Page 29 of Victorious, Part 2 (The LA Defiance MC #6)

We’re here, we’re safe, we’re alone in a hotel room with one bed and three days’ worth of unresolved tension crackling between us. The smart thing would be to grab some food, get some sleep, and pretend the air isn’t thick enough to cut with a knife.

But I’ve never been particularly smart when it comes to Clover Cadell.

“Now…” I say, settling on the edge of the bed, careful not to disturb Dracula’s kingdom, “… we figure out what the hell we’re doing.”

She tilts her head, studying me. “I thought we were staying here until it’s safe to go home.”

“That’s the plan. But that’s not what I’m talking about…” I tilt my head at her suggestively. “And you know it.”

The words hang between us, heavy with implication. She knows exactly what I’m talking about. This thing that’s been building between us—the way we can’t seem to keep our hands off each other, the way every conversation feels like foreplay and every touch feels like a promise.

“Phoenix…” Her voice is soft, uncertain, and it kills me.

“I know.” I reach out, my fingers finding hers. “I know all the reasons this is complicated. Your brother, the club, the fact that we’re supposed to be lying low instead of—”

“Instead of what?”

Instead of falling for each other.

Instead of wanting things we probably can’t have.

Instead of sitting in a Vegas hotel room looking at each other like we’re both thinking about the bed we’re both currently sitting on, and all the ways we could make use of it.

“Instead of making things more complicated than they already are.”

She’s quiet for a moment, her thumb tracing circles on the back of my hand. It’s such a simple touch, but it sets my every nerve ending on fire.

“What if I want complicated?” she asks finally.

Fuck!

“Clover…”

“What if I’m tired of everyone else deciding what’s best for me? What if I want to make my own choices, even if they’re messy and complicated and probably stupid?”

Her eyes meet mine like she wants to devour me. Like she is choosing me, despite all the very good reasons she shouldn’t.

And God help me, I want to be chosen by her.

I want to be worth the risk.

“If this goes sideways…” I pause, exhaling slowly. “I don’t know if I could come back from it. If I hurt you, if this hurts you, I don’t know how I’d live with that.”

She doesn’t flinch or look away. “Then don’t let it go sideways.”

Her voice is steady. Unapologetic. It’s as if she’s daring me to believe we could actually make it work.

And that’s more terrifying than any pissed-off brother could ever be.

She doesn’t push. Just smiles, knowing I’ll get there in my own time. Then she stretches, standing up, and her shirt lifts just enough to send my brain spiraling again.

“Well…” she chimes, tossing me a grin over her shoulder, “… while you work on your emotional availability, I’m going to shower three days of desert off me.” She grabs her toiletry bag and nods toward Dracula. “Try not to let him order pay-per-view while I’m gone.”

“I make no promises,” I mutter, watching her disappear into the bathroom.

The moment the door shuts and the water starts running, I’m in utter and undeniable hell.

At first, I try to play it cool. Check my phone, pet the cat, scroll through mindless headlines, but nothing works.

My brain is stuck in a loop.

Clover.

Naked.

Water cascading down her shoulders.

Her head tilted back under the spray, eyes closed, lips parted. Her hands sliding over her skin, lathering soap over every perfect curve. That little noise she makes when she stretches. The look in her eyes right before she teases me.

It feels as if she’s taking forever in the shower, taunting and teasing me as steam escapes through the small crack in the door.

My mind wanders to places it’s gone many times before, thinking of Clover.

But now I’m in a bedroom, we’ve admitted we’re in a relationship, we are miles away from her brother’s prying eyes, and the inevitability of me fucking her is getting closer.

And now, I’ve got a huge problem tenting in my jeans.

I shift uncomfortably, trying to adjust myself discreetly, but it does jack shit.

The ache only gets worse. My mind won’t let up.

Groaning, I palm myself through the denim, pressing down, trying to ease the pressure—not even touching myself properly, just trying to survive the next few goddamn, torturous minutes.

And that’s exactly when the bathroom door opens.

Clover steps out, wrapped in a towel that clings to her damp curves, skin flushed from the steam, her hair dripping down her shoulders like something out of a fever dream.

She freezes.

So do I.

Her eyes drop straight to my hand in my lap. “Oh my God,” she whispers, her voice full of wicked amusement. “Were you just?”

“No!” I shoot up as if I’ve been electrocuted, nearly tripping over Dracula. “I wasn’t. I mean… not like that.”

“Looked exactly like that,” she chimes, clearly enjoying every second of my discomfort.

“I was adjusting.”

“You adjusted so hard I almost saw your eyes roll into the back of your head.”

“Clover…”

She saunters over to her bag, towel riding dangerously low. “You know, I could’ve stayed in there longer if I’d known you needed a little more private time.”

I groan, dragging a hand over my face. “If you stayed in any longer, I would have come in and joined you.”

She flashes a grin. “Maybe you should have.”

My cock jerks even harder against my jeans, almost painfully now. So, I grab my stuff and make for the bathroom. “I’m showering.”

“Have fun,” she calls after me with a wink and a playful giggle.

Practically slamming the door behind me, the room greets me with humidity from the heat of her shower, and it instantly makes my skin break out in a sweat.

Ripping off my clothes, I crank the cold tap all the way and step under the spray like it’s some kind of punishment.

The water hits hard, but it does nothing to cool the burn under my skin.

I brace both hands on the tiled wall, head bowed, trying to breathe through it.

But it’s no use.

The moment I close my eyes, she’s right there again.

Clover.

My Clover.

Dropping her towel slowly.

Her body lithe and perfect, water catching on the curves of her breasts, sliding down her stomach, her hips, her thighs.

I picture her stepping toward me, steam curling around her as if she’s some untouchable goddess.

She presses her body to mine, skin on skin, her lips at my ear, whispering every filthy thing she wants me to do to her.

I imagine her hands wrapping around me, stroking slowly while her eyes hold mine with that knowing, wicked glint.

I let out a guttural sound and reach for myself, finally giving in. My hand wraps around my length, already painfully hard, and I start stroking slowly, imagining it’s her.

Her touch.

Her mouth.

Her hips grinding down against me as I drive into her again and again until she’s moaning my name like a prayer.

The water slaps the tiles around me, masking the ragged sound of my breathing. My other hand fists against the wall as I move faster, chasing the high, desperate to find some kind of relief from the tension that’s been building for days.

Behind my closed eyes, a vision of her riding me, head thrown back, hair spilling down her spine, her nails digging into my shoulders, only makes my hips buck harder against my hand.

Her lips on my neck.

My name on her tongue.

“Fuck… Clover .”

A tingle ripples down my spine, and my legs instantly begin to shake.

My breathing quickens as my pulse skyrockets.

I pull harder on my cock, begging for that epic release I have needed since this trip started.

My skin prickles in goose bumps while I bite down on my bottom lip, trying like hell to keep quiet.

My balls pull up, that adrenaline surge ripples through me as I slam my fist into the tiles with a strangled groan, my muscles seizing when cum erupts from me, slamming into the tiles.

I let out a guttural moan as I collapse forward, forehead pressed to the tile, trying like hell to catch my ragged breaths.

After a few minutes, attempting to calm my heart rate, I steady my legs and use the water to wash everything away. Even after I’ve come down, I still feel her, burning under my skin, seared into every part of me.

I’m so fucking screwed.

Shaking my head, I let out a small laugh, knowing she probably heard all of that, and just figure I need to get on with it.

So, I scrub the three days of grime off me in record time, my hands still shaking from my release, but my heart won’t settle.

Once I’m fully clean, I turn off the faucet, jump out, wrap a towel low around my hips, take a deep breath, open the door, and step out into the hotel room.

Clover is sitting cross-legged on the bed, dressed in sleep shorts and a tank top, her laptop open in front of her, and Dracula curled up beside her as though they’re conducting serious business.

She doesn’t even look up.

“Good shower, it sounded… hot?” she asks, voice full of smug innocence.

I shoot her a glare. “Don’t start.”

She bites her bottom lip as if she’s trying not to laugh. “You sounded like you were… really getting clean in there.”

I groan, grabbing my clothes and turning away. “I hate you.”

“Liar,” she singsongs.

She’s right.

And she knows it.

I turn my back to her and let my towel hit the floor with a wet slap.

I don’t miss the small gasp Clover releases before I pull my jeans on over my bear ass, and follow with a shirt.

When I finally turn back to face her, her cheeks are flushed as I approach the bed and sit beside her.

The tension between us is thick, but there’s something else now too.

Ease.

Humor.

Like maybe we’re figuring this out, one stolen moment at a time.

“What are you working on?” I ask, breaking her from staring at me like she wants to devour me.