Klutch
“I’m taking you.”
I smirk, watching as her blue eyes widen with surprise before narrowing in defiance. It’s fucking adorable how she thinks she has a choice in the matter.
“That’s really not necessary,” she protests, crossing her arms over her chest. The movement pushes her little tits up, drawing my attention to the perfect swell visible above the neckline of that sinful dress.
I’m still riding the high from my fight. The adrenaline pumping through my veins, the taste of victory sharp on my tongue. Nothing compares to winning in the cage. I lift my eyes to hers. Except maybe the thought of getting this woman underneath me.
“It wasn’t an offer,” I tell her, refusing to take no for an answer. “It’s happening.”
She rolls those stunning eyes and huffs out a breath that makes her chest rise and fall. Christ, I haven’t been able to think straight since I first saw her stepping off that elevator yesterday afternoon. Even in the middle of my fight, I found myself searching for her in the crowd.
“Fine,” she finally relents, grabbing her bag from behind the bar. “Let me just say goodbye to Hawk.”
I watch her walk away, that tiny black dress hugging every curve of her body.
My mouth goes dry at the sight of her long legs and that ass I want to bite.
She has no fucking idea what she’s doing to me.
Or maybe she does, and that’s her game. Either way, I’m not complaining ‘cause goddamn she’s one fine bitch.
She returns a moment later, and I place my hand on the small of her back, guiding her toward the elevator. I can feel her tense under my touch, but she doesn’t pull away. Good girl.
“Are you always this pushy?” she asks as I yank the gate up on the elevator car and motion her to get in.
I step in behind her, pull down the gate and tag the button to take us up. Once we’re in motion, I lean in close, my lips nearly brushing her ear. “You have no idea, Blue.”
A slight shiver runs through her, and I fight back a smirk. Yeah, she’s affected by me too. The electricity between us is undeniable, like a live wire just waiting to spark.
When we reach the ground floor, I lead her outside where my Harley is parked.
“This one yours?” she asks, eyeing my bike.
“Yep.” I grab my helmet and hold it out to her. “Put this on.”
“What about you?”
“I’ll be fine,” I assure her, pleased by her concern even if it’s unnecessary. “You ever ridden before?”
She shakes her head, eyes widening slightly.
“It’s easy,” I tell her, helping her put the helmet on. “Just hold onto me and lean when I lean. Nothing to it.”
I swing my leg over the bike and pat the seat behind me. She hesitates for a moment, then carefully climbs on, that dress riding up dangerously high on her thighs. Christ, I’m getting hard just thinking about those legs wrapped around me in a very different way.
“Ready?” I call over my shoulder.
“I guess,” she answers, her voice muffled by the helmet.
“You’re gonna need to hold on tighter than that, Blue.”
She cautiously wraps her arms around my waist, and I have to bite back a groan at the feeling of her pressed against my back, her tits flattened against me. I’m playing with fire here, but I crave the burn. Fuck me.
I kick the bike to life, and the beast rumbles between my legs. Blue startles and tightens her grip.
“Where do you live?” I shout over the engine.
She leans forward, her helmet knocking against my shoulder as calls out an address in one of the shittiest neighborhoods in St. Louis.
For reasons I can’t explain, knowing that’s where she stays pisses me off.
I pull away from the curb, deliberately taking the turns a little sharper than necessary just to feel her cling to me.
All I can focus on is the heat of her body pressed against mine.
I’m planning exactly how I’m going to get her out of that dress when her stomach growls loud enough for me to feel it.
I let off the throttle and call back to her, “You hungry?”
There’s a pause before she answers. “No.”
Liar. I roll my eyes. Women and their shit about not wanting to admit when they need to eat. I make a quick decision and change course, heading toward the 24-hour diner at the edge of our territory.
When I pull into the parking lot of Rachel’s Diner, she lifts the visor of the helmet. “What are we doing here?”
“Feeding you,” I say simply, cutting the engine and waiting for her to dismount.
She climbs off the bike and sways. Shit. I reach out to steady her and her cheeks turn an adorable shade of pink.
“My legs felt like Jello for a second there.”
“It’ll get easier the more you ride.”
She tugs at the hem of her dress and I shake my head. It’s pretty obvious she’s not someone who’s used to showing off her body. I mean, those damn purple sneakers she’s wearing is a dead giveaway.
“Here.” She holds out the helmet.
I take it from her and hang it on the handlebar, then lead her inside with my hand on the small of her back again. Touching her is becoming a habit I have no intention of breaking.
The diner is nearly empty at this hour, just a couple of truckers at the counter and a group of night shift workers in a corner booth.
“Klutch!” Rachel calls from behind the counter. The sixty-something woman with bottle-red hair has been feeding bikers for decades. “The usual?”
“Make it two,” I tell her, guiding Demi to a booth in the back where I can keep an eye on the door.
We slide in, and I deliberately take the bench that puts my back to the wall. This gives me the best view of the entire place. Old habits die hard.
“You didn’t have to do this,” Demi says, eyeing the menu like it’s a ticking time bomb.
“I know I didn’t have to.” I shrug, leaning back and stretching my arm across the back of the booth. “I wanted to.”
Her eyes flick up to meet mine, those blue depths filled with suspicion. “Why?”
I shrug, not ready to admit that I can’t get her out of my head. “You’re too skinny.”
She barks out a laugh and rolls her eyes. “Wow. You’re a real charmer”
“It’s the truth,” I counter, my lips twitching. She could use a few more pounds on her. She’s sexy as fuck no matter how tiny she is, but I like my women with a little more meat on the bone.
Rachel swoops in with two coffees, setting them down in front of us. “Who’s your friend, Klutch?”
“Demi,” I answer before she can. “She just started working at The Underground.”
Rachel’s penciled on eyebrows shoot up as she gives Demi a once-over. “Honey, you don’t look like the usual type that gets sucked in there.”
“I’m not,” Demi says quickly. “I’m just waitressing for a few weeks and then I’m out.”
“Mmhmm,” Rachel hums, clearly not convinced. “Well, food will be out in a few. Holler if you need anything else.”
As she walks away, the barbs on the back of my neck press in.
I look around the room and instantly spot the fucker at the counter that can’t stop glancing over his shoulder at my girl.
His eyes finally lift to meet mine and I level him with a cold stare.
His face pales and he quickly turns away. Disrespectful, prick.
“So,” I turn my attention back to Demi, “you said you’re only going to be at The Underground for a few weeks. Why there?”
She looks everywhere but at me as she shrugs her shoulders and says, “Trying to make rent. Same as everyone else.”
I raise a challenging brow. “Bullshit,” I call her out immediately.
She shifts uncomfortably, her fingers playing with the edge of a paper napkin. “I was supposed to start at Meramec Community College this fall.”
“Was?”
She sighs, her shoulders slumping slightly. “Let’s just say things didn’t work out the way I planned.”
I study her face, the resignation in her eyes telling me there’s more to the story. “What aren’t you saying?”
Her head snaps up, eyes narrowing. “Look. I appreciate you bringing me here and giving me a ride, but I don’t know you.”
I hold up my hands. “Alright, Blue. Simmer, babe. I’m just trying to figure you out.”
“Well don’t,” she snaps back.
My dick twitches behind my zipper at the fire in her eyes. I’m so fucking fucked. Her bitchy attitude only makes me want to fuck her more.
My lips turn up, “Now you’ve got me interested.” It’s as close to the truth as I’m willing to admit right now.
Before she can respond, Rachel returns with two massive plates of steak and eggs with hash browns and toast. Demi’s eyes widen at the sheer amount of food.
“I can’t eat all this,” she protests.
“Try,” I encourage, already cutting into my steak. “Food this good shouldn’t go to waste.”
She hesitates for just a moment, then digs in with surprising enthusiasm. I find myself watching the way her lips close around her fork, how her throat moves when she swallows.
Christ, I need to get a grip.
“So what exactly does a Sergeant-at-Arms do?” she nods toward the patch on my chest.
I take a sip of my coffee, deciding how much to tell her. “I enforce club rules. Handle security. Make sure everyone stays in line.”
“Sounds... intense.”
I shrug. “It can be.”
“Like fighting?” She tilts her head, studying me. “You’re really good at that, by the way.”
“Thanks,” I say, oddly pleased by her compliment. “Been doing it a long time.”
“How long?”
“Since I was eighteen,” I tell her, surprised I’m sharing even that much. “My old man was a fighter too. It’s in the blood.”
She nods, seeming genuinely interested. “What does he think about you being in a biker gang?”
“Club,” I correct her quickly. “We’re a club. Not a gang. And my pop is a member of the club. He’s the Chaplain now.”
Her eyes widen. “You’re dad is a biker too? Wow.” She shakes her head and her brows dip. “Wait. Chaplain? Like... a religious thing?”
I laugh, almost choking on my coffee. “Shit. You’re killing me, Blue.
” How do I explain that my pop is a bad motherfucker who’d slit a man’s throat without blinking?
I shake my head and chuckle. Fuck it. “Not exactly. He keeps the peace in a way. Makes sure brothers aren’t getting too far out of line. ”
“And your mom?”