Page 6 of Kneeling to Candy

Enlightenment smacks me in the forehead. “Oh! Butchered? Is that why you guys call him Butch?”

“You got it,” Ziggy says, with a wink.

I blink the memory away, returning my focus to the massive biker standing before me.

His chiseled outline is as sharp as cut stone. The way his arms and thighs push out away from his body, from the mass of hard muscle surrounding them, has me biting back a deprived sigh. With arms bigger than my thigh muscles, I can imagine the damage he could do in a fight, and the protection he could give to someone like me.

Safety.

He’s utterly perfect.

With how intensely Butch gazes back at me, a rush of heat sweeps low in my belly. It’s a regular occurrence to grow wet between my thighs when I’m in the presence of this man. Can’t blame me for my bodily reaction when the man has the face of an angel and a body built for sin.

Butch is one of the few in the club I’ve not been intimate with. Most of the guys have initiated a hookup with me if they were interested in getting their dick wet. However, Butch never has tried with me or any of the other bunnies in the club. He’s a pariah within the MC of horny bikers.

I wasn’t the only one who noticed his lack of interest in sex. His biker brethren questioned if Butch was asexual, since none of them witnessed him hooking up with another person.

The crew’s theory would carry more weight if it weren’t for me, catching Butch’s dreamy eyes on me often. It was a common occurrence to find him staring at me with a heated gaze, one that caused my stomach to flutter like some lovesick teenager. In all the times our gazes connected across the room, never once did he start a conversation with me, let alone suggest sex.

Seeing him in the doorway with the same smoldering look in this handsome face has my insides melting into a puddle of warm goo. I need to get a grip on my arousal before it gives me away.

For months, I’ve sworn off all men. Jo joining the crew as Atlas’s woman caused a shift in the club dynamic. What was once your stereotypical biker MC with wild parties and orgies became a thing of the past. The crew still likes to party, but the scene has mellowed. Sex happens behind closed doors these days.

When I realized having sex with the guys wasn’t necessary to stay in the club, I pulled away altogether. Grateful or not for the crew’s help in my life, I wouldn’t continue sleeping with any of them, especially when I wasn’t finding fulfillment from it.

Doesn’t mean I haven’t fantasized about what sleeping with Butch would be like. He’s the highlight of my nightly dreams.

Would he be domineering, like most of the men in the club? Would he be generous in his pleasure giving? Adventurous? What would it feel like to run my fingers through his short, brown hair, to run my hand along his sharp jawline? Would his muscles quiver underneath my fingertips as I trail them over his shredded muscles?

Feeling my cheekbones burn with blush, I bite my lower lip, imagining it’s Butch’s heavy lower lip on his heavenly mouth. The things I would love to do with his mouth…

I bet he’d be amazing in bed, giving plenty of aftercare, like any good dom should. Something I would do if the roles were reversed. I wonder if he would object to me taking the lead in bed, riding him hard until we both explode.

The abrasive sound of Butch clearing his throat has me snapping out of my ogling.

Shit, am I drooling? I wipe at the corners of my mouth, in case I was, as I rise from the floor.

Butch observes me, waiting for an answer to his question. His posture is still, like he’s uncomfortable confronting me.

“Why are you in here hiding?” he repeats, his voice jarring and deep. “Are you okay?”

“Oh. Um. Yeah, I’m fine, sort of.” My voice comes out all squeaky, showcasing my nerves. I swallow, attempting to compose myself. “How did you know I was in here? Were you…watching me?”

Not going to lie. The thought of this gorgeous man smitten enough to keep tabs on me is hot—stalker vibes and all.

Yeah, I know. I have a few screws loose. But this is Butch we’re talking about. The man is swoon worthy.

Butch rubs the back of his thick neck, like he’s unsure how honest he should be with me. He looks over his shoulder, possibly making sure we’re alone. Seeing no one is watching, he looks back at me. The taut muscles in his neck strain as he swallows.

“May I join you?”

Why is he asking to join me? In a closet, of all places?

My confusion must be apparent on my face as Butch adjusts his rigid features into something more friendly. His lips tip upward in a shy smile, making his alluring dimples to pop. It makes him seem boyish and less severe than he normally appears. The dude has no clue how inviting he is by being himself—strict and all.

“If you say no, it’s okay,” he says in a grating whisper, something that would send chills down the spines of most people.

However, his voice has the opposite effect on me. It causes my insides to fill with warmth and spread to the extremities of my body, knowing he’s chosen to speak to me when he hardly speaks.

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