Page 9 of Tick Tock, Boom!

I hated living here. Hated the noise, the filth, the way the walls felt like they were always closing in on me. But it was a place to stay. And in this city, sometimes that was enough.

My key stuck in the lock like always, the door groaning as I shoved it open with my shoulder. I stepped inside and turned the deadbolt with a satisfying click. One, two, three turns. Habit.

The apartment was small, barely larger than a studio. A battered couch covered in mismatched throw blankets, a tiny kitchenette with peeling linoleum floors, and a sagging bookshelf crammed with school books, half-used candles, and old photos. The place was a mess. My mess. But it was home.

I peeled off my jacket, dropped my purse on the counter, and took off my boots. My feet ached, my legs were sore from crawling, posing, trying not to fall apart under the weight of a leash and the eyes of strangers. I grabbed a bottle of cold water from the fridge, took a long drink, then leaned against the counter, eyes fluttering shut. His face entered my mind before I could stop it.

That biker.

Tall, broad, rough around the edges with those haunted eyes and the kind of mouth that made promises without saying a word. His hair was dark, a mess of curls that looked like he’d just come from a fight or a fuck, or maybe both. He reminded me of a lot of the bikers that hung around our house when I was younger. Only this one looked meaner. Hungrier. Like he could rip you apart or kiss you breathless, and you wouldn’t know which you wanted more.

He made me feel like I couldn’t breathe. Like my skin was stretched too tight, too hot. Like he could see every inch of me, even the ones I kept hidden. And that’s why I ran. Because when I saw his patch, I nearly collapsed.

Royal Bastards MC.

I knew that patch. I’d seen it every time my dad came back from a run, every time he slammed his cut on the back of the couch and poured himself a drink like the world owed him something.

If he knew where I worked… if he knew what I was doing to pay for school…he’d fucking kill me.

My father didn’t know I was a kitten. Didn’t know I crawled for men. Didn’t know I wore a collar for money. He thought I was a college girl with a quiet bookstore job. He didn’t ask questions. He never had.

My momma died when I was eight. Cancer. Quick and cruel. After that, it was just me and him. He tried, I guess. But he never knew how to raise a girl. Left me with whoever he was screwing that month. I learned to take care of myself, to stay quiet, to stay out of trouble and out of the way.

Until I couldn’t anymore.

My friend Mercy got me the job at Velvet Chains. Said I had the look, the build, the softness they wanted. I didn’t know what I was signing up for at first, but when they said I could make enough to pay tuition in a few months, I didn’t hesitate to say yes.

It was supposed to be my first night on the floor. Just a trial run.But standing on that stage under those low red lights, with eyes crawling all over my body and the bell at my throat chiming every time I moved, I felt something I hadn’t expected. I thought I’d freeze up. Thought I’d panic and run before I even took my first step, but the moment his eyes found me from across the room, everything else faded. It was like the whole damn place went quiet except for that one steady stare, burning into me like a brand. I could feel him watching, and it made me move differently, slower, softer, like I wanted him to see every inch of me. Like I wanted him to claim it.

His attention wrapped around me like a leash, and I followed it without even realizing I’d submitted. There was heat in it and it was so intense. It was powerful. Definite hunger. And God help me, I liked it. I liked the way his gaze made my knees tremble and my skin spark like I’d just been lit on fire.

Tick Tock.

I clicked my tongue as I whispered his name. I knew it wasn’t his real name, but I could still feel his voice on my skin, the way his breath had touched my lips like a threat and a promise all at once.

I walked to the bedroom, shedding clothes as I went, shirt, skirt, lace. My skin felt tight, too full of memory. The room was a wreck. Laundry in a heap, books and makeup scattered across the vanity, the comforter barely hanging onto the bed. I collapsed onto the mattress, naked and raw and trembling.

Thoughts of him wrapped around me like heat and velvet smoke. His voice in my ear. His lips brushing mine. The way he said,"I don’t share well."

I shivered.

I was nineteen. On the edge of everything. But I already knew, I wasn’t getting out of this untouched. Not with a man like him watching me. Not with a man like that waiting in the dark.

My hand drifted lower, sliding over my stomach, my fingers trembling as they slipped between my thighs. I just needed to feel. I let the memory of his deep voice settle into my bones, the sound of it a growl under my skin. I imagined his hands instead of mine, rough, commanding, the kind that didn't ask permission. Hands that gripped, that punished andowned.

I parted my legs and let out a low breath, the heat inside me burning hotter than I could contain. I pictured him crouched between my thighs, that wicked smirk on his face, his dark eyes locked on mine like he was already inside my head. He’d tell me to kneel for him. He’d make me beg. He’d make mehis.

A moan slipped from my lips, soft and broken, as I arched against the sheets, my back bowing with the wave of pleasure building in me. I rolled my hips, my fingers sliding through my juices, flicking my click as I chased the release, chasedhim. My skin became flushed and slick with this need I didn’t want to keep caged.

Tick Tock.

His name came out in a choked sob as I rolled my fingertips over my clit. My hips jerked, picturing his cock in his hand as he stroked it thinking of me, maybe he was doing just that at this moment.

He was already buried in every breath I took, every pulse, every desperate whimper that left me. He owned whatever this storm inside me was, the heat that shattered through my body and left me breathless and aching.

That man… he wasn’t some casual player drifting through the dark. He was the kind of man whotookwhat he wanted. And I knew, deep in my gut, that he hadn’t just watched me to pass the time.

Men like that didn’t walk away. Men like that always came back.

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