Page 41 of Rider Daddies (Venom Vultures MC #6)

I scan the book and mark it returned, wondering what business motorcyclists have reading up on criminal law. Maybe so they know how to escape it?

I flatten the thought since it’s making me more on edge, and get on with the task at hand.

“Okay, that’s all done for you,” I say, moving the book aside.

“Great. We’ll speak to you soon,” says the British one, winking.

Will he?

“Enjoy the rest of your day, sweetheart,” says the gold tooth one.

I’m too flustered to return the comment and instead, just about manage a smile before they turn around and walk out. I can’t help but gawp at their asses as they leave, all of them firm and rounded.

What the fuck has gotten into me?

When the door closes, I blow out the biggest breath and slump into my seat. Only now is it occurring to me how tense I was during the interaction. My heart is still thumping rapidly too.

Swallowing the lump that seems to have formed in my throat, I direct my attention back to my book to resume my study.

Except now, the words don’t make sense.

My heart rate never spikes when I’m talking to men.

Not even if it’s some of the most popular men on campus.

There’s something about these bikers that’s so intriguing and dark and sensual.

You know what they say. Opposites attract.

Maybe it’s that I have no experience and they look like they have lots.

Maybe it’s that I don’t have tattoos and they have many of them all over their bodies, or that I’m young and they’re old.

I dunno. Whatever it is, it’s enough to distract me from my work.

Exhaling, I stand up and stretch.

That’s when their returned book catches my eyes.

The Devil’s Advocate…

If there’s one thing I’ve learned since working as a librarian, it’s that books tell a lot about a person.

I return to my seat and knock back the hardcover.

A handwritten phone number has been scribbled at the bottom of the index page.

Below that is a message: Call us.

“I can’t call them!”

“Yes, you can.” Natasha forces the phone into my hands.

“Nat, you don’t understand. I need to pass?—”

“Blah, blah, blah. Do you hear yourself? Boring . Have you ever heard of work hard, play hard? You need to relax. Come on. You didn’t come out with me tonight to have just two drinks and leave.

” She looks at me with desperation. “Loosen up a little. If you don’t call them, I’ll do it myself.

I bet biker daddies sure know a thing or two about female orgasms, unlike most of the boys here tonight.

” She scans our surroundings, disappointed.

I knew I shouldn’t have come to this party. When Natasha first invited me, I refused, but then I made the mistake of telling her all about my interaction today at the library.

She said some drinks would sort me out. But I’m on my second vodka cranberry of the night, and I feel exactly the same as before.

I thought coming out would be good for me. Set me straight and get me out of my head. After the library, I returned to the dorm room, eager to crack on with some study, but I couldn’t concentrate. The bikers were still on my mind.

Thinking about them now still raises my pulse. All I’ve been able to think about today is their intimidating presence. How it might feel if I was laid naked on the bed, all three of them taking care of me.

“Hello? Earth to Melissa?!”

Pulled from my thoughts, I spin back to Natasha. “Sorry.”

“Damn, they well and truly fucked you up.”

We’re sitting together on a couch in the living area. There are too many people, so I don’t actually know who lives here. All I know is that some dude who Natasha hooked up with a month ago is here. Music thumps around us, the bass so deep that I feel it altering the tempo of my pulse.

Or is that because I’m thinking about the bikers again?

I take another sip of my drink.

“Text them, at least.”

“No,” I say, slamming the drink down on the coffee table. “We came here to drink. Not to talk about them .”

Natasha lets out a huge sigh, lowering her drink. “Look, Melissa, if you want to pass these finals, texting them is the only way.”

“And where’s the logic in that?”

“You’re at unrest at the moment, which is why your brain can’t concentrate on anything. You need clarity. When you have that, you have focus.”

“What are you saying?”

“I’m saying that you’ll feel better if you text them. I promise.” She switches my phone on for me. “Trust me. Message the bikers. See what they have to say. You’re sending them a message, not sleeping with them.”

I narrow my eyes. She’s convincing.

Just not convincing enough.

After staring at her for a moment, I switch off the phone and place it back into my bag so it’s out of sight.

“I’m not here to talk about men. I’m here to drink.”

“Okay,” she says. “Have it your way.”

After one more vodka cranberry, my body feels like it wants to dance. Natasha and I hit the dance floor when the next song begins. We dance for a while, then go and grab another drink to hydrate.

At this point, I’m on my sixth…seventh…I don’t know. I lose count. My head starts to swirl, neon lights wrapping around me.

We return to the dance floor, but all I can think about is them.

The intrusive thoughts intensify. Now I’m not just thinking about us all naked, sharing a bed. Now I’m imagining one of them inside of me, and I dance, mind preoccupied with what that might feel like. It terrifies me a little bit, but not as much as it excites me.

Sex has never made me curious like this before.

I’ve never thought about the logistics of it all. Who initiates. How it feels to be stripped down naked in front of the opposite sex. If it hurts or not. What kind of things you’re supposed to say.

I think back to when the biker with the gold tooth called me sweetheart.

Something unfamiliar burns between my legs.

I think I’d quite like to be called that during sex.

“Alright!” says Natasha, gathering a crowd. “Time for truth or dare, except we’re just doing dares. We’re not a bunch of high school pussies anymore.”

I don’t remember arranging myself into a circle with a dozen others.

The vodka is already starting to leave gaps in my brain…

Natasha explains the rules, shouting over the music. She places an empty glass bottle of Smirnoff in the center of the table. “Spin the bottle. If it lands on you, you have to do a dare.”

My stomach twists a little, sober brain starting to kick in slightly.

I should leave before the game starts.

But my intoxicated brain tells me to stay. Maybe this won’t be too bad.

Across from me, I spot Natasha’s hookup in the circle. If the bottle lands on Natasha, I’m gonna dare her to kiss him as revenge for her being too pushy about the bikers.

I tense every time the bottle spins, but there are too many people for it to land on me.

Natasha seems to know everybody here, since she’s out at every given opportunity.

Me? I only know her, so I sit quietly in the circle and watch other people carry out dares, laughing to myself.

Somebody is dared to jump fully clothed into the pool outside.

Another is dared to add their professor on Facebook.

A guy named Matt is next, and he’s dared to kiss the player with the best boobs.

He lightly pecks me on the cheek and everybody roars with laughter.

Of course.

“You’re supposed to kiss on the mouth !” someone exclaims.

“I know,” Matt says, crawling back to his space in the circle. “But she looks too innocent.”

My breasts have always been my number one insecurity. They’re the reason why Natasha says I never have to lift a finger when it comes to dating.

But they get in the way and always attract the wrong guys.

I went to a private, all girls high school, so never had to worry about this issue until a few months ago when I started at University of Nevada.

The only guys I’d let stare at my breasts are the bikers.

The British one had basically invited himself to look, earlier.

“Melissa!”

I look down and see the neck of the vodka bottle facing my way.

My stomach churns.

Shit.

“I dare you to kiss the boy here you find the most sexy.”

“I dare you to flash your tits to a male player of your choice.”

“Ew, gross,” says Natasha, dismissing all of the suggestions. “My bestie will not be getting naked for anybody here.” She stares at me, eyes narrowed. “I know. I dare you to send a sexy voice note to the bikers from the library.”

“Ooooh!” goes the crowd, everybody’s attention turning my way.

A slight blush creeps up onto my cheeks. I’m an only child, and it’s been just Daddy and me since the age of three, so I’m no good at group settings like this.

But thankfully, the alcohol has taken most of the edge off.

Okay, I think to myself. This isn’t bad. I can make a voice note without actually sending it. I slip my phone from my purse and think about what I’m gonna say.

It doesn’t take long.

I’ve been thinking about what I want them to do to me all afternoon.

“Okay,” I say, navigating to the app. This has to be good. I’ve already been insulted as being too innocent. I can’t half-ass this. You only get one shot to make a good impression. “Here goes.”

I raise the device to my lips, the entire circle silent.

“Hey, I don’t know if you remember me. I was the librarian that helped you out earlier this afternoon.

One of you wrote down your number.” I hesitate, heart in my throat.

I look across the circle, eyes blurry, to see Natasha egging me on. Is she spinning, or is it this room?

I return to the phone. “Fuck, you guys all seriously turn me on. I haven’t stopped thinking about you all day.

Your faces. Your bodies. The things I want you to do to me…

” I pause. “I have reached the conclusion that I want you to fuck me hard. All of you. You look like you would all be good at that.”