Page 8 of Clay

The way he looked in that diner, rough and rugged, the leather clinging to his frame like a second skin. His hair, messy and windblown, begging for my fingers to run through it. Those eyes, green and piercing, stripping me bare with a glance.

He’s hotter than I remember—prison hardened him, filled him out, turned the young rebel I loved into a man who takes up too much space in my head.

That kiss… God, that kiss.

It was fire and memory and everything I’ve tried to forget, and now it’s replaying on a loop, stoking a heat I can’t ignore.

I set the laptop aside, the blanket slipping to the floor as I lean back, closing my eyes.

The cottage is quiet, just the tick of the clock and the distant chirp of crickets outside, but inside me, it’s a storm. All the old feelings rush back—love, longing, the ache of wanting him so bad it hurt.

I picture him again, the way he’d pull me close on his bike, his hands strong and sure, his voice rough in my ear.

My breath hitches, and my hand slides down, tracing the edge of my shirt, then lower. I shouldn’t, but I can’t stop. The memory of his lips on mine, the heat of his touch—it’s too much.

I slip my fingers beneath the waistband of my shorts, a soft gasp escaping as I find the spot that’s already aching for him.

My mind spins, painting him over me, his weight pressing me down, his breath hot against my neck.

I grab my hard, horny dick and begin to pull on it. Pumping it up and down, all I can picture is Clay…

Clay… all leather and danger, his hands roaming where mine are now, his voice whispering my name like a prayer.

I know how much Clay loved to please me, tease me, and work my cock until I couldn’t take any more. And I want that now. I want it more than anything in the whole damn world.

The tension builds fast, my body remembering every stolen moment we had, every time he made me feel like I was the only thing that mattered.

My hips shift, chasing the rhythm, and I bite my lip to stifle a moan as the heat coils tighter, sharper. It’s quick, intense, a release that crashes over me like a wave.

“Fuck…” I gasp, my legs stiffening and my crotch bucking until I’m done as I shot a heavy load of hot cum all over my shorts and onto my stomach too. “Jeez. Fuck. That was… hot.”

I slump back, chest heaving, the aftershocks tingling through me as I lazily wank my still hard cock to ensure that every last moment of pleasure is mine.

The room comes back into focus—the glow of my laptop, the soft shadows on the walls—and I feel a mix of satisfaction and guilt, like I’ve let him in too far already.

Clay is back in my life for five minutes, and I’m already falling apart.

What the hell am I doing?

I stand up, my dick still bouncing, my desire satisfied for now. It’s time for a shower, and then bed. Hopefully at least I’ll be able to sleep now.

Clay said he’d be in touch, and I know he meant it.

Whatever happens next, whatever he’s got to say, it’s going to change everything.

Again.

And I’m not sure I’m ready for it…

Chapter 4

Clay

“Yeah!” I holler, casting my eyes around, feeling the blood course over my body. “Wolves! Wolves! Wolves!”

The clubhouse is alive tonight, a chaotic swirl of laughter, clinking bottles, and the sharp crack of pool balls slamming into each other.

The Wolf Riders MC are in high spirits, still riding the adrenaline from last night’s dust-up with the Iron Vipers. The air’s thick with cigarette smoke and the tang of spilled whiskey, the jukebox pumping out some gritty AC/DC track that rattles the walls.

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