Devil (Savage MC--Tennessee 1)

“Umm…”

“Never mind. I can tell from that grin plastered on your face you want to. You’re a different kind of woman, Torrent.”

“You don’t know the half of it,” I mutter under my breath.

“But I want to know more,” he says, proving he listens to everything I say—even when I’d rather he didn’t.

He takes my hand and I almost close my eyes at the feel of his fingers linking through mine. My heart squeezes in my chest and I feel flushed through my whole body—especially between my legs.

Logan struts, there’s no other way to describe it, as he walks back through the park. Immediately I know that he’s proud to be seen with me. I don’t have any illusions about my appearance. I look decent, but because of my family and the way I was raised, most boys I’ve been around are intimidated by me. They’ve definitely been afraid to make a move. Which means most of my boyfriends and the men I’ve let into my life have been part of the club, and have been a closely guarded secret. Shit, if Wolf knew I was trying out the other brothers he’d flip his shit. Wolf intimidates the hell out of me, and the only thing I do know is I am not cut out to be his old lady—even if I thought of him like that… Which I don’t. Wolf is practically the same age as my father, a habitual cheater on his women and hard partier. No way is that the kind of man I want.

Logan…

The truth is, I don’t know what kind of man Logan is, but the man I’m getting to know could win my heart as well as my body—that much I know and I should be scared instead of being happy. But I’m not. I’m happy. Logan’s hand in mine fills me with so much happiness, it’s kind of scary. I’m on the back of his bike without really remembering how I got there. I was too caught up in spending time with Logan, of having him close to me and smelling that masculine scent and that sexy as fuck aftershave he wears.

“You get on a bike like you’ve done it for years, Angel,” he says and he’s looking over his shoulder at me. His dark eyes are trying to see inside my brain. I know a flash of panic, but I shrug it off.

“Not the first bike I’ve been on, Logan.”

He nods in agreement, but doesn’t comment. Instead he hands me a helmet. I curl my nose in distaste.

“Put it on, babe. Not risking you getting hurt,” he orders. That’s sweet and all, although I’m not really sure how I feel about it. Most of the men in my dad’s club wouldn’t be caught dead with a helmet on them or their old ladies. Still, I shrug it off and put the thing on.

We drive ten minutes down the road, and cut off on an old dirt road that I had never noticed before. I’m not real familiar with this area in Tennessee. I’m from the opposite end of the state essentially, but it’s clear that Logan knows this place like the back of his hand.

My hands are wrapped tight around his stomach, my legs pressing into his thighs. The vibrations of the bike are working through me and I’m aroused.

Painfully so.

It’s more than just doing without sex for a long time too. It’s the fact that I’m more sexually attracted to Logan than I’ve been to any other man in my life. Hell, I’m lusting after him and it’s not purely about the sex either. For the first time in my life, I actually really and truly like everything about Logan. The more time I spend with him, the deeper that goes—which has never happened before.

After going down the dirt road he cuts off again, this time in front of a sign that reads: Lake Conte Public Boat Ramp.

He drives down the small incline and then parks his bike under a huge willow tree. The tree might be the biggest one I’ve seen, the branches spanning out so far it encompasses the entire ramp, shading it.

I slide off the bike, my legs shaky—not from riding, but from the need to be touched. Even through my pants, I can feel the muscles of my pussy clenching in hunger, the wetness painted on the inside of my thighs, and I know without looking that my nipples are so hard they’re probably visible even through my shirt and bra.

Logan steadies me and then reaches under my chin and takes the helmet off of me. He lays it on the seat of his bike and I rifle my fingers through my hair, trying to tame it—although I’m sure I’m not successful at all.

Logan reaches into his saddle bags, taking out a paper sack from one and a blanket from the other. Then he grabs my hand and leads me to the other side of the old tree. I watch as he spreads the blanket with quiet efficiency.