Total pages in book: 141
Estimated words: 134531 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 673(@200wpm)___ 538(@250wpm)___ 448(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 134531 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 673(@200wpm)___ 538(@250wpm)___ 448(@300wpm)
Once I was brave enough to swallow most of my embarrassment, I looked back up at him.
His expression was a punch in the stomach. There was heat in his eyes, yes, but not the same kind of inferno from earlier. Not a desperate, carnal hunger. No. This was something else. Tender. Reverent.
Pure.
“Like you in my tee, baby,” he said softly.
I didn’t reply. I couldn’t.
We lingered in the moment longer than we should’ve. Something passed between us. Something that shouldn’t have existed after only two nights together. Between two practical strangers with lives, personalities, secrets outside of what we’d shown each other, outside of this room.
But it existed nonetheless.
“Food,” I broke the silence on a hoarse whisper.
He jerked. “Food,” he agreed.
He walked toward the door, opening it for me.
I hesitated for a second before crossing the threshold. This room was small. It smelled like sex, like Swiss. This was our own little universe. Though it was the middle of the night and there wasn’t likely to be anyone roaming the halls—the lack of music thumping from the common area told me there was no wild party going on—I still couldn’t shake the feeling that stepping out of this room was dangerous. Fear was a state of mind for me, and I’d pushed my limits enough these past few days.
But I also had to eat.
I was debating how much of a coward/bitch I’d sound like if I asked Swiss to retrieve food for me while I curled back into bed when he spoke.
“Scared, Countess?” Swiss’s breath was hot against my neck, and shivers went down my spine as his front pressed into my back.
“No,” I hiccupped.
“I can promise you, anything out there isn’t gonna bite half as hard as I do,” he rasped, nuzzling my neck.
Another shiver. This one a whole-body shiver.
“I can promise you the fridge is well stocked too, and clean,” he added. “If that’s what you’re afraid of. We keep a clean house. And we shop at Whole Foods.”
I choked out a laugh.
Swiss kissed my neck and then gave me a gentle nudge out the door. As stupid as it sounded, I wasn’t afraid of anything as long as he was beside me.
Though it was close to two in the morning and the clubhouse was quiet, it did not mean it was deserted.
I found that out when we made it to the kitchen. The extremely impressive kitchen.
I wasn’t expecting a whole lot since we were in a biker clubhouse. But thinking about the scented candles, the pillows on the sofa, the understated style of the whole place, I shouldn’t have been that surprised.
The kitchen was large. Like a kitchen in a fancy frat house or restaurant kitchen, complete with a restaurant quality stove and gigantic refrigerator. There was a gleaming kitchen island, neatly arranged olive oil and vinegar cruets, even fricking cookbooks.
It almost looked like I’d wandered into a Nancy Myers movie.
Except for the three men standing in the kitchen drinking beers, passing around a bag of chips, wearing cuts, and all of whom stared at me the second I walked in.
One of them I recognized. The one from the gas station. The one who had almost had a fight with Swiss.
Over me.
The other two, I didn’t. One was older, maybe my age. He was tall, muscled—that must’ve been a signing requirement or something—with a dark beard streaked with gray. His eyes were an unnerving shade of blue.
The third man was leaner than the rest. And had a completely different look. The first two really embodied the traditional ‘biker’ aesthetic. Beard, tattoos, overall aura of baddassery.
Not that the third didn’t look like a badass. He did. But not a biker. He looked more like a… hipster. I only knew that term because of Violet, who was my tutor on all things popular culture.
His long hair was pulled into a man bun, and he was wearing thick rimmed, black glasses. He was covered in tattoos, his lean forearms showing that from the dress shirt he was wearing with the sleeves rolled up, buttoned all the way to the top. And he had on skintight black jeans tucked into worn Doc Martens.
They were an interesting threesome. A hot as balls threesome.
And all of their eyes were on me.
Standing in Swiss’s tee and nothing else. My hair likely mussed from the bed and my cheeks probably still flushed from all of the sex and the embarrassment that I was standing in front of these men wearing nothing but a t-shirt. No bra. No panties. My ass bright red and covered with welts from where Swiss had spanked me with a cane.
“I know you,” the one from the gas station drawled, grinning.
“Um, hello,” I greeted with a lame little wave. “I’m Kate. I don’t think we’ve had the opportunity to exactly exchange names, but it’s, ah, a pleasure to meet you,” I stuttered, wanting to turn and run, but the manners that were beat into me stopped me.