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“What’s the—“ he started.
“Come on. We have to get out of here before the owners see something on the cameras and call the cops or something,” I lied, climbing off the desk, yanking my skirt down, then rushing in the back toward the couch, where I bent down to retrieve my shirt and bra.
The shirt I put on.
The bra, I balled up in my hand.
“What…” he started, brows pinched, confused.
Which was the plan.
“Hurryup,” I hissed, fisting my panties too, then making my way to the door. “Put your cock away,” I demanded, getting to the door, then making a big show of looking out both ways, like the owners or cops could be right around the corner.
“The fuck is going on?” he asked, but he was coming closer even as I heard his zipper slide into place.
“Breaking and entering isn’t going to look good on my record,” I told him, moving outside, then waiting for him to do the same, before closing the door. “Okay. This was fun. Catch you around!”
Then I turned and all but sprinted away, weaving up and down different streets until I was sure there was no way he could follow me.
“You good?” a voice asked, making me turn to see the bouncer outside of a kinda rinky-dink bar. No line. No flashing lights shows. And the only music came from a jukebox that people had to pay to play. Whoever had the most quarters seemed to be playing metal that screamed out of the gaps under the door.
“Ah… yeah,” I said, nodding. “Don’t mind me,” I added, flipping my bra over my shoulder, unraveling my panties, then slipping them on under my skirt.
“No, sweetheart, I don’t mind at all,” he said with a smirk that said he both liked my boldness, and knew what I’d just done. At least vaguely. “You need help with that?” he asked as I pulled the bra off my shoulder.
It was not quite as easy to get a bra back on under your clothes as it was your panties, but I managed well enough. Without flashing the bouncer.Much.
“Am I going to catch anything drinking out of the glasses in there?” I asked, looking dubiously at the door. “‘Cause I could use a drink.”
Or five.
Maybe ten.
Whatever it took to try to permanently wipe that biker’s perfect smutty amazingness out of my mind.
It turned out it was twelve drinks.
Until I all but blacked out in the back of a cab before dragging my ass back to my apartment.
Still, though, as soon as the light cut through the windows in the morning like little hot knives stabbing into my hungover eyes, the visions of the night before came flooding back.
There was no forgetting that biker.
Even if I didn’t even know his damn name.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Cato
Dazed was the best way to describe how I felt as I drove my ass back to the clubhouse after the fuck in the building we’d apparently been trespassing in.
I couldn’t quite tell you if it was because the fucking had been so good—which it was—or if it had more to do with the abrupt brush-off afterward.
Again.
It was enough to give a man a fucking complex.
Even if I knew she’d had a good time.
