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It simply was not in him to let some random asshole disrespect him. He wasn’t wearing colors, he’d left his kutte in his saddlebag like last time, but she—they—knew who he was.
He turned to Dre. “You don’t know shit about me. I did nothing but order a fucking beer from you. So watch your fucking mouth how you talk to me.”
Dre gave him a look of pure, violent malice. They leaned on the bar, got right in his face, and said, “I know everything I need to know about you, and you are a piece of shit.”
Jay had never hit a woman in his life. He had been taught from the crib to protect people who were weaker than him, and, contrary to what apparently everyone in his family thought, he’d learned the lessons he was taught. But he had no idea where somebody like Dre fell in that paradigm. Dre was nonbinary, and frankly looked it. They were at least as tall as him, as broad-shouldered as him. Fuck, they stood there flat-chested in a white t-shirt with a pack of smokes rolled up in a sleeve, like some Fifties movie poster. If they got into it with him, Dre looked every bit like they’d put up a serious fight. Was it wrong to hit somebody like that? How could it be?
Jay was both insulted and embarrassed by the insult, delivered right in front of the woman he’d been thinking about for days. He was ready to rumble. And so was Dre.
Petra put a stop to things right there. With a gentle hand on Dre’s arm, she pulled them back. “Dre, enough. This isn’t your business.”
Those four words were like a dart thrown at a balloon. Dre deflated. They backed off and turned a look full of hurt on Petra, who looked back with calm compassion but held her ground.
“Fine. Fuck you both,” Dre snarled and stomped to the far side of the bar. Feeling smug, Jay no longer had a need to answer the insult. Petra had done more with a gentle word than he could have done with his brass knuckles.
Petra turned to Jay. God, her eyes were pretty. He still hadn’t figured out what color they were. Blue, maybe, but that didn’t seem quite right.
“What are you doing here?” she asked, her tone much more encouraging than Dre’s when they’d asked a similar question.
He smiled and hoped it struck the right note. “I saw you today. Outside the station. I thought maybe you wanted to see me.” It took effort not to let the end of that sentence lift up and become a plea.
Her gaze didn’t waver, but her cheeks pinked up prettily. He could see her trying to decide whether to lie and say he was mistaken.
She cleared her throat. “Come with me.”
He didn’t ask where she wanted to take him. He didn’t indulge the urge to send a victorious smirk down the bar to Dre. He just nodded and, when she turned and headed out from behind the bar, he followed.
She led him to the door to the kitchen. They went through, passed by the bright clamor of the kitchen itself, went around some stock, and a round table beside some lockers, to a door with a stick-on plaque that said MANAGER.
Oh, cool. Her office. Privacy. Jay grinned.
He expected the sort of dark, small, cluttered office he’d seen at the back of other businesses, chief among them Eight’s office at the clubhouse, with no sort of décor, just a bunch of crap piled up. But Petra’s office was nice. It was small, yes, and cluttered, and windowless, but—
His thoughts stopped right there as Petra pushed him up against the door she’d just closed, grabbed his head, and yanked him down to kiss him. Her tongue was in his mouth before he’d fully understood what had happened.
Jay had been with a few take-charge type women. Not many; the chicks he picked up at bars were generally the opposite of take-charge, as were the sweetbutts. He’d never pulled a bossy woman, but he’dbeen pulled bya few. Including—something not even Zach knew—the long-term substitute in his twelfth-grade Spanish class. It was pretty hot when a woman took charge.
He’d never admit it in public; not being the one making the moves would make him a bigger target than he already was if anybody at the clubhouse got word of it. But in the privacy of his own head, he kind of thought it was hotter to be the one getting seduced. If that was the right word. To be pursued rather than pursuer.
That wasn’t what was going on here, seeing as he’d come to her—just like last time—but still, the way Petra was completely comfortable telling him where to go, taking what she wanted, not bothering to be coy, to Jay that was like a big flashing sign announcing how much she wanted him.
And that felt damn good. Right now, it was like medicine.
But he wanted to make sure she understood how hot he was for her right back, so he grabbed her head in his hands, pushed his fingers through her soft hair, and took the kiss over.
When he did, she grunted into his mouth with such animal fierceness his knees shook with the force of need the sound ignited in him. He dropped his hands and tried to wrap his arms around her, to pull her tight to his body, feel all of her against him, but she put her hands on his chest, forcing space between them—and began dragging at his shirt.
He had a button shirt on because that was what he’d had in his locker. It took him a second to understand that she was trying to open his buttons—trying to undress him.
She’d brought him back for a fuck, pure and simple. He didn’t think they’d said a word to each other since they’d walked away from Dre.
Absolutely fine with that turn of events, Jay helped her with his shirt, shrugged out of it and let it fall wherever, then grabbed at her top, while Petra shoved her hands back in his hair and made the serpentine closeness he’d wanted before, winding her body around his.
Realizing he’d need to give up the delights of her mouth to get her top off, he set that task aside for later and worked on her jeans instead. They were the faded, artfully ripped-up kind chicks wore, a little bit baggy but nicely snug on her slim hips, wound with a thick black leather belt. As he got the belt undone and the fly open and slipped his hand under the black lace of her panties, she made a stuttering, immensely sexy whimper and shifted her leg to give him easier access to her—holy god, dripping wet, beautifully smooth pussy.
Every second of Friday night looped through his head and gave this burning hot encounter twice the fire. He remembered her every sound, every flex, the smell of her, the taste of her. Those few hours were burned straight into the grooves of his brain. He didn’t even know her last name, her age, nothing about her except one small handful of surface details, but it didn’t matter. Heknewher.
There was something he hadn’t done Friday night and had regretted since. Her desk was behind her, maybe five feet away. Keeping his hand between her legs, working her clit with his middle finger, Jay walked her backward. She went with him easily.
