Page 72 of Diary of a Biker Queen

“We’re buying you an ass plug.”

I spun around. “Excuse me?”

He raised an eyebrow. “Are you seriously going to pretend you didn’t practically beg me to fuck your ass last night?”

I scowled at him, embarrassment heating my cheeks. “You know, it’s kinda rude to bring up things said in the heat of the moment. Have some manners.”

He leaned in so Bob up at the counter with his Jane Austen reading material didn’t hear. “You know it’s kinda rude to pretend like you aren’t turned on just thinking about it.”

I shoved him back a step. “You’re such a cocky asshole.”

He didn’t let me have any of the room. He closed it instantly, pinning me in to a shelf full of condoms. “Stop talking about ass unless you’re going to let me have yours.”

God, he was killing me. He smelled so good, and he was right. I hadn’t stopped thinking about last night ever since I’d woken up. I was literally just counting down the minutes until we could do it again.

Something crackled in the air between us, that stupid sexual tension I had zero control over. I breathed out, but it was unsteady, fully affected by how close he was and how dirty he talked.

He grinned like he knew it and reached over, plucking an ass plug from a shelf and holding it up, an unspoken question in his eyes.

I wanted to say no. Wanted to tell him he was a cocky prick and he didn’t have me all figured out.

And yet what I actually did was nod.

He winked at me. “Good girl.”

I stifled a groan. He needed to stop saying things like that.

He strode to the counter and handed Bob the plug with the amount of shame one would have buying a loaf of bread.

Bob rang it up with about the same level of excitement and tossed a tube of lube into the bag at the last second. “Free promotion,” he explained. “Raspberry flavored.”

Luca winked at me. “My favorite.”

The man was insufferable, honestly.

I wasn’t waiting around for him a second longer. This whole thing was becoming mortifying, and I was probably going to have to hand in my feminist card at this rate for acting like I had no brain whenever he was in my space.

Some fresh air would clear my head. I strode out into the morning sunlight and walked back down the street to where we’d left the car. Then decided I wanted to see Dax while I was here, because he was the best cure for a case of “too much Luca Guerra.”

I went to cross the road and paused for a black SUV to pass.

Someone grabbed my elbow and yanked me back from the curb.

Luca shoved me behind him, his chest heaving, his sex store purchases in a bag clutched in his other hand. He watched the SUV roll by, with his muscles locked up tight, tension in every one.

As soon as it passed, he whirled on me. “What the hell are you doing?”

I yanked my elbow out of his grasp. “Crossing the road? What does it look like?”

“You walked off without me! That wasn’t the deal, princess. I sprung you for the day, but fucking hell, you think you’re safe out here, walking the streets completely alone and unarmed? That could have been my father in that SUV. You know how quick my uncle could have ripped you right off the street and into the back of it? And then what, Nyah? You’re back with them, and this time, I can’t fucking get to you. And trust me, if they get you back, what they did after they branded you will seem like a fucking vacation in the Bahamas.”

His eyes blazed with anger, but there was something more behind it.

Pure, cold fear.

For me. For my safety. Because despite the way Luca was an asshole ninety-nine percent of the time, the other one percent showed me he actually cared.

Seeing me so close to a car he thought his father might be in had scared him.