Page 7 of Live Love Steal (Destroyers MC: Skilletsville PA #2)

Magnetic - Isobel

I t was getting dark. I traced Sketch’s tattoos while he doodled on a notepad he kept by the bed.

I didn’t look. He’d begun drawing me about a half hour ago, and I held as still as I could.

But every once in a while, he’d lean in and kiss me.

Or lick my skin, which made me shiver. And honestly?

I was getting horny again. He was amazingly talented, both as an artist and a lover.

I wanted…

Hell . I wanted to fuck again. I sat up and tugged his hand away to look at the artwork.

Holy shit . Was that me? I looked like a siren. A goddess, naked and rumpled and sexy. It was me, but somehow better? He didn’t see the flaws I saw in myself. The too-squared nose, the too-round cheeks, my fat lips, the scars on my knees, or the faint line where a knife sliced open my…

I pulled away, slapping a hand on my skin where I could still feel that stupid scar.

Sketch moved the pad from the bed and placed his pencil on it carefully. Then he returned to me. With a gentle tug, he moved my hand.

I’d been covering my neck. One inch lower and I’d have been dead… that’s what the surgeon who saved me said. That’s what everyone said.

He moved my hair. His finger traced the cut, all two inches of it. His eyes met mine. But instead of pity, there was something else. Something scary. All the warmth was gone. “ Who did that?”

I swallowed. “ No one.”

His stare was hard.

I had to confess. But I didn’t want to. I started my usual story—the sanitized one. “ I went to this college party. Things got crazy.”

“ Who did it?” he growled.

Obviously , he wasn’t taking this well. I played with the sheet that had rumpled between us.

His fingers shifted from my neck to my chin, pulling it up so I’d look him in the eyes.

“ Who ?”

“ A f—” I was going to say, “friend.” But we both knew that was a lie. “ A guy I’d been interested in.”

Sketch took a deep breath in through his nose. Then out through his mouth. Just like I’d taught him to.

“ Are you box breathing?”

“ I’m trying not to lose my shit, okay?”

“ He’s in prison.” Just admitting that made me look away again.

“ I need a name. Because he’s going to leave prison in a box.”

“ Sketch , you don’t have to?—”

Those eyes of his flared. I worried about what was going on behind them.

He’d changed in just a few seconds from soft and artistic and attentive to what could only be described as icy cold.

He was ready to kill. The eagerness and hunger for death were right there in his eyes.

If I had half of his artistic talent, I might be able to capture that danger, but I knew I didn’t. Still , I noted it in my heart.

This man was dangerous. With that revelation, I knew why he earned his place in the Destroyers .

They didn’t take on weak men, not the club here, anyway.

Whispers all hinted that each and every one of them had to kill someone before they earned their patch.

I couldn’t imagine that. I mean, someone was bound to screw up and they’d all be in prison, right?

But I could imagine that Sketch had killed someone.

“ I should get going,” I said half-heartedly. I didn’t want to leave, but I should. I really should .

“ No .”

“ Sketch . It’s time.”

Instead of letting me go, he kissed me. And kept kissing me until I was flat on my back.

Did I want to be here?

His kisses were soft. Perfect . The way his fingers touched my skin, perfect.

The roughness of his working man’s hands scratched lightly, but they felt divine.

Especially when he stilled, both hands placed carefully on my waist. “ I don’t want you to go.

But if you have to…” He trailed off and sat up, leaving me bereft.

I followed him like we were attached by some magnetic force.

I was iron. I could not be broken. Only reforged.

But iron was also tuned to its true north.

And somehow, my stupid compass pointed right at Sketch .

I felt safe here. I felt cherished and loved, and…

it was terrible to admit, but his offer to kill for me?

That was hot as fuck. I was so screwed up.

Which meant, while I should go, while I should pretend that I was still a good girl, there was no way it was true.

And I was sick of lying to myself. I was sick of being half of who I was.

“ I don’t have to go.” I leaned in and initiated a scorching kiss.

He shifted us until I was on top again. Our bodies lined up. He pulled away.

“ Hold that thought.” Sketch twisted to reach for another condom from his nightstand. I helped him by rolling it on, then seating myself on his dick.

God , he felt good inside me. I didn’t want to leave at all. My slow pace was matched by his gently upward arching at each grind. He was beautiful. He thought I was beautiful.

“ You’re a dream.” He caressed my breasts as I rocked against him.

“ I’m real,” I countered.

He pinched one of the points to argue with me. The sting sent a sharp twinge directly to my pussy, causing it to spasm around his cock.

He felt it. The way his eyes locked on mine with a question, and the way his fingers hovered over my nipples proved it.

“ Do it again.”

This time, he rolled both tips between his fingers before slowly applying pressure. I groaned and immediately felt embarrassed at the low, guttural sound that slipped out. I checked his face.

His grin was devilish, and he rolled them again, applying the same pressure. I rocked, positioning against him so my clit pressed against his flesh.

In the doing, I lost track of reality. This was amazing. I’d never really given myself permission to do exactly what I wanted during sex. But each time I clocked back in to confirm that Sketch was right there with me, he gave me that look, or a nod of encouragement, or best of all, words.

“ That’s it, beautiful, grind that cunt on me.”

Dirty talk. Filthy dirty talk.

You’re so slick, it feels good, doesn’t it? Go harder, take me deeper, that’s it. Grind on me. Feel me. Rock that pussy on my cock.

Who was this woman?

My orgasm hovered around me, almost like a cloak. I could grab it any time, but I kept it hanging there, suspended as I finally focused on Sketch . Gave him what he needed. Took control and brought him into that state of hyperawareness right along with me.

And he stopped playing with my tits and grabbed my hips to thrust up, hard. Once , twice, then a rapid, panicked succession of hard pounding I couldn’t keep pace with, so I rode it out, pinching my own tits exactly how I liked it and…

Came hard.

His moans joined mine, fevered and anguished, almost pitching into desperation.

I collapsed on his chest, and we panted away the moments.

My head was spinning. I’d never lost control like that before.

Holy shit.

My breath was shaky as I exhaled the emotions racing through my blood.

Sketch’s hands brushed up my naked back and gathered my hair together. He tugged on it slightly to get my attention. “ That was good.”

It was. Transcendent , altering. I could get used to this.

I kissed him languidly. The outside world could wait with its troubles and jobs and news…

Wait a minute. “ Did you turn the TV on?”

Sketch tensed and listened. “ Fuck ,” he hissed. Louder , he said, “ Who the fuck is in my house?”

I rolled off him, grabbing the sheet.

“ Just me, Sketch ,” a low voice sounded just outside the bedroom.

“ Make yourself at home, Bear . Out there. You set one foot inside this room?—”

A huge, dark-haired monster of a man peeked around the corner. “ What’s that?”

“ Motherfucker !” Sketch stood up, the condom hanging from his dick. I scrambled to roll off the other side of the bed and find clothing. Any clothing. It didn’t matter if it was his or mine, I just needed to be dressed.

Meanwhile , Sketch strode forward. “ Get your ass on that barstool and don’t fucking get off it.

” He pushed his friend, who must have had at least a hundred pounds on Sketch , but Bear moved out of the door frame and back where I couldn’t see him.

Belatedly , I thought the nickname fit the interloper well.

“ Dude , do something about that thing hanging off your dick. Jesus . I’m blind.” Bear’s complaint filtered through the wall.

“ Fuck you. No one asked you to look.” Then Sketch called out to me, “ Iz ? There’s a closet at the foot of the bed. Take anything you want. I’ll be right out.”

A few moments later, I heard the bathroom door shut and water running. Then the toilet flushed.

Meanwhile , I tore through the closet, finding a pair of sweatpants and an old hoodie that had streaked lightning or barbed flames dripping from the shoulders and splotches of paint in other places.

It was well-worn and soft against my skin.

And it was thick enough that “ Bear ” wouldn’t be able to see my nipples through it.

I searched the floor for my clothes, but only found my skirt and one shoe. Where the fuck was my underwear?

I found my shirt on the floor outside the garage door.

I froze. Bear still looked like a mountain of a human despite sitting on one of the bar stools. I opted to ignore him for the time being. I scanned the floor and found my other shoe and my jacket, but the rest of my clothing had been swallowed by Sketch’s house.

Bear made a noise. I looked up at him.

He tipped his head and discreetly pointed toward the coat hook I’d hung my bra on.

I snatched it off. Yeah , I’d put it there.

I had everything in hand when Sketch exited the bathroom, and I took his place. Hastily , I got everything on.

Except underpants.

I’d placed them right at the door of his bedroom.

They should have been right next to my left shoe.

“ Okay , you can do this. Walk out there and find the damn things. No one’s going to know.

” It was only a whispered pep talk. I smoothed my hair and searched for something to brush it with, but came up empty.

How on earth do men survive without grooming?

Oh , sure, there was a razor, some creams of dubious ages, but nothing resembling a comb or brush, or… ew .

The condom was right on top of the heap of tissues and other things in the garbage can. It was like a huge neon sign screaming, “ LOOK AT ME ! LOOK ! I’M STILL COVERED IN PUSSY JUICE !”

Ugh . I could do this. Fake it. You’re iron. Strong , confident…

My expression reflected back at me in the mirror mocked me. I looked fucked. Hard .

I checked my neck for hickeys or other evidence that I’d just been utterly wanton for hours on end.

Shit ! Hours .

I needed to get home, prep for my meeting, exfoliate, get the pink out of my hair… go over all the stupid ways my boss would say something fucking wrong and figure out how to correct him without sounding like I was correcting him, all so I didn’t lose my job.

And find my panties.

“ Fuck .”

“ Everything okay in there, Iz ?” Sketch called through the walls.

Damn it. “ Just fine.” I didn’t sound convincing.

“ Get your ass out here.”

That was Bear . A fitting name for a man who topped six feet, shaved the sides of his head but had the top knot braided messily like some sort of Viking cosplayer.

He had more tattoos than Sketch . Which I honestly didn’t think was possible.

At least Sketch stopped at his chin. Bear’s tattoos covered everything but his face, mostly.

There were two that encroached on his forehead and the opposite eyebrow.

Sketch wasn’t skinny, but you could put two of him together and probably not make up one Bear . That scared the shit out of me. Humans weren’t supposed to be that big. I crept out of the bathroom, scanning the floor for signs of my panties.

“ Looking for these?”

Bear dangled my cheeky black satin thong from his index finger.

Sketch snapped it away. “ Those are mine.”

Time to set the record straight. I walked to Sketch and snatched my thong from his hand. “ Mine . Excuse me.” I turned right back around and made quick work in the bathroom, slipping it on.

I still felt naked.

Both of these men knew what I had on under my skirt. I sat on one of the bar stools closer to Sketch than Bear and asked, “ Do you have my keys?” I needed to get out of here, get on my laptop, check my email, and see what kind of mess my boss had made of my presentation.

Sketch and Bear traded a guilty look.

“ What’s wrong with my car?”

Bear cleared his throat. It sounded suspiciously like a word. If “nunya” were a word. Sketch slapped him with the back of his hand.

“ It got borrowed.”

“ Dumbass .” Bear stood up.

I didn’t like the way he glowered.

“ What ?” I wasn’t asking for Sketch to repeat himself. What I was asking was, “ How in the fuck could he give my car away? ”

Sketch held up a hand. “ Whoosh didn’t know.”

“ Who is Whoosh ?”

“ A prospect, for about five more hours,” Bear muttered.

“ He needed a car. I told him he could have one, and he took yours.” Sketch wasn’t looking me in the eye when he said that. Which meant he was lying.

“ So , he just took a random car from you and didn’t tell you?”

“ You were being a bit loud.”

I squared off with Bear . Scary or not, my embarrassment didn’t give a fuck. “ No one asked for your opinion.”

He puffed up. “ Excuse me?” His fingers curled into fists.

“ I said?—”

“ Izzy , stop.” Sketch practically jumped between Bear and me. He had his back to me and faced Bear . “ She didn’t mean it, bro.”

“ Did too. He’s got no reason to be crude.”

“ Babe , you haven’t seen crude yet.” Bear’s glower turned into a half-grin, then a full-blown chuckle.

“ Bear !” Sketch was still trying to diffuse the situation, but we’d already come to a truce.

Or maybe not.

“ Sketch , congratulations, you found a screamer.”

I was going to kill him.

After we found my car. “ Where is my car?”

“ You’ll get it back tomorrow.” Bear tossed that out like it was gospel.

“ Tomorrow ?”

“ Whoosh has got two more hours. He can’t’ve left yet,” Sketch looked between Bear and me for answers.

“ I need it tonight. Actually , now. Big presentation, remember? Boss ? Fired ?”

Sketch swore under his breath. He asked Bear , “ Do you think he stopped by the club first?”

“ No .”

“ Why do you say that?”

“ Because the asshole left me here to explain to you what was going on. And if he’d been going to the club, I would’ve rode with him there.” Bear cleared his throat pointedly as he finished.

It was some sort of man-code that there was a huge secret embedded in his statement that I shouldn’t know.

That was obvious.

Career criminals stole my car.

Correction , “borrowed.” My ass it was.