Except she doesn’t.
Instead, her fingers dance across my belly to my hip bone and a sweet, blissful murmur falls between us as she shifts onto her side to nestle her body closer to mine.
“Jack.” The whisper falls from her succulent lips with a heavenly sigh.
She’s dreaming about me, and the idea does crazy shit to my insides. Bronte sighs again, and this time it’s a soft, gentle whimper I feel all the way along my hard-as-stone erection. I stifle a groan. I’m not sure how much more of this I can bear. Her fingers are inches away from the rigid outline of my cock, and more than anything in the world, I want them to crawl lower. Now, I will them to move, will her to touch me. Even though I know it’s wrong, my willpower has left town with my sobriety, and I’m not looking for it anytime soon.
I want Bronte to touch me.
I swallow back my need, but her fingers begin to move again. Lower this time. Slow and teasing. Every cell in my body is begging them to slide toward the hardness in my jeans. To touch me. To bring an end to this crushing want.
My eyes flick open, and reality rushes in.
Goddammit! What the hell am I thinking?
I sit up and pull away from Bronte who wakes with a start.
“What happened?” she asks breathlessly. Rumpled with sleep and disorientated, she looks like a beautiful dream with her blonde hair falling around her sweet face and over her naked shoulders in thick, unkempt waves.
I bite back every primal urge that’s begging me to kiss her. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.” I run my hands down my face. Christ, I have never been so tempted by anything my whole life. “You should go back to sleep.”
“Are you mad at me?”
I look at her. “Why would I be mad at you?”
“Because I slept here last night? I didn’t think you’d mind.” She sinks her teeth into her lower lip, and the look on her face makes me fight another groan.
“If you stay the night in this clubhouse, then you stay nowhere but this room, you understand me, wildflower? I can sleep somewhere else in the future.”
The last thing I need is to lose her to the shadowy depths of this clubhouse. Not that my brothers will touch her, they all know it would be suicide if they do.
“I remember being tired, so I came in here.” Her lashes drop, and when she lifts them again, I fall into the deep ocean of her blue eyes. “But things are a bit hazy after that. I don’t recall you coming in. I hope it’s okay I slept here.”
I want to tell her that she’s welcome in my bed with me anytime. But that kind of invitation will only expose me to too much temptation, and a man only has so much willpower. It’ll be better if I control my environment and limit the exposure to enticement than rely on a finite amount of self-restraint. In the future, if Bronte spends the night in my room, I will spend it elsewhere.
I give her a reassuring smile that hides my discomfort and belies my aching cock.
Christ, what the hell is wrong with me?
“Come on,” I say, desperate to leave the bed. “Let’s get some coffee and check out the fucking carnage we left behind in the clubhouse.”
BRONTE
The clubhouse is a wreck. Beer bottles and empty glasses litter the tables, and as we move through the chaos of the overturned chairs and other things strewn across the room, pretzels and peanuts crunch underfoot. More than anything, though, it stinks to high heaven with spilled liquor, stale weed, sweat, and sex. You name it, and it’s here.
Passed out on one of the couches, Wyatt cuddles a blow-up sex toy. While in the far corner, Ghoul is being ridden by a naked club girl. Unfortunately, we have to pass by them to get to the kitchen.
“Jesus Christ, Ghoul. Our clubhouse has a gazillion fucking rooms, and you choose a corner of the bar to get laid?” Jack says as we near them.
Ghoul lets out a pleasurable grunt, then moans, “I’ll take it where I can get it, brother.”
“Then get it in your bedroom,” Jack growls.
Ghoul lets out another groan while the girl on top simply keeps riding him as if we aren’t even there.
I wish I could say I looked away as we passed by, but it’s like watching an accident unfold. You don’t want to look, but you can’t drag your eyes away.
Then Ghoul starts to come, and not only do we get to hear him, but we also get to see the moment he goes rigid and empties himself inside the club girl.
Shading my eyes, I hurry past them. “My eyes are bleeding,” I say as we step into the kitchen. “Not to mention my ears.”