Curly (Hell's Handlers MC Florida Chapter 1)

“Do they…” Her nose wrinkled. “I mean, are they an, what do you call it? An outlaw club?”

He met her gaze. Lying would be easy. Probably smarter. It didn’t matter if she accepted him for that aspect of his life. She’d never be a part of it, but he found himself eager to find out if she’d look at him differently once she knew. “They are.”

“So you could go to jail. Again.”

With a slow nod, he said, “I could. It’s always a risk.”

Her mouth turned down. “I don’t understand why you would risk your freedom again. Not after what you went through. Doesn’t the idea of going back scare you to death?”

“It does. But the Hell’s Handlers aren’t into what the True Outlaws were. No drugs. No guns. No prostitution. So the risk is much lower. I’m a biker. I thrive in that brotherhood. My own family, whoever is still alive, is uninterested in me. Chosen family is what I get. Club life is who I am, and living without it scares me more than the other possibilities.”

“But it’s still there.”

Again, he wouldn’t lie to her, so he just shrugged. “I’ve never quite been able to conform to society’s rules and the way people think I’m supposed to live. Club life lets me be who I am.”

“I understand that,” she whispered. “God, how I understand that.”

“Living for yourself?”

She nodded, gazing at him with an almost tender expression that had his chest tightening nearly as much as his dick. Is this what a future with Brooke would look like? Peaceful evenings outside as the sun set and dogs scampered about. A brotherhood at their back. Retiring to their bed to spend hours getting lost in pleasure. Living by their own rules.

Damn, that sounded just about perfect.

But a fantasy was all it was. He knew firsthand life didn’t play out like a storybook.

By now, the dogs had long finished eating. Most sprawled out in her yard, enjoying their food comas while a few still ran about, chasing each other.

He shifted his focus back to her to find her watching him with a darkened gaze. Christ, he hoped to fuck it was lust and not just fatigue.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

What the fuck did she have to thank him for? “For what?”

The smile she gave him transformed her face. “For today. For my first ride. For being honest with me.”

Even in the dwindling light, he saw her cheeks turn pink. Fuck, he loved that damn blush and how easy it was to bring it out of her.

“I think I’ve been in a bit of a rut. It was nice to break out for a day.”

It wasn’t a rut, but it was her safe place. She used her routine, small social circle, and job to keep her protected from further hurt. Who could blame her after what she’d been through? But they’d talked about enough serious shit for one night, so he just said, “It was my pleasure.”

That one word, pleasure, seemed to spark something in Brooke. She bit her lower lip, then gazed out at the darkening yard. This time, when she turned back to him, there was no mistaking the desire written all across her face.

She stood, set down her beer, then closed the two-foot distance between their chairs until she stood above him, peering down. That lower lip still rested between her teeth. He wanted to suck it into his mouth, soothe it with his tongue, see it stretched around his cock.

As though grappling with the sanity of her options, she continued to watch him. For his part, he remained silent and still as fuck. There wasn’t a goddammed thing he could do to keep his cock from hardening, but other than breathing, he waited for her to make her next move.

Either she’d walk away, or…

When she turned and began walking, disappointment surged so strongly, he nearly whimpered like one of those fucking dogs. But Brooke didn’t go into the house. No, she headed out the screen door into the yard, where she called the dogs to the kennel. After disappearing inside for a few moments, she emerged again with Ray and Harley at her heels. The dogs ran ahead of her when she reopened the screen, beelining straight for him.

“Ray, go to bed,” she said in a firm voice.

Instead of jumping on the lounge chair, Ray scampered into the house with Harley hot on his trail.

Brooke didn’t follow the dogs.

She sauntered straight toward him. Those bare legs of hers, smooth and sleek, had him envisioning all kinds of dirty scenarios with them wrapped around his waist, thrown over his shoulders, squeezing the fuck out of his face as he feasted on her.

Christ, why was he torturing himself this way?

She kept moving his way until she once again stood next to his chaise. Unable to resist the urge to feel her silk skin, he slid a hand up the back of her thigh and held on. She gasped, letting her eyes flutter shut as he stroked her incredibly soft skin. When her eyes opened, indecision warring with desire stared down at him.