Rhythm of the Road (Lost Kings MC 16)

He groans. “Not since the re-model.”

I glance around at the shiny laminate floors, crisp painted walls, and stiff curtains. “Was that recent?”

This wild, twitterpated feeling seems determined to make me stick my boots in my mouth this afternoon.

“Right before our run to Texas.” He settles his hands on my hips. “What I said last night was the truth. I don’t see the point in lying, Shelby.” His eyes narrow and he shifts his jaw from side to side, like he’s not sure if what he wants to say will land well.

Probably means it’ll be bad.

“When I left Texas, we didn’t make any promises to each other, right?”

“Yeah.” Oh, how I’d wanted to, but I’d kept my dang mouth shut, convinced I’d never see or hear from him again. Color me shocked when he texted me hours later from the road. And the next day. And the next… No making me wait seventy-two hours or whatever stupid rules some guys have. Rooster doesn’t play games.

“So, if I’d been fucking around all this time, I would’ve said so. Wouldn’t be any reason to lie, would there?”

I blink, considering how much I’d hate hearing it. But there’s comfort in knowing that Rooster’s not the kind of man to lie or sugarcoat things to spare anyone’s feelings. Not even mine.

Still feeling petulant for some reason, I stick out my bottom lip. “I guess.”

“Pouty Shelby’s even cuter than scary Shelby.” He pulls me closer. “And now you’ve got me thinking, the lack of action this room has seen is pretty pathetic.”

My heart kicks, but I arch a brow and keep my tone disinterested. “That right?”

His hands fist in the material at my hips, slowly dragging my skirt up. “You have no idea how many times I wanted to pull over on our trip down here, yank this little skirt over your sexy hips, and have you ride my dick.”

I’m already fantasizing what that would’ve been like. “What’d I tell you about ruining my panties?”

He cocks his head, pretending to think on it. “Guess you’ll have to remind me.”

His hands grip my hips harder, and he walks us backwards until my butt meets the edge of his bed.

I’m trapped.

Nowhere to go.

A thrill of excitement zips down my legs.

With a wicked grin, Rooster turns me so I’m facing the bed. I brace myself on the thick, soft gray comforter with a black and blue scroll design.

“Nice bedding. Who picked it out?”

He laughs softly, his warm breath tickling my shoulder. “Murphy helped us with the remodel while Z was out of town. So, I’m pretty sure Heidi picked ’em out, I okayed them, and Hustler placed a bulk order of bedding for the whole clubhouse.” He leans down, kissing my neck. “You really want to question my decorating choices right now?”

“No,” I whisper, reaching back to run my fingers through his hair.

His fingers dig into my hips as he pulls me against him. “Feel what you do to me?” I bite my lip as his hardness presses against my butt. “Put your hands on the bed.”

I hesitate, consider sassing back with a “no” or “make me,” but wanton, eager Shelby doesn’t want any delays. Bending at the waist, I take my time laying my palms flat against the bed and arching my back.

He sucks in a deep breath. “Fuck.” Rough fingers trace a line under my tank top, all the way up my spine. He flicks the shirt over my head and unhooks my bra. I shimmy out of both and toss them by the pillows.

I move to unzip my skirt and Rooster closes one hand over mine. “No. Put your hands back where they were.”

Moving in closer, he pushes my skirt all the way until it’s bunched around my waist, and slowly drags my underwear down my legs. “Leave it,” he orders when I try to kick them off.

Behind me, a drawer slides open, then shut. There’s a familiar crinkling. The ticking of Rooster’s zipper. He clutches my hips again and oh-so slowly drives into me.

“Every night I’ve slept in this room I’ve been imagining fucking you just like this.”

Some sort of stuck-sheep bleat passes my lips.

He falls down over me, pinning my body to the mattress.

“Poor Shelby,” he whispers in a sexy, rough mocking tone. His beard rasps over my shoulder. “Had no idea what a dirty bastard she was gettin’ tangled up with.”

“Uh.” I twist my fingers in the comforter.

He covers my hands with one of his and slowly stretches my arms above my head, holding me down.

“Oh.” I gasp. Each thrust creates a delicious friction. Under the weight of him, I struggle to spread my legs wider and arch my back.

“You like that?” he teases. He slows ever so slightly, snaking his arm under our bodies, and gently rubs my clit. His touch is like fire and I’m ready to explode.