Fallon (Henchmen MC Next Generation 3)

"Force of habit," he admitted, not snapping at me like he usually would. "Why do you like my father?"

"He's a good president. He's firm when he needs to be, but isn't a dick about it. He doesn't overreact to everything. Kind of a roll with the punches sort of guy."

"That's true," I agreed.

"And it doesn't seem like anyone has to jump through hoops to get into the club, or get a leadership position of any sort."

"No. He's always been fair. What about you? You had to jump through hoops?"

"I had to walk through the pits of hell," I told him, turning my back on him to start digging, uncomfortable with him looking at me after that admission.

"Because you're a woman."

It wasn't a question, but I answered anyway.

"Yes."

"The other chapter presidents didn't have it so hard?"

"Not remotely," I admitted.

"That explains a lot," he said.

"What? What does it explain?" I asked, tone a little sharper than I'd intended, but I was feeling more vulnerable than usual. Because I'd told him more than I told anyone.

"Why you hate me so much. You resent that I didn't have to walk through hell to get where I am. And why you throw around that attitude. You needed to be tough to get where you are, so you have to always be hard. At least on the outside," he concluded. "I think that's deep enough," he called a couple minutes later. "Toss the shovel out, and come over here. I will help you out," he offered.

I didn't have another choice. I could barely hurl the shovel out. I damn sure wasn't going to be able to pull myself out without collapsing the walls back into the grave.

Taking a deep breath, I moved down toward where Fallon's legs were dangling, and reached up my arm to grab his forearm. His strong hand sank into mine.

"Ready? Jump," he demanded, and I threw myself upward as well as I could, holding on hard enough to dig crescents into his arm as he dragged me up the rest of the way, needing to move backward for leverage since he couldn't use his other hand.

By the time I was up out of the grave, Fallon was flat on his back, and my body was yanked up over him.

On top of him.

I knew I needed to push up, to roll off, to get as far away from him as possible.

Did I do that, though?

No. No, of course not.

I just stayed right there, sprawled all over him.

He smelled like him. Leather and woods. But mixed in was the salty scent of sweat and the metallic twinge of blood.

And damn it, I was just fucked up in the head enough to only find those additions all the more intoxicating.

I had no business staying there, sniffing him. Especially when I was slick with sweat and covered in dirt. I probably smelled awful.

Fallon was still for a long moment before his hand landed on the back of my thigh. Then started moving upward, cupping my ass, slipping up my sweaty back, then my neck, grabbing my hair, and pulling backward until I had no choice but to push up and look down at him.

"We can't." The words were out of my lips before they crossed my mind.

"What's stopping us?" he asked, eyes hungry as my body felt.

"It's a terrible idea."

"Seems like you don't shy away from those," he said, lips teasing up in a far too sexy way.

He was right.

I didn't.

"Our clubs..."

"Are nowhere to be seen," he said, shaking his head. "And I'm sure as fuck not going to tell them."

It went without saying that I wouldn't either.

"I don't think—"

"Don't think," Fallon demanded, fingers massaging the back of my neck.

"You're hurt," I insisted, my argument getting weaker by the moment.

"Can think of one way to feel a fuck of a lot better," he said, that sexy smirk spreading. "Push up, babe," he demanded, voice a soft demand. I felt myself moving without even consciously telling my body to follow his orders.

One moment I was all over him, the next I was straddling his waist, looking down at him, watching as his breathing went as fast and labored as my own.

His good arm lifted, landing on my hip, sinking in.

"Take your shirt off," he commanded.

I was not a woman who took orders.

But my hands slid down and grabbed the hem of my shirt regardless, pulling it and my cut off.

The cool night air moved across my sticky skin, sending a shiver through my body that made Fallon take a slow, deep breath that he held for a second before releasing.

His smile this time was softer, sweeter, as his hand slid from my lip and up my stomach, teasing across the edge of my bra.

It was one of my cutest ones. Well, it had been. Before it got mixed with dirt and mud. But it was a soft baby yellow with white lace edging, and did a great job of jacking my tits up and making them almost spill over the top.