Jack (The Kings of Mayhem MC Tennessee 1)

“This is the officer who attended your apartment when The Poet broke in?”

“And he was the one who came to investigate the Polaroids pinned to my door.”

Darkness sweeps through his expression. A small muscle ticks in his jaw as he thinks about what he’d like to do to Officer Johnson. Inside, he’s a boiling sea of rage, but he hides it well. He remains composed, although the telltale signs are there. The black eyes. The tight face. The slight flare of his nostrils. “I’ll call Pinkwater, see if he can find out any more information.” He gives me a sober look. “But we can’t go getting complacent, baby. Until we know more information—” Jack stops because I’m smiling, and it makes him suspicious. “Why are you smiling?”

I wrap my arms around his waist. “Don’t you see? I can finally breathe, Jack. I don’t have to be afraid anymore.”

JACK

I have to admit the article gives me a little relief, but I’m not prepared to put all of my eggs in that one basket. Until there’s a full investigation into Officer Johnson, we can’t let down our guard.

I call Pinkwater, and he gets back to me quickly to confirm Johnson’s arrest. The case against him looks good, and he’s more than likely The Poet. Nevertheless, until the fucker is behind bars, I won’t let Bronte out of my sight. And if I can’t have her in front of me, I’ll keep the prospect with her at all times. Now is not the time to drop our game.

However, trying to get Bronte to accept that she can’t is another ball game altogether.

To shut up the voice of reason, she uses my weakness against me.

Her.

Namely, her lips trailing a path from my mouth to my jaw, along the slope of my throat to the trigger point below my ear. She’s trying to distract me and damn if she isn’t doing a fine fucking job.

“I know what you’re trying to do,” I growl.

“Good, then it won’t be a surprise when I do this…” She slides her palm down my belly to the growing outline of my cock in the front of my jeans, and desire heats in my veins. Damn if this woman doesn’t have me wrapped around her little finger.

But we need to have a serious talk about what’s unfolding. Bronte needs to understand that things aren’t going to change just because of one newspaper article. We still need to take precautions, but my little wildflower is determined this isn’t the time for words and carefully eases down my zipper.

I growl her name against her lips, but she simply smiles and glides her lips down my throat again, then down my chest all the way down to my Kings of Mayhem belt buckle.

She doesn’t play fair.

Sinking to her knees, she peels open my jeans and as she does, Bronte looks up at me with a bright wildfire burning in her lustful expression. She licks her lips, and I don’t need much convincing after that.

Her soft hands release me from the confines of my jeans, her palms making me shiver as they sweep along my erect shaft.

“Wildflower,” I say her name thickly, but it’s all I manage because the moment her lips find the swollen head of my cock, my resistance burns to ash. Instead of talking, I push my fingers through her hair and grip it at the roots, tugging, as she swirls her luscious tongue over the sensitive skin.

Goddamn.

With one hand secured at the base of my cock, she begins to stroke slowly upward while the other massages the heaviness of my balls.

Pleasure tightens in my pelvis, and I let my head fall back as it grows stronger.

Fuck.

Me.

I clench my teeth and have to inhale through my nose, so I don’t lose it. I’ve been given a lot of head in my life, but nothing comes close to feeling Bronte’s bee-stung lips sliding over the thick head and down my shaft.

One hand lets go of her hair to grip the edge of the desk until I’m white-knuckling because she’s sucking me like I’m a goddamn lollipop, and I don’t think I’ve felt anything so fucking good in my life.

“Baby, I’m close,” I warn. And I’m not kidding. Two minutes with her lips wrapped around my cock and I’m about to blow like a teenager. I can’t help it. She feels too fucking good. My woman is an angel, but she gives head like a devil. “Bronte…” I rasp out her name, but she doesn’t stop. I sink my teeth into my bottom lip, my fingers tightening in her hair as I fight an urge to thrust deeper, faster, harder between her luscious lips. “I’m going to… fuck, I’m going to come.”

The words are barely out of my mouth when I start coming, but Bronte doesn’t back away. Instead, she sucks me into the warm well of her mouth again, and she drinks down the cum that hits the back of her throat, her hands working my cock until every last drop is emptied.