Page 93 of Rider Daddies
The tattoo is still fresh but I welcome the pain, since it’s him that’s doing the spanking.
And now I’m unable to pour draft beer.
I stick my ass out until it reaches something hard, and continue to pour.
“Did you make up with your brothers?” I ask him once finished dealing with orders.
Ryder stands beside me at the bar, forearms rested over the bench. “Is ‘no’ the answer you’re looking for?” His silver eyes beam my way. “I know how turned on it gets you.”
I bite my lip.
It’s true, but it’s better when they’re all getting along, working in harmony to pleasure me in a multitude of ways.
“I prefer teamwork.”
“Oh yeah?”
I turn around to face him, feeling as small as a mouse, in the best way possible.
Ryder is the problem child. I should’ve known, since he’s the one with the crooked nose and scarred wrist. His aggressive side should have me running the other way.
Instead, it heats me up.
“What are you gonna do to me?” I ask him.
“There’s too many things I want.”
“You should punish me. Invite your brothers to join.”
He stiffens up. “But I want you all to myself.”
I lean back against the bar, searching his eyes. They glisten like stars in the warm bar lighting, but I’m not a fool. Behind the silver, I see something broken.
A man who’s always fighting to put himself first is a man who is lost.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” he demands.
He likes to stay floating at the surface…
Maybe we’re more alike than I initially thought.
“Ryder! Get your fucking ass over here.”
I turn away from the bar to see the other two brothers at the door, doing Ryder’s job for him. Despite the intruder that has just entered, Ryder takes his sweet time and only breaks eye contact with me when he wants to.
Like we have all the time in the world…
I harden my jaw, watching from the bar.
The intruder is masked, of course. Their slim, athletic build makes it so fucking obvious. Tristan has been AWOL for far too long. I don’t know why he bothered with the mask when his evil eyes are basically burning through the latex, fixated on me.
“Time for the Scooby-Doo reveal,” I say, arms folded over my chest.
Ash removes the mask.
And there he is—my ratty ex-fiancé dressed in a three-piece.
“Welcome back,” Saint says.
