Total pages in book: 112
Estimated words: 105709 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 529(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 352(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 105709 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 529(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 352(@300wpm)
I’m starting to think it's the same cold shoulder Yana gets, that outsider vibe clinging to me like cheap perfume. Is it because of Hella's little tantrum? His “my club, my rules” decree echoing in my head? Or maybe they sense I'm not one of them, not built for this MC circus.
Whatever.
I don't need their approval. But damn, it stings, this isolation creeping in, making me miss my bakery, my normal life, where control isn't an illusion.
“Are you sure!” Karian says slowly through the phone, as I perch it on the bathroom counter. She's rolling a ball of dough in her hand, one brow quirked. “I told you, don't be fucking with those biker boys, but what do you do?"
“I know, I know.” I glare at her through the screen. “I never have been good at following instructions.”
Karian laughs, filling me in on Peter's latest scandal. “Oh also, there's been a weird black car parked outside the shop every morning when I come in. I thought it was something, but then this morning he jumped out with his dog.”
Her eyes roll, and I loosen the grip on my phone. “I'm paranoid as usual. Should let my therapist know.”
“Mmmm,” I muse. “Send her my number. I may need to see her after this.”
After going back and forward on numbers, we hang up, and I tilt my neck to the side to stretch it out. All this tension has worked its way into my muscles. Steam fills the small bathroom, mirroring the haze in my mind as I dip beneath the spray of hot water.
I hate him. Hella, Huxley, whatever the fuck he calls himself.
That cocky smirk, those piercing blue eyes that strip me bare without trying. But as the water cascades over my skin, my mind takes me down memory lane. My hands slide down, soap-slick and trembling, tracing the curves he claimed that first night.
Fuck, I can almost feel him there, between my thighs, his rough hands spreading me wide. I lean against the tile, one hand bracing the wall as the other dips lower, fingers circling my clit with the kind of desperation that makes my head spin. I envision his tongue. Hot, insistent, lapping me up like I'm his favourite meal. “That's it, baby,” I imagine him growling, voice low and commanding, those sharp features buried in my pussy, stubble scraping my inner thighs. “Such a fucking good girl.”
My fingers plunge inside, two at first, then three, stretching me like his thick cock would, thrusting deep while I grind against my palm. Water streams down my breasts, nipples hard peaks begging for his mouth. I bite my lip to stifle a moan, visions of him pinning me down, fucking me raw, making me scream his name. Heat builds, coiling tight in my core. Oh God, yes, right there. Until I shatter, waves of pleasure crash through me, legs shaking as I come hard, whispering “Huxley” like a curse.
Panting, I slide down the wall as the guilt stirs deep in my chest. Despite everything, his warnings, the distance, my own damn pride, I still crave him. This final week may take me out.
Fourteen
Melissa
“You ready? You look hot, babe. I'm surprised none of the guys have tried anything yet. Even Bull's been eyeing you,” Yana nudges my arm playfully, her perfectly manicured nails gleaming under the lights.
I do look good, in a casual way that feels like me. Could've done worse. The Doc Martins, Levi’s, and casual rib top.
I snort, running my fingers through my blonde hair. “Yeah, they're all ridiculously hot, and believe me, I've dropped enough hints. But none of them will touch me. Bikers, Yana. I can't even score with a biker who, by the way, probably has a rotating door of those beautiful club women throwing themselves at them daily. Actually, that explains it. They have way better options.”
She shakes her head, her designer purse swinging from her arm before whispering, “I don't think that's why.”
We enter the clubhouse, the smell of leather, cigarettes, and whiskey hitting me immediately. Yana's Louis Vuitton heels click against the floor as she states the obvious. “Maybe stay close to me. I don't know most of these people, but they must be okay or Beast wouldn't have invited us all down.”
“Easy for you to say. You're the president's old lady,” I mutter, scanning the packed clubhouse.
“Umm…” Yana hesitates. Why the hell is she hesitating? This is fact; everyone knows it.
“She ain't wrong.” Beast's deep voice settles over us along with his massive frame. He wraps his hands around Yana's waist, but I notice his eyes remain distant. She doesn't seem to notice or care.
“Hey baby.” I fight rolling my eyes. Not that I want anything like that, but Jesus, watching them makes me uncomfortable in ways I can't quite explain.
“Come on, both of you.” Beast has a way of commanding simple sentences while making them feel threatening. “Melissa, bullshit aside, you're under protection here. Remember that.” He gestures toward the back, where sofas and pool tables spread, the area already crowded with leather-clad bodies.