WAYLON (Ruthless MC 1)

Yes, yes…that was exactly what I was planning to do.

But the way he’s looking at me…like he’s got a lie detector at the ready behind that crystal-blue gaze. I end up going with a careful version of the truth.

“He didn’t call it a break-up. He called it a pause. He was…upset—rightfully so that I didn’t tell him about Ant.”

The biker tilts his head, then asks, “Upset because you were keeping secrets or upset because your secrets didn’t fit into his neat little world?”

“Both, I guess.” I fret my hands around the towel I used to dry the dishes. “It doesn’t matter why. I should have told him. And there were some other things we needed to work on….”

My first instinct is to leave it at that. There’s no reason to get too personal about it. But then it occurs to me that telling the truth about this might get him to back down.

“We’ve been dating for a little over four months, and we still haven’t had official sex.”

The MC raises his eyebrows. “So he got mad and paused you because you made him wait?”

“No, he’s mad because when I finally gave him the green light a few weeks ago, he discovered what I was trying to hide from him the whole time we were dating—the real reason I put him off so long. I’m really bad in bed.”

“How bad?” the biker asks, his gruff voice laced through with suspicion. He doesn’t look or sound like he believes me.

But in this case, I’m telling the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth.

“Really bad,” I assure him with the same somber tone I apologized to Jonathan with the first and last time we attempted sex.

“Bad how?”

“Well, you know, how the stereotype is that all black girls can dance? Not me. I’m just really, really awkward and uncoordinated when it comes to that stuff. I always have been, and that’s why I don’t have much experience. With Jon—my doctor boyfriend, I kept accidentally hitting him with my elbow, and there was a misplaced knee. Also, a teeth scraping incident when I tried to…you know to make up for accidentally kneeing him in his groin.”

The biker winces. “Yep, that sounds pretty bad, angel. I ain’t going to lie.”

I nod along, for once eager to talk about how terrible I am in bed.

“We ended up with me just leaving so I wouldn’t hurt him anymore. And we were supposed to try again last Friday, but then Ant called me away. So he was mad about that. And I’m pretty sure he didn’t want to end up in the ER after sex with me anyway. So trust me, he had his reasons for calling it quits. I tried my best, but I’m just not that good in bed.”

“No, you’re not,” the biker agrees with a firm nod.

This is what I wanted. For him to agree and stop with all the innuendos and hungry tiger looks whenever we’re both awake in the apartment.

But instead of relief, a strange disappointment clogs my throat at his dismissal.

“You need teaching,” he says, interrupting my spiral into self-pity. “And I’m going to be the one who teaches you how to fuck right.”

The last dish made it to the drying rack, but the towel isn’t so lucky. I drop it on the floor and ask, “Wait….what?”

CHAPTER 9

“Wait…what?!”

“You heard me.” the biker holds my gaze. “You need learning in the “how to fuck” department, and I’m willing to teach you. You want these lessons or not?”

Not! Most definitely not!

The “No, of course not” is right there. But it lodges in my throat as his insidious suggestion snakes into my brain.

Creating complete havoc.

This awkward in bed thing has been an issue for me for so long. I’ve gotten the “have to get up early for work excuse” more than most after attempts at first sex.

I was grateful when Jonathan actually exhibited some patience with me. “I’m sure it will be better the next time,” he declared over the package of frozen peas I’d given him to help with the swelling after our initial try.

I wasn’t so sure. Jonathan wasn’t the first guy I’d given peas to nurse his groin area. And the night of his birthday, I had zero confidence that my next performance would go any better.

So, of course, I’d like to get better in bed, but…I’m not sure I can.

“You’re overthinking this, angel.”

The MC’s gruff voice cuts off my self-conscious panic spiral. “It’s yes or no. Don’t start arguing with yourself. Listen to what your body’s telling you.”

Listen to your body….

That was the problem. My body never did what I wanted it to do. Never moved sinuously like the women in porn videos. Never enjoyed the making-out part like I was supposed to because I was so concerned about what came next and so anxious if I was going to please my partner or not.