Hammer (Heartlands Motorcycle Club #9) - Dani Wyatt Page 0,10

probably toxic, cleaning supplies.

I spin her in front of me and pull the door shut with a thud. The single bulb above casts shadows across her face as she tugs her lips to the side, scrunching her freckled nose and ruining me with a final death blow.

She has a dimple.

Not just any dimple. It’s a secret dimple.

I’ve seen her smile before and it’s never come out to play before now.

It’s perfect. And it seems it only shows itself on special occasions.

Like this one.

I didn’t think I could get any harder, but I was wrong.

I turn her toward a stack of boxes, pressing my chest into her back, and walk her two steps forward until they are just in front of her.

“Put your hands here.” I reach around her and show her what I want, before pulling my hands back and feeling her tense and freeze.

I give her a second.

Two.

Three.

“Do it now.” I grunt, running a hand down the back of her head, then gripping a handful of her hair and tugging.

I rub my erection against her ripe, round ass, and watch as she settles her hands on top of the box, bending ever so slightly at the waist and pushing her softness back into me. I give her a few dry hump thrusts so she makes no mistake what’s she’s doing to me.

“You feel that, don’t you?”

“Uh huh,” she manages, and I run my other hand over her hip, slipping my fingers under the hem of her t-shirt and working it upward until I feel the soft warmth of her skin.

I flatten my palm on her stomach and aim my fingers toward the button on her jeans, listening to her breathing halt, then start and halt again.

Her back is arched as I flip my fingers on the button of her jeans and then work her zipper down, and I hear the moan she tries to bite back but it’s too late.

I want to kiss her mouth but I settle for pressing my chest to her back, breathing in her sweet, candy scent, and press my lips just in front of her ear as I work my fingers lower.

Lower.

Her jeans are tight but I feel the brush of a few curls of hair, then the slick heat as I dip my middle finger between bare lips and feel the drench of wetness. And now I’m the one biting back a moan.

“Just a sec…” She manages, turning her head enough to catch my eye. “I’m just... I’m not fucking you in some back room at a laundromat.”

“No?” I rub the length of steel under the zipper of my pants against her ass and listen to her breathing hitch.

“No.” She snaps. “I know it’s probably what you want, but let’s just…”

“What?”

“Other stuff, but not that.”

I move my middle finger until I find her clit and start circling it slowly at first, then faster, until her eyes drift closed and she drops her head between her arms on a sigh.

You have no idea what I want, I think to myself as I watch her body soften. Her shoulders drop, and the slick wonder under my fingers tells me it’s only a matter of time.

Instinct takes over. I’m hungry for her. For something I haven’t tasted but know will be my undoing.

Heat gathers in my gut like a low fire coming to life. I slip my finger lower, my palm against her clit, pressed hard between the tight fabric of her jeans, and I find her opening.

Jesus, she so fucking tight it’s hard to even get the first part of my finger inside, but just as I start to retreat, she arches her back and thrusts her hips.

“God, that feels so good.”

“It’s supposed to feel good. You should always feel this good.”

I want to make her feel like this forever. It’s the only thought left in my addled brain. I want to touch her. To memorize her sounds and how she moves. To taste her pussy, and know if she’s going to drench my face when she comes.

But it’s so much more. I want to know why she’s here in Seneca. What made her become an attorney. Where her family is. Was she happy growing up. Did anyone ever hurt her…

I let my thoughts trail off, because just the idea that someone hurt her has my muscles tense and my heart beating so hard it hurts.

I want this moment perfect. Unlike I’ve ever wanted. I’m a hard asshole. I’ve never felt like this about a