Page 67 of Tracking Luxe

Her dark hair was all wrong. Not as straight, not as soft. Didn’t smell of the same flowers.

Was his Luxe with Steele right now? Someone else? Was she hungering for his dick right now? wishing for Grinder between her gorgeous, perfect legs?

His growl came up his throat. The driving hunger within him was so goddamn palpable he was close to feeling out of control, booze and weed aside. His head buzzed, not from the high, but a dirty rotten thief telling him to slam into her harder and faster.

Harder, Nathan. Oh, Dios mio, Harder.

He wanted a distraction, something to take the edge off him feeling so unruly and dangerous within his own skin, like he was a firecracker ready to escape the trajectory course and go rogue. She was fucking with more than his head.

Fuck. if only she would.

Fuck.Fuck it. Curses dropped, he dug a thumb into his eye socket to stop himself from seeing Luxe sprawled out on his bed. “Fuck. You’re not her, are you, babe? Not her.” He muttered more to himself.

“Who? I can be anyone you want me to be, baby. Anyone, you just tell me, we can have fun, you and me, can’t we?” Tits scraped his chest, hands toyed at his belt and Grinder swayed in his boots, the sloshing in his gut didn’t let up, his head was swimming so fucking much he felt like he was under water, the music dulling in his ears. The batch of weed had been strong, too much booze, he’d drank like he was in a competition with his own subconscious, the first one to pass out wins.

Hands rolled up his chest, caught around the back of his neck. Memories assaulted his fogged brain, that one dirty memory fighting to get through. “She did that, felt so good... Fuck…don’t do that.” his head lolled on his neck, heavy as a rock.

Purr. Purr. Purr. “I can deal with this for you.” Bold fingers cupped his hardness.

His groan turned dark picturing different fingers shaping his cock and pumping him until he’d lost his mind and his come all over his belly and her little pleased laugh so fucking delighted for making him lose himself.

Perfume stinking up his nostrils to confuse him.

He blinked slowly and brought the face in front of him into focus. She wasn’t right, didn’t feel right against his chest, the shape was all wrong, not as soft.

His mouth anchored down right there in grabbing distance if that was what he wanted to happen. He sucked in her breath, she didn’t taste anything like a flawless thief.

A gravelly request tumbled out of his lips. “Do you speak Spanish, babe?”

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

“What’s a bit of pump n’ grind between friends?” - Lawless

Lawless didn't need to peer far through the dark and the noise to feel the crawl of eyes on him from somewhere within the chaos of the ramble crowd.

It was a heaving over his skin.

It was a tingling in his throat.

His bones knew.

Or more accurately; his aching Johnson.

Maelstrom was his noise and self-awareness with the space around him.

Lifting the beer bottle to his mouth he took a long draw, the brew had grown warm and he placed it on a near table, choosing instead to rest his shoulder on the wall he let his deviant eyes track through the sea of bodies.

It was a usual Renegade Souls party. An end of the month bash, good business, good crime blowout where they let the locals in ... who dare come that was. Naughty fish were always curious about what went on behind their doors. The club had a bad reputation and most folks in Armado Springs feared Lawless and his boys. It didn’t stop them coming along to see for themselves with their greedy, naughty little mouths agape.

Malleable minds were so fucking predictable. So were greedy glands.

He couldn't figure why, not that he cared why, most everyone's opinions flew over his shaved head.

Maybe because he was a genius and didn't need to hear anyone else's wah wah drone.

Or maybe he just didn't give a rat’s ass.

His brothers were having fun in their little orgies of two's and threes, the music thumping, he could smell the weed in the air and none of it held his attention.