Page 4 of Clear Your Mind

“Damn, Blondie, are you trying to make me fall in love?” I lean in and nip his lip as he had mine. “I was just asking myself if you could be any more perfect. Turns out, you can be.” He beams as the weight of my words sinks in.

“Buddy, not Blondie, but I was just thinking the same about you.” He adjusts me away from him ever so slightly, handing me his cut as he removes his long-sleeve Henley top. I gape at the bounty he’s just uncovered. He still has a wifebeater on, but holy shit, what I can see makes me moan aloud.

The white tank is tight against his tan skin, and I stare dumbfounded as I count his abs. My gaze travels to the newly exposed ink, and I wipe at the corner of my mouth to ensure I’m not drooling like a cartoon.

I’m no math major, but I do know how to find his fuckable factor in my head. Multiply abs by tattoos. Add in the motorcycle bad-boy vibe, then carry the no-commitment stance, and he scores a fuckability factor of a very respectable nine point six seven on a scale of ten. If he’s packing more than six inches below the belt and eats at theY, he gets a solid thirteen.

He grins as if he knows my mental mathematics, trades me his Henley for his cut and dons it.

“Put that on. It’ll keep you a little warm because, damn, you must be cold.”

He reaches up and thumbs my aching nipple through my wet tank top. Score one for skipping the bra. I pull on the soft black top that’s still warm. I’m rolling up the sleeves to my wrist when I inhale the scent of the fabric deeply.

Smoky sandalwood and leather. Yep, sin. I hope this is what a good time with no regrets smells like.

Buddy plops a helmet on my head when I’m done.

“It’s too big, but it’s better than nothing. Get on, love.”

I’m helpless to do anything but obey him.

It’s a quick ride, too quick, but not quick enough at the same time. We pull up at a clubhouse which is one of those steel barns that everyone is so fond of turning into Southern mansions nowadays.

Either I’ve had it all wrong in my books, or this is a newer club. The painted logo on the side looks fresh. I take in the back of his cut once more. The TEXAS part is brighter than the IRON TRAVELER MC part, with two motorcycles face to face.

Maybe Blondie, um, Buddy, and his badass friend aren’t a start-up club but a start-up chapter.

One thing I do know I’ve not gotten wrong in my research—and personal experience—is not to ask. Club business isn’t any of mine.

Inside is practically deserted. From my experience, limited as it may be, there are always members and girls hanging out. I spot two other members milling about, but they say nothing. The common area is well furnished, but the bar top is unfinished with a pile of wood proclaiming it a work in progress.

Buddy leads me upstairs. He unlocks a door, and I’m hit with his scent. Holy shit, it’s like a top-floor suite at a swanky hotel.

Before I have a chance to get too enamored with the rich maroon and coffee color scheme, Buddy pushes me against the wall and devours my mouth. What the clubhouse does or doesn’t look like flees my mind. There’s only room in my head for him and what his wicked mouth is doing traveling down my neck.

“Too…many…clothes.” Speaking in broken words, there’s no structure whatsoever. Yeah, I’ve certainly been kissed stupid…again.

“Agreed,” Buddy practically purrs as he removes his cut and places it on the chair I only just noticed. I pull his Henley over my head, followed by my GWAR tank underneath it. I spare a glance at Buddy, who’s shed his wifebeater. He’s sitting on the foot of the bed, watching me. I notice the unbuttoned jeans with an open belt and raise an eyebrow in question.

When he doesn’t sate my silent curiosity, I use my voice. Not sure I can even speak, I clear my throat. “Why’d you stop?” I nod toward his waist. I can hear the desperation in my voice.

Buddy leans back on his elbows casually. “Because you’re fucking gorgeous, I want to enjoy seeing every inch of you for the first time.”

First time?For a moment, a tingle of panic runs up my spine. But he promised no strings earlier, and he’s given no indication to the contrary. I have zero reasons not to trust him, so I chalk it up to pillow talk, kinda like the way he calls melove. The thought calms my nerves, and I give him a show.

Bending forward, slowly removing my boots, I toss them aside. As I rise, I grab my own tits while giving him a wink. He groans and slips a hand in his open pants. Fuck the show. I want, no, need, to see what he’s packing. I shimmy out of my not-so-white-anymore pants, taking my underwear with them.

Stalking forward, I bump his knees back with my own, stepping right up to the bed. With an eagerness I haven’t felt in a while, I grasp his waistband and tug. Buddy raises his ass off the bed enough to aid in my quest. Lucky for me, I catch his loose boxers as I tug.

When he’s lying there as the goddess made him, my gaze devours him from his sparkling blue eyes to his black-painted toenails. At least they match his hands. It’s the everything in between that holds my attention. The ink, the abs…the dick.

Holy shit, the dick.

It’s not just the size that has me crossing my legs, it’s the… “Are those—”

“Yep.” He pops thepand crosses his hands under his head smugly.

I’ve written about penis pearls, but I’ve never actually seen them before. I can’t wait to experience them.

---