Page 3 of Dirty Boy

“A-Angel,” I murmur.

His brow raises, eyes skating over my face. I don’t doubt for a minute he’s trying to place me and memorize my features in case I become a future problem. “Mm.” His noncommittal grunt has me tucking my chin a bit.

“Your name tape,” I mutter, covering my tracks. Anyone would know their names since they wear biker cuts advertising their road names amongst various other patches. “Excuse me,” I manage to whisper, ducking around him.

I don’t make it far as his hand shoots out, grabbing me. His grip is lethal on my bicep as he drags me back in front of him, eyes narrowing as he peers down his nose at me. Fuck. “Not so fast. I’m not buying the meek look on you. Your stride was too confident for you to act afraid now.” Double fuck. I’m going to end up dead if I’m not careful.

Teeth sinking into my bottom lip, I trail my eyes over his frame and find myself drawing in a breath for an entirely different reason. I already knew these guys were good-looking, but this close? Surrounded by their alluring confidence and scent? They’re on another level entirely. Digging deep to find my lady balls again, I place my palm on his chest and meet his stare. We’re interrupted before I have a chance to reply.

“Angel, brother. I thought you were at the club with the others?” Blow says as he stands beside us, taking in his MC brother’s grip on me and my hand on his chest. He’s probably wondering how I managed to get snagged by another member when I was hot on his heels.

“Left to check some shit. Who’s this?”

“My new friend.” He grins and grabs my wrist, tugging me along. Angel reluctantly releases me, and I can read in his intense gaze that he wants more answers, but Blow is his VP so he keeps them to himself. However, I have a feeling it won’t be the last time I come face-to-face with the ominous enforcer.

“What’s in here?” I pause and gesture to a metal door with a fancy electronic lock. They obviously went to extra lengths to keep people out, and I have a feeling there’s nothing legal behind the thick door.

“Members only. Come on, Pumpkin Spice.”

“Pumpkin Spice?”

“Yep, you strike me as the type to go crazy over that shit.” He grins, hand in mine, tugging me towards what I assume is his room.

I can’t help but laugh. “So I’ve got basic bitch written all over me, huh?”

He shrugs, “Not sure about basic, those chicks are practically a cult.”

This has me laughing even more. He’s not wrong though, I love all things fall, including ridiculously expensive coffee drinks and delicious smelling toxic candles. “So what should I call you then? Buttercup?”

He snorts, shaking his head. “Blow or Trent.”

“Trent? That’s your name?”

His smile drops and he nods, growing serious. “Not many know that name.”

Wanting to lighten the mood again, I tease, “Then Buttercup it is, unless you’re in trouble, then it’ll be Trent.” I wink, wanting to amuse him enough he’ll think about seeing me again.

He chuckles. “Only for you, Spice.”

“Oh, just spice now, huh? No more pumpkin?”

“Definitely still pumpkin, but you’re more spice.” He returns my wink, and I can’t help but feel an excited flip in my stomach.

The moment we’re inside his room, he wastes no time pushing me against the closed door. He leans over me, caging me in with his arms. He’s not overly muscular, but he’s not a twig either. The man has scrapper written all over him and the wildness calls to something inside me. I need to keep my head straight around these bikers but instead find my brain muddy with desire. Not one to be intimidated easily, I thrust my hands under his cut and shirt, trailing my nails over his abdomen. He draws in a swift breath, his tummy sucking in a bit at my graze. His frame shivers, a pleased growl escaping as he bends in to kiss along my neck. I want his mouth on mine, but the feeling of his lips skating across my flesh and his scruff along his jaw rubbing against one of my most sensitive spots has me seeing stars.

“Touch me,” I murmur between breaths. He complies immediately, his big hands running over my flanks, one comes to rest on my breasts while the other cups the opposite side of my neck. The touch is possessive and the fire inside me only blazes hotter. Why in the fuck do I want to be possessed by a man like him is beyond me, but so help me, I do.

Really.

Fucking.

Bad.

His mouth trails lower, tugging my fitted cami shirt down as he descends. Hot breaths and a wet tongue tease my skin, making my eyes cross when they finally make it to my nipple. I left my bra at home, figured it wasn’t needed to hang out at a strip club, plus I have a great rack so why not play on my strengths. With these types of men you need any advantage you possess to get their attention, they’re used to having chicks hang all over them and I plan to stand out. I have to, as failing is not an option.

“Take this off,” I tug at his shirt, and he pulls away, shucking his cut and plain white T. He tosses them onto a chair that’s already full of laundry. Then he’s back, hands wandering over me, pulling at my clothes. Taking the hint, I help yank the shirt over my head while his deft fingers unbutton and unzip my pants. Holding onto him, I step on my pants to get them off, and then I’m surrounded in his arms, being half carried towards his bed. We’re rushed, stumbling the few steps while trying to touch and kiss on each other’s bodies.

“I want to taste you, see if you’re spicy or sweet between these gorgeous thighs.”

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