Page 69 of Being Lost

Giving her a moment, I glance into the room she’s been assigned. It’s bare, impersonal. Doing anything here wouldn’t come close to romantic.

“Come to my room, Patsy.”

“I can’t,” she breathes.

“What else have you got to do?” Moving her to one side, I walk past her, and pick up her e-reader that’s lying on the bed.

“Lost!” She runs over, but I hold it up high.

My eyes stare upwards and squint, making out what I can without the aid of my glasses. The text catches my eye.

“Like beards?”

“No.”

“Gonna like ‘em after this.” With that, he dove forward, shoving his face between her thighs. After a quick inhale of her sweet fucking scent, he latched his mouth onto her clit and sucked hard.

She cried out as her hips shot off the bed. Separating her pussy with two fingers in a V, he ate her like a melting soft-serve ice cream cone.

She tasted just as good as one, too.

“Who writes this shit?” Still holding the device high, I glance down. Her face is bright red.

“Jeannie St. James,” she replies after a pause.

“Ah ha. Might want to read this myself. What’s the book called?”

“Down & Dirty: Dawg. It’s the seventh in the Dirty Angel MC series.” She huffs out the information as though she’s reluctant to share.

“Phil had a beard?”

“Lost!” Her eyes go wide, then in a small voice she replies, “No.”

I file two facts away. One, she’s turned on by books about clubs like mine, and second, well… I continue to read on.

She was pink, hot, and slick. He barely paid attention to her loud moans and encouragement. Her fingers dug painfully into his hair and she shoved his face deeper into her pussy, grinding her hips against his face until her juices coated his lips and beard.

Raising an eyebrow and glancing down, I smirk at her, pointedly moving my hand to the hair covering my chin. She swallows and her flush deepens. Then I raise my eyes once again.

“Lost. You give me that, now.”

“I was just getting into it,” I protest. “Maybe getting myself some ideas.”

She stops trying to physically take it from me, instead stepping back, placing her hands on her hips. “Conan Holmes. You give my e-reader back right now.”

“Uh oh.” I grin. “Mom’s voice.” I lower my hands and give it to her, but the damage has already been done. I now know the kind of stuff she reads and presumably enjoys.

Chapter Twenty-Three

Patsy

While Lost disappears to yet another meeting, I’m drawn into a conversation with Eva, moving it out of the kitchen and into the clubroom when she starts to talk about Smoker’s sad declaration at dinner. When Pennywise walks past, he taps her on the shoulder. As she turns, he jerks his head.

Eva smiles at him, then nods. Then to me offers an apology and suggests that we’ll pick this conversation back up another time. My eyes, for want of something better to do, follow her as she enthusiastically trails after the biker as he crosses the room. I can see why she’s so eager. Pennywise is a handsome man, aquiline features, shoulder-length almost jet-black hair, and dark brown eyes who could easily be a model on the cover of any of the biker romance stories I read. He fills out his jeans to perfection, and the t-shirt he wears struggles to contain his well-defined muscles. I suspect shirtless he’d be hot as sin. He pulls her down on his lap, her back toward his front, then, without wasting a moment, one of his hands finds her breast, the other has expertly unzipped her shorts and disappears inside.

Oh my.

I swing around feeling my face burning red. But in that direction things aren’t looking much better. Scribe is fondling Cindy’s ass and pushing her back toward a couch. To my right, Pearl is swinging herself around the pole which would have been fine, except the top half of her is naked, and her modesty only covered by a thong so tiny, nothing is left to the imagination. From the hungry looks on the faces of the men watching her, even that wasn’t going to stay on long.

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