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They were so fucking close that when her lips parted, the warm puff of air that escaped swept across his cheek. She wasn’t much shorter than him so it wouldn’t take any effort to lean forward and taste her mouth.
“What’s going on?” she whispered on a breath.
The fuck if he knew. But what he did know was that he wanted to spin her around, rip down her jeans, toss her bare ass up on the counter and fuck her so hard, she was no longer whispering.
Fuck no. He wanted her screaming his name. Loud and clear.
He blinked, trying to clear that vision from his brain.
His cock was now hard and throbbing in his jeans. Luckily his baggy coveralls hid his reaction. Or at least, he hoped to fuck they did.
She was so out of his fucking league, she’d probably be offended if she knew what his imagination was coming up with.
He was also within kneeing distance and he would like to keep his nuts where they belonged, instead of drilled up into his body cavity.
“Nothin’,” he forced out of his mouth.
Just act like you don’t got a ragin’ hard-on and don’t wanna plant your face between her thighs.
Act fuckin’ normal, idiot. ‘Cause if she gets offended and bitches to Dutch, you’re gonna have a Snap-On wrench permanently embedded in your melon.
“I’m gonna… I need to…” He shook his head, trying to reset his brain. “Need to talk to Reilly.”
She took a deep breath and nodded. The flush slowly retreated but her nipples remained hard and present.
And definitely distracting.
Damn. He needed to get out of this tight spot. Literally and figuratively.
Because right now? He wanted to lick her glaze. And not the sweet coating on her donut.
“Let’s head into the—” His voice cracked like a goddamn fourteen-year-old. He pushed on. “Office.”
Fallon only nodded.
Her previous question, “What’s going on?” circled his brain. Why the fuck was he reverting back to an awkward teenager with raging hormones and lack of skill with women? Just like when he was the only virgin left in his group of high school friends and no matter what he did to change that… failed.
And failed fucking miserably.
At that age, he’d had no game.
It didn’t matter that he was on the baseball team. It didn’t matter that he’d done pretty decent in school. It didn’t matter that he could figure out how to take apart anything and put it back together again. Most of the time even make whatever it was better than the original.
He basically sucked at talking to his female classmates. He didn’t know what to say or how to say it. Worse, everything he did say came out awkward and apparently wrong. Most likely because he was never raised by a father who gave a shit and he’d been too young when that drunk, abusive motherfucker died.
And while his grandfather stepped in as his father figure, Whip had been only eight on the day his pap took his last breath. Way too young to be taught how to flirt with girls with any kind of finesse.
His mom wanted him to concentrate on schoolwork and baseball and not high school “hussies.” She said they were trouble, could get him in trouble and fuck up his future.
There’d been no point in arguing with her that all the girls in school weren’t hussies. In fact, if they were, his damn cherry would’ve been popped when he was a whole lot younger, instead of at nineteen.
Only ten years ago.
One of the perks of joining the Fury was access to the sweet butts. Once he was fully patched in, he had free access to fuck any of them and none of them could say no. Or they could, but only for certain reasons. Otherwise, they needed to hit the bricks and leave the club.
Not once had any of them said no. In fact, he had to be doing something right since he was in high demand. Most nights he didn’t have to find one, they found him.
He was lucky he only had to prospect for the first six months. During those six months, he and Billie had been exclusive and then just like that, the day he was patched over, they decided to do their own thing.
Even though he’d learned a lot from her, after that day he was never with her again. They checked in with each other, but that was about it. Billie realized Whip wasn’t enough for her and what she needed, and Whip decided she was way too much.
Whip wasn’t into being whipped. And not with whipped cream, either, but with a damn horse crop or a flogger. Or all the rest of the crazy shit she kept in her toy bag.
Instead, he preferred Liz, but so did Ozzy and it was difficult to spend alone time with her. Not unless the Original was there, either watching or participating.
