“No.”
“Then why can’t you bemyDaddy? You work for the Biker Daddy Bodyguards. I know who they are.”
Touche, kid.
“Strictly I don’t work for anyone yet,” Red admitted. “I was going to fill in the forms tomorrow. Tonight was me checking you out.”
Kit blinked, then his expression morphed into something amused and infinitely dangerous. Dammit, Red had just slipped up.
“Like what you see?” He fluttered his eyelashes.
Red rolled his eyes. Could the kid be more obvious. “Bed.”
Kit pouted, then held out his arms. “Are you going to undress me?”
“No.”
“But you’re supposed to take care of me.”
“I can protect your ass just fine from here,” Red said flatly, folding his arms across his chest. Kit wasn’t the first highly-strung client he’d handled. He wouldn’t be the last.
The brat tugged the hoodie over his head. As he did, his white undershirt rucked up, exposing his tanned flat belly covered with ink that dipped beneath his waistband. Red wanted to touch the snake, follow it, feel the warm skin that acted as a beautiful canvas, lick down the tail to find out where the tail finished. He knew. Of, course he knew. Red wanted to see it for himself.
The brat didn’t stop there.
Of course he didn’t.
Kit had never known when to quit pushing.
Red kept his shoulders loose, expression bored, like this was nothing. Like Kit wasn’t standing three feet away turning the whole damn room into a live porno show just for him.
“Oh no,” Red muttered under his breath. “Don’t you dare.”
But Kit did.
Slowly. Deliberately.
The undershirt came first.
He didn’t just pull it off — he peeled it up, inch by inch, stretching like a cat in the sun, all lean muscle and smooth skin. The overhead light slid across him, catching on the silver rings in his nipples, little flashes of metal that made Red’s throat go dry.
A blatant challenge. Every movement saidlook at me. Look at me now.
Oh yeah, the glitter chaos demon was out to play.
And Red was his audience.
But not this time. Red was too experienced to fall for temptation. He crossed his arms. Didn’t move. Didn’t blink. He refused to look. Not really.
Red tracked everything in his peripheral vision like it was a threat assessment. Like Kit was just another variable to manage. Just another risk to calculate. Instead of the prettiest damn thing he’d seen in years.
Then the jeans went.
Kit shoved them down his hips with zero shame, taking his briefs with them, like he had something to prove. Like he wanted Red to react.
Red discovered where else he was pierced.
Hell.
