thing I wanted was for him to see me scurrying back with my tail tucked between my legs.
Alas, his bike was right there in the driveway when I pulled up. What kind of big, bad, motorcycle club member is home at 9 PM on a Friday anyway? Ugh.
Gingerly, I close the door behind me then toe off my flats before trekking down the short hallway. I can see the flashing blue light of the television against the hall walls, but I hear no sounds.
As the hall spreads open into the living area, I screech to a halt. My duffel bag hits the floor with a thud when I shoot my hands up in surrender. "Oh my g—Scratch, it's me! It's me!"
Sprawled supine and shirtless on the new sofa with one leg dangling off to the floor, Scratch's gun, along with his threatening glare, is trained right at me.
As quiet as I’d tried to be, I shouldn't be surprised he heard me enter. He's a war hero. Were I an enemy thinking I'd be catching him off-guard in this moment, I'd be sorely mistaken.
He lowers his gun and tucks it under the couch. "Key?"
"Cookie had a spare." I drop my hands. "Weren’t you curious how all the new furniture got in?"
He offers a one-shoulder shrug. "Got in about an hour ago, too tired to think about it. I just knocked out." His gaze shifts to my duffel on the floor, then back to me, one brow arching. "Sup?"
Scratching a nonexistent itch behind my ear, I mumble, "She kicked me out."
"Best damn thing I’ve heard all day." A hint of a smirk flirts on his full lips. "Get your ass over here."
When I do, he grabs my wrist and hauls me down on top of him.
He feels so good. Solid and warm and safe.
Bracketing my face with his palms, he stares up at me, eyes roaming. But before he can beat me to it, I dip down and kiss him.
Yes.
Yesss.
His lips are full and firm and soft all at once. He opens up to let me in, and we make love with our mouths for what feels like forever and still not long enough.
Suddenly I’m flipped over and he’s on top. He feasts on my neck, kissing, licking, nipping with his teeth, and I tip my head back, giving him better access. His kisses, his mouth, his touch, his weight, his heat...so good.
Sliding the straps of my dress down my shoulders until they’re below my bra, he lowers his head to tongue my nipple over the lace fabric of my bra. One hand slides up under my dress, squeezing and caressing my thigh, and I writhe beneath him, a burning ball of need, craving more.
In a silent beg, I thrust up my chest. Complying, he teases one breast out of my bra and flicks his tongue around and around my taut, aching nipple before he suckles it, eliciting a loud moan of appreciation from me.
With his other hand under my dress, he traces the edges of my panties, skimming, brushing, teasing me. I'm so wet and throbbing it's becoming unbearable.
I elevate my pelvis, hinting that I desperately need him to touch me there. He doesn't comply this time. Nope, he chooses to taunt me. Torment me. Drive me insane.
I drag my palms down his back, loving the feel of his rippling muscles under my skin.
“Nails,” he growls low. “Use your nails.”
And there’s the reason behind his moniker “Scratch.” I’d forgotten.
Curling my fingers inward, I press my nails to his skin before dragging them upward, then down again. The feral noise that reverberates from him is long, loud, and loaded with pleasure. And hot. I do it again.
He loves it.
When his knuckles brush up against my sex with intentional pressure, I nearly freaking lose it. Feeling as if I'm about to combust, erupt, rip right out of my skin, I force my hands down between us and begin fumbling with his belt, damn near manic with desire.
"Whoa there, Little Miss Impatient," he rumbles through a lusty chuckle.
"You're taking too long with the foreplay stuff," I whine.
"Can't take my time and enjoy my woman?"
"Sure..." I pant out, distracted and frenzied as I get done with his belt and yank it from the loops. "But some other time."
With an amused half-grin, he draws back on his knees and unzips his jeans, shoving them down along with his boxers until he's out in the wind, thick, long, curved, and aimed at me.
He fists himself. "This what