Little Jack (Hell's Handlers MC 6)

“Y-you’re wrong.” The protest was so weak, LJ chuckled.

“Liar,” he said, one second before his mouth claimed hers.

For a moment, Holly remained stiff, forcing him to tease her sealed lips. He ran his tongue over the top one, then the bottom before nipping it with a sharp pressure. Apparently, little-miss-sugary-sweet liked a prick of pain because she let out a soft moan the second his teeth sank into that lip. LJ didn’t waste one second plunging his tongue into her open mouth.

Tequila. Definitely tequila. And something sweet. Fuck, the woman tasted better than the most expensive liquor money could buy.

The stroke of his tongue against hers set her off. She let out a whimper and melted into him. Strong feminine arms came around his neck as Holly plastered those pillowy tits against him and dove into the kiss.

He’d been prepared to plunder, to steal her breath and make her suffer a little with a punishing kiss. The feelings of inadequacy she’d evoked in him combined with the rejection then the nightmare all came to a powerful head when she walked into his clubhouse looking like some kind of erotic goddess. But instead of a ferocious meeting of lips, tongue, and teeth, the kiss turned languid and exploratory.

They stroked against each other, testing angles and pressure, and repeating the moves which caused whimpers and moans. Holly parted her legs, allowing him to slip one of his between her thighs and damn if she didn’t press that hot little denim-covered pussy right into the thick length of his quadricep.

LJ groaned as she rocked against him. The kiss remained slow, drugging, but the intensity increased until Holly ripped her mouth away and let out a long mewl. That sound, sexy as it was, shocked LJ out of his lust-filled stupor and back into the world where Holly thought he was scum of the earth and her father was on a mission to lock his ass up. And those he loved. The idea of Chloe or Toni or any of the ol’ ladies watching as their men were carted off to prison was enough to shoot LJ’s lust out of the sky until it crashed dead on the ground.

Even as her hungry mouth sought his again, he pried her arms from around his neck and anchored them to the wall at her sides. “I’m not going to be your little act of rebellion, sugar. Come find me when you figure your shit out.”

With that, he pushed off the wall and stormed back down the hallway. As he made his way back to the party, his head pounded in time with the music. The tips of his fingers began to tingle and an invisible vise squeezed his chest tight.

Fuck.

Not now. This couldn’t be happening.

Vision growing hazy, LJ paused at the bar and called out. “Thunder, give me the fucking bottle.”

The prospect’s eyes grew wide at the sight of him near losing his shit, but did as asked and handed the bottle of tequila across the bar. LJ grabbed it and continued straight on toward the stairs leading to the bedrooms. He had a small room he rarely made use of. Having his brothers and their women be privy to his screaming nightmares didn’t top his list of fun times to be had.

Only two things worked to stave off an impending panic attack, or worse a dissociative episode as his shrink called it. First was the breathing and coping exercises the Navy appointed therapist gave him. Second was the bottle. One of those practices took time and so much mental effort, the struggle left him fatigued for hours. The other was too fucking easy and never failed, which was why LJ never, ever allowed himself to drink to cure the pain.

But tonight? Tonight was different. Tonight, he planned to polish off the tequlia and pass the fuck out. Consequences be damned.

As he motored toward the stairs, Carli stepped into his path. Her form wavered a bit in front of his eyes. “Get the fuck outta my way,” he growled. With a yip, she hopped back a second before he’d have rammed into her.

Next to tequila-block him was Jazz. Hands on her slim hips, she raised an eyebrow. “Where the fuck is Holly?”

“Hallway,” he barked. “Take her the fuck home, Jazz. She doesn’t belong here.” With that, he side-stepped around a gaping Jazz and took the stairs two at a time. Halfway up to the second floor, unable to draw in a full breath, he ripped the cap off the tequila and tossed it over his shoulder before taking a long, calming drink.

Fuck this day.

CHAPTER TEN

EYES CLOSED, HOLLY slumped against the wall and worked to get her erratic breathing under control. She held a hand over her heart as if she could manually slow the beat from a gallop to a steady trot.