Thunder (Hell's Handlers MC 10)

She’d be a fool to let that happen, wouldn’t she? Thunder hadn’t expressed any desire for a relationship. He hadn’t taken her on a date, spoke of a future, or expressed an interest in knowing her on a deeper level.

But he had come to her house to apologize. He’d spent an evening with her siblings. He’d held Emmie while the toddler slept. Then there was the way he’d helped her at the CDMC clubhouse and stayed with her the entire time Copper interrogated her.

If it was true, what they said, and actions did speak louder than words, maybe he was interested in more than just this night. He was sleeping in her bed after all, instead of running for the hills.

Argh, and there went her head again, full of ridiculous, unobtainable fantasies.

Her eyes grew gritty, and the steady beat of his heart against her ear began to lull her into a sleepy state. Maybe, only for tonight, she could pretend this was her real life. Imagine she didn’t have hundreds of pounds of baggage, siblings to take care of, more expenses than funds, and fantasize that Thunder wanted to fall asleep this way every night and wake together each morning.

She couldn’t wait to see what he looked like in tomorrow’s early morning light.

THUNDER BLINKED THROUGH the darkness of the unfamiliar surroundings.

Fuck me, did I fall asleep at a client’s place?

The night came crashing back to him in a rush of pleasure that had his dick thickening against the ass cradling it.

Makenna’s sweet ass.

He’d never experienced anything like the expression of wonder on her face when she came with his hand wrapped around her neck. Fuck, it’d been hot as hell. He’d never been much for exerting control in the bedroom; hell most of the women he fucked around with got off on bossing him around, but this shit with Makenna ramped him up like nothing else.

Knowing she’d been struggling to climax, unable to fucking grab it until the moment he’d forced her to submit hit his blood like a drug. It’d sent him on a high he’d kill to chase again and again.

And it’d caused him to come so hard, every ounce of his energy had been zapped to the point he didn’t even remember pulling out. Certainly didn’t recall falling asleep, which was rule number one.

Never fucking fall asleep. If a guy wanted a clinger on his hands, one-night snoring in her bed would do it.

Mak was soft, warm, and smelled like a fucking vanilla cupcake, and he was ready for another sample.

Fatigue still pulled at the edges of his mind, which made sense, considering it was still dark as hell outside. What the fuck time was it?

He craned his neck to see the numbers on a clock next to Mak’s bed. Three-fifteen in the morning. Damn, he’d slept half the night away.

Though the temptation to say fuck it all, curl himself back around Makenna and pass the rest of the night next to her was tempting—extra tempting if he let himself think about having her again in the morning—he forced himself to roll away.

Once sitting at the edge of her bed, he scrubbed a hand over his face. Reluctant nerve endings woke as blood flowed north. He glanced down. Well, some of the blood anyway. Plenty still pooled in his cock. Fuck, he could go again right now, gladly. Time to leave before it grew into a craving he couldn’t ignore.

As quietly as he could, he gathered his clothes and tiptoed toward the door. Before leaving, he succumbed to the urge to take one last look at a sleeping Makenna.

Immediately, he wished he hadn’t. She’d shifted to her stomach since he’d left her bed, drawing one leg up toward her chest. The move caused the sheet to slip down, revealing the smooth curve of her back, leading to her pert little ass.

Damn, now he wanted to bite it.

“Fuck,” he whispered on a low growl.

Staying would be the stupidest idea he’d ever had, so he forced his legs into action and walked out of the house without another backward glance.

It’d be depressing to go back to fucking rich housewives after the night of real passion in Makenna’s bed. But he’d do it.

Because what the fuck was he supposed to do with a sweet, hardworking girl like Makenna who put everyone in her life before herself?

He was far too fucked in the head for that kind of woman. For any woman, really. Who wanted a man whose entire childhood example of relationships consisted of brothels, abuse, and monetary exchanges? Surprisingly enough, his mother had been married for the past seventeen years—not to his father, of course, or the husband after his father, but the same man for seventeen years.

Who the hell knew who’d provided the sperm for his egg? His mother and her current husband ran an illegal cat house in Kentucky where he’d grown up. Marriage hadn’t kept his mother from selling her body through his entire childhood. Nor had it made his father treat her with respect. By the time he’d been six, he’d known what sex was and about fifty different ways to execute it. He’d also learned the manipulative powers of the human body, for financial gain, political advantage, and a host of other unscrupulous and selfish reasons.