Page 17 of The Games We Play
“I don’t have pants.”
Spark looks down my body. “I noticed.”
“If I fall off your bike, I’ll die. Plus, this dress will ride up my thighs, and I’ll be naked.”
The corner of his mouth twitches up in a grin. “Now there’s a thought.”
I growl. At least, I think that’s the sound I make. I pivot and march back toward the restaurant.
“Iris,” he cautions. “Watching your ass in that dress and those heels is getting me hard.”
“And that is not my problem,” I yell.
The wind is knocked out of me when his arms wrap around me from behind. “I wasn’t kidding when I said I would kill anyone who interferes.” The words are whispered against my neck, but I see our reflection in a convenience store window, and we look like a couple being affectionate. “So fucking smile, come back to my bike, and climb the fuck on instead of putting other people’s lives on the line.”
I breathe for a second, then do as he says. I deserve a freaking Oscar for pretending he’s being playful not threatening. I pull away and do as he says.
I smile, even as it kills me.
“Fine.”
5
SPARK
“There’s a good girl,” I say, and take her hand.
Walking to the bike, it feels almost normal. Like we’re the ones who had gone on the date, instead of me practically threatening her to get her to come with me. She looks pretty. The blue dress hugs her figure, and I’m already harder than iron with Iris’s hand in mine and no sign of pussy on the agenda tonight.
King’s words of warning flash into my brain, and my stomach tilts at the thought of disobeying a direct order. But even the thought of disappointing him, of letting down my club, doesn’t ruin the moment.
When we get to my Harley, I climb on, then offer Iris my hand.
She doesn’t take it. “I refuse to die on a bike tonight.”
“You really think I’m that reckless?”
Her eyes meet mine. “I’m pretty sure nobody gets on a bike thinking they’re going to be the unlucky one who gets hit by a car or falls off it.”
I huff. “I take offence, Iris. I’ve never lost control of my bike.”
The fire goes out of her eyes, replaced with worry. “Your president got knocked off his and was killed. Sure he didn’t plan it either.”
And then I remember what she saw. Prez being ground up and spat out beneath truck wheels. I see the fear. “Shit. I’m sorry, little chick. I forgot you saw that.” I tug her to me and wrap my arms around her, feeling her resistance ease like taffy. At first, it’s tough to bite a piece off, but once the taffy gets to a certain point, it snaps easily.
I stroke up and down her back, soothing her. Do I go lower with every sweep? Of course I fucking do. I want to run my hands over her ass, to know what it feels like in my hands.
“Why are you making me do this?” she mutters against my ear, before shoving hard against my chest. Once we’re apart, I miss her warmth.
“I don’t know.” It’s the honest answer. “But you’re a compulsion I can’t let go of yet, Iris. Trust me. I’ll get you home safely.” I don’t have the words to tell her why her safety means this much to me.
Iris’s eyes tell me everything she’s feeling. I see the doubt. I see the fear. But I feel like a fucking king when she overcomes them both, takes my hand, and climbs on.
I rarely have a woman on the back of my bike. Even when we do ride outs. Being in charge of everyone’s security, especially our president’s, means I can’t be worrying about the person behind me.
But tonight, I get to ride with Iris.
I look back as she fidgets with the hem of her dress. It’s high on her thighs as she straddles my Fat Boy, and I get a glance of her legs. She’s tugging the dress down, but I slip my hands behind both of us and tug her closer. Her hands slide around my waist, and I run my palm down her smooth thigh.
