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At the door, I stop and listen.
Is that water running? Or noise from downstairs?
Probably noise from one of the other rooms.
I twist the key in the lock and push the door open. This suite isn’t as grand as the room Rock and Hope share at the compound. Construction costs were through the roof, so we chose function over fancy shit like we have at the main clubhouse. But at least we can behave like a real MC here, instead of a Brady Bunch family reunion every damn night.
Although, I have to admit, I’m fond of family dinner nights. And Z’s son is kinda cool when he lets you play with his toy cars. The kid has like a million of ’em.
Butherewe can have as many girls as we want hang out and not have to worry about them dissing the ol’ ladies or starting shit. Because when it comes to disrespecting one of my brother’s ol’ ladies, I’m always going to side with the ol’ lady, and that makes it difficult to get my dick sucked in peace.
Anyway, inside the room there’s a king-sized bed—of course—a dresser, and a flat-screen television. What more does a man need? To my right there’s a small closet and the door to the attached bathroom.
Huh. Why’s the bathroom door closed?
My gaze drops to the floor and light is spilling underneath. A shadow crosses the light.
The bathroom doorknob twists and creaks.
Fuck, someone’s in there.
I beat a hasty retreat but I’m not quick enough.
Hope emerges with a short, white towel wrapped around her curvy body. Her long hair’s twisted into a knot on top of her head but little sprigs escaped, water dripping from the ends.
Must. Not. Look. At. President’s. Wife.
Naked.
Skin.
Pale, creamy skin flushed pink from her shower. Oh fuck.
Whoever bought the towels for the clubhouse deserves a medal. The thing’s too small to fully wrap all the way around Hope’s impressive chest, so a wide slit gives me a view of bare thigh and hip. None of the good stuff, yet. Although, if she moves another inch to the left, I might—
Rock’s going to murder me.
It’ll be worth it, though.
“Ravage!” Hope gasps. “Oh my gosh.” She jumps backward—an impressive leap that unfortunately for me doesn’t dislodge the already loose towel.
“Sorry, sorry, sorry.”Shit, fuck. What did I just do?“I’m sorry, Hope.”
I hurry into the hallway, slamming the door behind me.
Can’t. Unsee.
I press my back against the wall and close my eyes. All I see is drops of water running over bare thigh.
“She’s a dolphin, she’s a dolphin, she’s a dolphin,” I mutter to myself over and over.
It’s not working. Z’s theory that a brother’s ol’ lady can’t possibly be hot because once she’s claimed, she’s a dolphin is a total fucking scam. I can’t picture Hope as anything other than hot, wet, and almost naked.
Rock’s gonna kill me slowly.
“She’s a dolphin, she’s a—”
“What the fuck are you doing, Rav?” Rock’s deadly calm voice cuts through my useless chanting.
