Fallon (Henchmen MC Next Generation 3)

"I don't have beef with anyone. We're a brand-new club, remember?" I reminded him.

"Bringing up stealing from us is probably not your best course of action," Fallon said, tone getting edgier, darker.

And, damn, but the man was hot when he was ticked off.

That was the problem, wasn't it?

I found him hot when we argued. And all we ever did was snipe at each other. Maybe if I chose a different tack.

Being cordial.

I couldn't claim to be good at it.

But I could try.

"My point is, we are a new chapter. We haven't had time to make enemies yet. Aside from you."

"What about your other chapters? Sister chapters? Mother chapter?"

"None of your business," I said.

The reason we had managed to be as successful as we were as a whole was because we all kept our mouths shut about the other chapters' business. Especially because our business model involved taking a chunk of whatever local empire was thriving. So it was different all over the country. Guns in Navesink Bank and Texas. Loan sharking and enforcing in big cities like Boston and Chicago. The list went on and on. But we only managed to do what we did because there was no real central power. Yes, sure, there was a mother chapter. But it didn't stick its nose in anything unless it became necessary to do so.

"For fuck's sake, Danny. We could have died last night."

"Oh, honey, was that your first shooting?" I asked, pressing a hand to my heart as my condescending tone snuck up in and under his skin.

So much for being cordial.

I mean, it was a long shot to begin with.

Old dogs, new tricks, and all that.

"Cut that shit out," Fallon demanded, tone biting.

"Or what?" I challenged, taking a step forward.

That was my mistake.

Because when he popped up off the bed, he was close. Way, way too close. Like feel my too quick breathing close.

"I get it, Danny. Okay? You're a badass. Fine. What-the-fuck-ever. You don't need to keep being an asshole to prove a point. I get it."

"Maybe I'm just an asshole."

"Maybe," he agreed, nodding. Then, leaning closer, close enough that I caught the smell of him again—leather and soap—he said, "Or maybe you're insecure about being a woman in a traditionally male position, so you lash out to—"

"I don't need a psychoanalysis from you, of all people," I cut him off.

"Right. All I'm good for is arguing and fucking, huh?" he asked, eyes a dark challenge.

"Well, I'm glad you recognize that about yourself," I said, reaching out to pat his arm, trying for condescending even as desire pinged off my nerve endings at his proximity.

"So you admit it," he said, shooting me a satisfied smirk, making me realize I'd somehow walked into a trap.

"I didn't admit anything."

"Except that I was good for a fuck," he reminded me.

"Don't flatter yourself."

"So that wasn't you coming around my cock, huh? That was some other female MC president with a bad attitude."

"Must have been. There really wasn't anything very memorable about the whole thing," I said, keeping my tone flip as I shrugged at him.

"No?" he asked, voice going smooth. "Want a refresher?" he asked, taking a step forward, his front pressing into mine as his hand grabbed my ass, then slid upward, hooking a finger into the waistband of my jeans and sliding it across my back, my hip, my lower stomach.

I had to say no.

No was the only answer in this situation.

Except, of course, no answer at all.

Which was what I gave him because my tongue felt fat and lifeless in my mouth.

"See, I think you're just afraid to admit that you not only wanted it, not only remember it vividly, but also want a repeat," he said, his palm flattening against my belly, then inching downward.

Standing so close, there was no way he didn't feel the way my breath shook in my chest, the way a tremble of anticipation moved through me.

My gaze slid from his, focusing on his mouth instead of his eyes, not wanting him to see the level of desperation in my eyes, to know the depths of the chaos he was creating in my body.

His fingertips teased the lacy line of my panties, dragging a low mewling noise out of me.

"Funny," Fallon said, voice a shiver. "That doesn't sound like a No to me."

My mind screamed no.

But my body?

All my body had was pleads for this man to touch me, to stoke the desire raging through my system, to release me from the grips of it.

Hearing no objection, actually feeling my pelvis press closer to his, his hand finally slid down under my panties, touching the proof of my desire.

"Doesn't feel like a No either," he murmured, head lowering so his lips were close to my ear. "You're fucking drenched," he added, his fingers stroking up my cleft for a moment before circling my clit.