Blood & Bones: Whip (Blood Fury MC 11)

Not if he valued his balls.

With a twist of the throttle, they shot out of the parking lot and down Main Street. A few minutes later, he pulled in front of the office at The Grove Inn and shut down his sled.

Ozzy was standing out front three rooms down, talking to one of the housekeepers. He gave Whip a chin lift greeting and shouted, “Shay’s in the office. She can check her in.”

Whip nodded and helped Fallon off his sled before dismounting himself.

After she pulled off her helmet, she once again swung her head around to shake her hair back into place and used her fingers to comb through it, attempting to fluff it back up somewhat.

Even messed up, it was sexy as fuck. Call it bed head or sex hair, either way that was what it reminded him of.

He took her helmet from her so she could dig out her wallet from the front pocket of her travel bag. “Go on and get checked in. I’m gonna get your bag.”

“Thanks,” she said softly, stared at him for a couple of heartbeats, then turned to go inside.

He watched her until the door closed and cut off his view. And, for fuck’s sake, it was a view. Those jeans were perfect for her ass.

Or her ass was perfect for those jeans, more like it.

Hell, her ass was just perfect, but would be even better without the dark denim covering those cheeks.

He stared at the closed door for a few seconds more, then began to unstrap her travel bag from the back rest. He’d just finished unhooking the last strap when Ozzy sidled up to him. “Since when d’you give rides to Dutch’s customers?”

He slipped Fallon’s bag off the back rest and set it on the ground at his feet. “Since today, I guess.”

Ozzy shot him a knowing look. “Guessin’ she’s single.”

“Don’t know if she is or ain’t.” It was only his assumption since that was how she answered Reilly’s nosy as fuck question. She could very well have some man somewhere because, in truth, it wasn’t Reilly’s fucking business. And anyway, not wearing a wedding band didn’t mean shit anymore.

As soon as a woman was claimed by a brother at the table, it was just as good as being married. A “property of” cut meant the same as a wedding ring. Commitment.

The same as Dodge collaring Syn.

That was a first in the Fury. As soon as Billie spotted it, she explained to Whip what it meant. He was surprised Sig hadn’t had a complete meltdown over his sister being collared, if the VP even knew what it meant.

If he hadn’t at first, Whip was pretty damn sure Sig knew what it meant now.

Syn didn’t usually wear the black leather collar around the Fury, except for on club runs, but Whip knew she wore it out in public and while on stage.

“She’s hot as fuck,” Ozzy said, catching Whip’s eyes and attention. “Bet if it was some sixty-year-old guy you wouldn’t have hauled his fuckin’ ass down here. Saw the way she had her arms wrapped around you, too, even though that sled of yours has a sissy bar.” His mouth pulled up on one side.

Whip casually lifted one shoulder, refusing to fall for Ozzy’s bait.

“Looks like a cougar to me. Since you still got baby fuzz on your nuts, Junior, maybe she’s willin’ to teach you a thing or two.” Of course the Original wasn’t going to let it go. He never did. He was an expert at riding someone’s ass until it was so damn chapped.

But Whip knew of one way to get Ozzy off his before it needed lotion. “You mean like Liz did?”

The older brother’s mouth snapped shut and his lips pressed into a slash.

If Whip had said something like that right after Liz had left, he probably would’ve found himself on his ass on the pavement with a black eye or split lip. But everyone now recognized the fact that Liz and Ozzy weren’t meant to be. The man had found his forever with Shay and Liz finding her forever first had been good for Ozzy.

In the end, they both ended up with the right partners.

“Yeah, just like Liz,” Ozzy finally muttered. “Gonna go check on Shay.”

He headed inside and not even five minutes later, Fallon was coming back out, her jacket now thrown over her arm. She stepped up to him. “All set.”

“Good,” he murmured, distracted once again with how well her short-sleeved sweater fit and how perky her tits looked. He was aware it could all be an illusion created by a really good bra.

When she reached for her travel bag at his feet, he stopped her with a hand to her forearm. Her skin was warm and soft under his rough fingertips. “Got it.”

“You don’t have to. You’ve already been more than helpful as it is.”