Page 16 of Property of Thrasher (Kings of Anarchy MC: South Carolina #1)

THRASHER

I didn’t like being distracted.

Distraction was a risk, a full on liability. It made you slow, made you sloppy, made you take a hit you should’ve seen coming. But she wouldn’t leave my head.

The laundry room should’ve been nothing, a pit stop on the way to find Tiny. Instead, it was a live wire I’d been chewing on for days. Her mouth against mine, her breath catching in my grip, the way she’d gone rigid and soft all at once.

Two nights, and I still couldn’t shake the taste of her.

Her eyes were the worst part. Not the color , though I could recall that any time I wanted, but the way they looked at me like she was standing on the edge of something and wasn’t sure if she should step back or fall.

I’d had women look at me like I was dangerous before. Hell, I was dangerous. But this was different. She looked at me like she wanted to see if the danger was something she could tame.

I told myself to let it go. I had club business to handle, brothers to keep in line, deals to close. My life didn’t have space for a woman who didn’t know the rules of this world.

But every time I closed my eyes, I saw her pinned between me and that steel table.

By the second night, I stopped pretending. If something gets in your head like that, sometimes the only way to shut it up is to look it in the face.

That morning, I was halfway through a supply run for the club when I found myself slowing outside a storefront I’d never had a reason to step into. Women’s clothes. Not the skimpy crap the bunnies draped themselves in, but practical stuff. Jeans. T-shirts. Boots meant to be worn, not looked at.

I walked in and got the kind of stare you give a wolf that’s wandered onto the wrong farm. “Need something for my woman,” I told the saleswoman, though ‘my woman’ was still a stretch even in my head. I gave her my size estimates and didn’t miss the flicker of curiosity in her eyes.

She bagged it up without a comment when I dropped cash on the counter. The bag felt heavier than it should as I secured it in my saddlebag. I swung a leg over my bike and took off.

The ride to the hotel was short. I parked in back, went straight down to the laundry room where the machines roared and hissed.

I pushed the door open without knocking. I knew her shift. I had memorized it yesterday when I couldn’t get her out of my head.

She was there, head bent over a table, folding towels into stacks so neat they looked like they’d been measured. Her hair was pinned up, a few strands curling loose at the nape of her neck.

Her head came up fast when she saw me. She froze for a beat, like she wasn’t sure if she should bolt. I tossed the bag onto the table.

“Change,” I commanded.

Her brow furrowed. “What?”

“Jeans. T-shirt. Socks. Boots.” I tapped the bag. “Back room. Now.”

She could have told me to fuck off. Could have crossed her arms and made a point about how I wasn’t her boss, or her dad and I had a feeling I was old enough to be her dad. But she didn’t. She picked up the bag, glanced at me once, then walked into the back without a word.

My ears keenly listened. The sound of the zipper carried over the hum of the dryers. Fabric slid against fabric. I imagined her stepping out of that plain uniform shirt, the soft skin I’d only gotten a hint of before. My hands curled into fists in my pockets.

When she came back out, the jeans clung to her hips in a way that made me glad I’d guessed right. The black T-shirt was plain but perfect, hugging her just enough. The boots grounded her, gave her weight she hadn’t had in those flat work shoes.

“Perfect,” I complimented. And I meant it.

Her chin dipped, just slightly. I held out my hand. She looked at it for a breath, then slid hers into mine. No hesitation. That trust, obedience, even, that shit hit me low and hard. I led her out to the lot. My bike was waiting, gleaming black and chrome.

“You ever been on one?”

She shook her head.

I handed her a helmet. “Climb on. Arms around me. Hold tight.”

Without hesitation, she put the helmet on as I then passed her a hair tie. “Braid it, otherwise it’s gonna be a tangled mess.”

Again, she followed orders and didn’t even stop to question me about where the hairtie came from.

It was my daughter’s, since she was little, I kept hair ties on my bike for the times she wanted to ride.

Melody climbed on awkwardly, then shifted into the seat.

Her arms circled my waist but stayed loose, leaving a strip of air between us.

I didn’t like that, I took each of her hands in mine, yanked just a bit pulling her chest flush against my back.

The engine rumbled to life, deep and steady. She jolted at the first roar, fingers tightening just enough for me to feel it. I eased us out slow through town. Her weight leaned wrong on the first curve, stiff as a damn board.

“Relax,” I called over my shoulder. “I’ve got you.”

It took miles. But slowly, I felt her loosen. Her hands flattened against my stomach. Her knees hugged closer to my hips. By the time we hit the winding back roads, she was leaning into the curves with me, her body following mine like it was natural.

That did something to me.

It wasn’t just trust. It was right. Like she’d been meant to be back there all along, like I’d been missing her weight against me without knowing it.

We rode until the sky bled gold into blue. I took the long way back, stretching every mile just to keep her there.

When we rolled back into the hotel parking lot, I killed the engine but didn’t move right away. Her hands stayed on me longer than they had to. When they fell away, the air felt colder.

She slid off, pulled off the helmet, slid the hair tie off, and shook her hair out.

The wind had left color high on her cheeks, her lips parted just slightly.

After I dismounted, I took her hand in mine and guided her inside the building.

It was late and I was thankful none of the brothers were around so I didn’t get pulled away from her and this moment.

We stood in front of the elevator waiting on the doors to open. “I want you,” she stated moving to stand in front of me. It wasn’t a question.

She stepped in and kissed me first. Her mouth was soft but sure, and it hit me like a match to dry grass. My hands went to her hips, pulling her flush to me, walking her backward away from the elevator and down a short ways toward the side door. Down the hall, into an empty room I knew was clean.

The door shut behind us.

She yanked her T-shirt over her head. My gaze dragged over bare skin I’d been imagining for days.

I kissed down her throat, across her collarbone.

My hands found the warm curve of her back, slid lower.

Lips crashed together, tongues tangling, as she writhed against me wildly, I was slowly losing control of us both.

I pushed her jeans down panties coming with them, and she kicked them free without breaking our kiss. My hand slipped between her thighs. Her breathing was heavy as I slid one finger inside her. She was wet already, and the sound she made went straight through me.

Pulling away long enough to strip out of my own clothes, I devoured her mouth once again. We hit the bed, her legs wrapping around me, pulling me down. I pushed into her slow, savoring the stretch. And then I felt it.

Stilled.

My cock throbbed.

Tight in a way that was more than snug.

I froze. Her eyes opened, searching mine.

“Jesus,” I breathed. “You’re a virgin.”

She bit her lip. “Does that change anything?”

“You sure you want this, baby?” I asked absolutely relishing the feel of her around my cock, but also willing to pull out and stop this right now.

She nodded.

“Words, baby. Consent.”

“Yes.”

“Then yeah,” I replied, voice rough. “That changes everything.”

This was a gift, a moment. I should have pulled out.

I should have walked away. I didn’t. Instead, I cupped her face and kissed her slow, letting her feel me ease back, letting her body adjust. My hands roamed her sides, her hips, her thighs, learning her.

She relaxed under me, her breaths breaking on small sounds that made my chest ache in a way I didn’t like examining.

I moved with care, with patience I hadn’t used in years, letting her take all of me at her pace. Every sound she made, every shift in her body, I claimed it. She was mine in a way no one had been before.

I’d been halfway to losing the leash when I felt it—that tight, new stillness that wasn’t just fit, wasn’t just the way two bodies meet. It was the edge of a line nobody else had crossed. It took my breath in a way a knife never had.

Her eyes searched mine like she was ready to judge the man I was about to be.

I made myself breathe. I eased a little, enough to give her space, enough to let my head catch up to the animal in my chest. My palm cupped her cheek; my thumb traced the corner of her mouth. She was warm everywhere. Trembling just a little. But present with me in this very second.

“Look at me,” I said, low, not a command this time, more like a bridge.

She did. Those eyes were open like she had been given a whole new world.

“We go slow,” I told her. “We go how you want. You wanna stop, we stop. No questions asked and no hesitation.”

A small nod, nothing dramatic, but it felt like a door unlocking.

“I want this.” Her fingers tightened at my shoulders, not to push me away—just to hold on.

I kissed her like time had stretched: slow, firm, patient, until the little tension at the hinge of her jaw softened under my mouth.

Thumbs skimming the delicate notch at her collarbone, palms smoothing down the lines of her ribs.

I learned where her breath hitched—just beneath the swell of her chest, along the curve of her waist. Every sound she gave me, I banked in my memory.

“Tell me if you need to stop,” I said against her mouth.

She nodded, then found speech. “Don’t stop.” Her panting was erratic as she was building.