify—at the same time working his belt buckle open and unfastening his jeans.

Heat radiated from him like a furnace and seared her everywhere she touched. But it also drew her like a moth to a flame.

She shouldn’t like him.

She shouldn’t want him.

She shouldn’t have let him into her apartment.

But she did.

She didn’t know what his “secret sauce” was that made him so damn irresistible but now she semi-understood why he had plenty of women at his fingertips for his useand disposal.

Maybe after tonight, she’d be the next one kicked to the curb.

He might even block her number and tomorrow night be on the prowl for his next conquest.

Would she care? She wanted to say no, but that might no longer be true.

Doing this was not a good idea.

In fact, all of this was a very bad idea.

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