Maverick (Hell's Handlers MC 2)

“Jesus, Prez,” Mav spat out. “You’re asking Stephanie to relive some nasty shit. A little heads-up would have been nice, brother.”

She gave Maverick a squeeze. He was sweet to care, but there was no way she’d turn down this request.

These were good men. Not everything they did was on the up and up, and not all the money they made was legitimate, but when she dug down through a few messy layers, the core of this club was solid. They cared about family, about women, and about the community. Never in her life had she imagined herself able to overlook things like loan sharking, muscle for hire, or even murder, but there she was. Tolerating it and even condoning it.

“Of course, I’ll speak with her. Just let me know when.”

“Thank you,” Copper said. “She’ll be in the hospital for a few more days. I’ll get her info to Mav after she’s released so you can set something up.”

“I’m happy to help.” And she was. If she could give that poor woman even a few moments of peace after what she’d gone through, it would be time well spent.

“All right. We’re out.” Copper slapped Mav on the back as he strode out, Rocket not two steps behind.

The instant both men were gone, Maverick gripped her waist and turned while lifting her at the same time. In the next instant, her ass slammed down on the long rectangular table, and his mouth descended, claiming her lips in another air-stealing kiss. “That fucking shirt,” he ground out against her mouth.

She barely had enough breath to keep her brain working, let alone process the statement. His mouth moved to her neck where he nipped the sucked at the tendon running to her collarbone. Her head fell back, and she let him go to town. Damn, when his lips hit the spot right where her neck curved into shoulder, she wanted to scream to the women of the world that this man was hers and she was never letting him go.

Foolish and oh-so incorrect.

“M-my shirt?” she finally asked after that semi-sobering realization.

Licking along her collarbone, he moved his hands to the button of her jeans and went to work opening them with deft fingers.

“Mav, wait,” she said on a gasp when his fingers brushed the skin of her lower belly, causing a surge of goosebumps all over her stomach.

“Makes me fucking insane seeing my club’s name scrawled across your tits.” He kissed her lips then met her gaze with a shit-eating grin. “Need you, babe. Now. You gonna let me have you?”

She tried to swat his hands away, but he was like a man on a mission, somehow working her jeans and panties down her hips despite the fact she was sitting on them. The cold table meeting her bare ass and thighs made her yip and jump. “There are people here.” She’d never been one for indecent public displays. Clearly, Maverick was not of the same mind.

“Cop and Rocket are the only two people in-house. And they won’t be back, trust me. They know exactly what’s about to happen in here.” He palmed her ass and tugged her so far forward she teetered on the edge of the table and had to grab his sides to keep from pitching face-first to the tile floor. The feel of his large hands kneading her ass cheeks had her pussy dripping with need.

“They know you’re about to fuck me on the kitchen table?” How on earth would they know that? Some sort of alpha biker telepathy?

“Fuck you? Wildcat, it’s the kitchen. You don’t fuck in the kitchen.” He winked. “You eat in the kitchen.” In the next instant, he dropped to his knees and pressed his face to the junction of her thighs, inhaling with a low groan.

“Oh, my God,” she whispered as his nose bumped her clit and his tongue took a maddeningly slow journey through her folds. That warm, skilled tongue was magic and had her moaning in seconds.

“Shit, Steph. All this delicious cream is just for me, isn’t it?” He slid his tongue over her again, this time the steel ball of his tongue ring rimming her entrance.

“Wow, that feels…really different.” And really fucking wicked. He was completely destroying her for all other men. After the FBI pulled her back to her real life, she wouldn’t be satisfied with a man unless he was covered in ink and decorated with all kinds of metal. And even then, he wouldn’t be Mav. She’d probably remain celibate for the rest of her miserable life.

He chuckled against her pussy, and even that had her whimpering in response. “Different good?”

“Different fucking amazing.”

“Damn straight, baby.” He brought his tongue up and circled it twice around her clit before flicking her hood. The day before leaving DC, she’d gotten waxed—which showed exactly where her head was in this game—and his wet, slightly rough tongue on her smooth skin elevated the pleasure to mind-blowing.