Total pages in book: 45
Estimated words: 43787 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 219(@200wpm)___ 175(@250wpm)___ 146(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 43787 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 219(@200wpm)___ 175(@250wpm)___ 146(@300wpm)
“Not here,” he murmurs. “Not yet.”
I don’t know if I want to curse him or thank him, but I nod. Then as if he didn’t just kiss me into another planet, he once again massages my head before washing my hair, my body, and then removing the shower head from his holder to rinse me from top to toe. With every touch, I’m still turned on wanting more. He has this self-control that I can appreciate, but right this minute I wish was gone. I want him to pin me to the wall and ravage me. He shifts us, guiding me to the door, where he opens it, grabs a towel and then leads me out, wrapping me in the fluffy cotton material.
My fingers tremble slightly as I dry off. It’s the show in front of me that captivates me. He has his arms up high pressed against the shower wall, his head dropped so the water cascades down his back. The water following the lines of the full back piece of Jesus wearing a crown of thorns.
Beautiful.
Dangerous.
He allows the water to run down his body for a few moments before getting soap and washing himself. When he turns and sees me watching, he smiles with his white teeth glistening. “Like what you see, sweetheart?”
“Maybe,” I tease turning around and going back to the bed to put on the clothes Riot dropped off for me.
With his eyes on me, Damian lathers the bar of soap in his hands before stroking, his manhood. Intrigued, I watch as he slowly moves his hand up and down his shaft twisting as he goes. I hold the towel together around me. His muscles tense and tighten as he continues to work himself all while keeping his eyes on me.
I’ve never felt so desired in a single stare. As his need intensifies, his eyes darken. Biting my bottom lip, I watch as he finally comes shooting it out in a stream onto the shower floor. Again his eyes never leave mine until he works out every drop until his dick is limp against his leg. He washes up once again before stepping out of the shower to dry himself off.
By the time I’m dressed in the fresh clothes that were delivered—a pair of jeans and a fitted black shirt—Damian is back in his usual dark jeans and a Henley, pulling on his boots. I should be focused on whatever mess this is, not turned on by the biker who scares me.
He tosses me a helmet.
“Time to go,” he says.
I take the helmet, following him outside where his bike is waiting. The air is cool against my damp skin, the anticipation of having my body pressed to his and the wind around us has my body feeling alive like never before.
I hesitate for half a second before climbing on behind him.
When I wrap my arms around his waist, he tenses for a moment before relaxing into it.
Then the engine roars to life. He gives my hands around his waist a squeeze before putting them back on the handlebars and for just a moment, I smile thinking of the comfort I find in a single hand squeeze.
Is this my grandmother watching over me? Because I think I’m going to need a guardian angel right now.
CHAPTER 11
DAMIAN
The strip club looks different when it’s closed. No neon lights flickering in the dark, no bass thumping through the walls, no perfume and sweat clinging to the air. Just the empty parking lot, the dull glow of a streetlamp buzzing overhead, and the deep, sinking weight of knowing I’m about to meet the devil himself.
Konstantin.
Riot and I roll up on our bikes, the low rumble cutting through the silence. The front door is already cracked open, a sign that we’re expected. No bouncer, no girls, just a couple of Konstantin’s men standing by, hands resting near their guns, but not pulling them—yet.
My brothers aren’t far away. Looming and at the ready. While I don’t have an issue with having twenty, fifty, or even a hundred motorcycle pipes rumbling in together anywhere, sometimes it’s important not to show all the participants at once.
Riot kills his engine first, dropping his kickstand, swinging a leg over his bike and standing tall. I do the same, cracking my neck as I eye the door and then help guide Alaina off.
“You ready for this?” Riot asks, voice low.
I smirk, though there ain’t a damn thing funny about this. “Born ready.”
He grunts, gives Alaina a look before leading the way inside. I take Alaina by the hand, regularly giving her a squeeze of reassurance as I can feel her nerves amping up.
The place is damn near unrecognizable. The floor’s been mopped, the chairs stacked, the stage empty except for the brass poles that still gleam under the dim security lights. Feels eerie, like walking through a graveyard instead of a place meant for indulgence.