Page 4 of The Biker's Last Rodeo
“Then tell me. Tell me the rules of the game.”
A beat passes, thick with the weight of unspoken warnings. Then he moves closer, and I swear the air crackles between us.
“Rule one.” His voice is low and deliberate. “You don’t run unless I tell you to.”
My lips part, but no sound comes out.
“Rule two,” he continues, stepping even closer. “You don’t lie to me. Not about anything.”
I swallow, but I hold his gaze.
“Rule three,” he says, and now he’s close enough that I can feel the heat rolling off him. “You pay attention… to everything. You learn.”
“Learn what?” I ask, my voice barely above a whisper as my clit throbs against my soaking panties.
He leans in, his mouth hot near my ear as he says, “How to behave.”
And then, before I can fire back something smart or stupid, his arms are around me. One under my knees, the other at my back, and I’m off the ground!
“Hey!” I yelp, grabbing his shoulders. “What the hell are you doing?”
He doesn’t answer. Instead, he moves like I’m not squirming in his arms. Like I’m not a full-grown woman. Like we’re not on Main Street in the middle of a busy afternoon. Like he’s not a snake that lured me in with sexy talk and a deep, rumbling voice.
“You said you liked games,” he says, voice calm, almost amused. “This is mine.”
“Put me down!”
“Not a chance.”
“I’m not following your stupid rules!” I quip, though deep down I can’t wait to follow every single one.
“Really?” A laugh gets stuck in his throat. “You break the rules, you get tied to the post. I’d love to see a cute little bunny tied up and begging.”
I freeze. Something cold dances down my spine while heat blooms somewhere lower. “You’re kidding.”
He slows his stride, voice rumbling with a wicked promise as he says, “Do I look like I’m kidding?”
And damn it, he doesn’t.
Chapter Two
Duke
I’ll be the first to admit, I’m not a picture of perfect mental health. Life has taken its toll on me physically and mentally. I could say it was the war, which a lot of my buddies came back fucked up about, or I could blame it on the contract kills, which weren’t a mentally sound decision. But if I were to lean back on some big, comfy therapy couch, I’d say the tipping point was losing my parents.
People made it worse. They tried telling me they’d lived a long, happy life. That it was a blessing they died together. That I should move on. It’s what they would’ve wanted.
Who the fuck says those things?
I tried to let it go. I really did. I’m in my fifties. I wasn’t relying on my parents anymore, but grief doesn’t sit quietly. It claws and festers. It whispers things in the dark when you’re trying to sleep. And eventually, all that madness starts sounding like purpose.
So, I put in the time.
I found the car involved in the hit and run.The kind police ignore.
I found the man registered to the car.The type that’s unassuming.
And now I’ve found her.Maci.
