1. TIFFANY
It was the smirk that did it.
I hated smirkers.
I really fucking hated them.
My best friend’s brother was a smirker, and he seemed to think he could pull it off, but Luke couldn’t.
In fact, Luke Lancaster couldn’t pull off a holiday sweater, never mind a smirk, but that was just my opinion. As far as I could tell, the prick had more female attention than even this guy.
And his smirk?
It suited him.
At the Satan’s Sinners’ clubhouse in West Orange, New Jersey, I’d admit to feeling like a fish out of water.
Some of the girls from the country club had pretty much dared me to come, and because I was a moron, I’d let them work their wiles on me.
I wasn’t even mad at them, more at myself. Peer pressure—who’d have thought I was still vulnerable to it after school?
See, this was why I liked Lily. Hell, no. Why I loved her. She was like the sister I should have had. She got me, and I got her.
But she was on a tight leash—her dad was as big of a prick as her brother—and that was why I’d decided to spend my Friday night in this dump, because she was stuck hosting some stupid meal for her dick dad.
Well, okay, dump was a strong word. The place was quite nice actually. Surprisingly so.
And the view? Sweet Lord in heaven, yeah, the view was more than worth it, even if I didn’t know what I was sitting in—something disgustingly sticky—tucked on a sofa beside a biker who looked like he was preparing to get sucked off by a woman wearing very few items of clothing.
That would be awkward.
Entertaining, maybe, but mostly awkward.
I mean, I’d watch.
I’d be nuts not to, wouldn’t I?
I had to watch.
This entire thing felt as much like a social experiment as part of the psychotherapy major I’d tossed down the drain.
There were so many women with daddy issues here, and so many men with god complexes that, six months ago, it would have been my idea of a wet dream.
Now?
I wasn’t sure whether to be amused or disgusted. I’d already seen some chick popping pool balls out of her ass.
Yup, you read that right.
I hadn’t even known you could get two balls up there, but she’d proven me wrong. Proven a couple of bikers wrong too—they’d taken bets on how many the poor bitch could shove up the brown eye.
They’d evidently never learned anything about anatomy.
That she could get a couple up there was a miracle—if you loosened your definition of what a miracle was—but eight?
Did they think her rectum was Mary Poppins’ carpet bag?
Still, that had been a humorous interlude, if disgusting, and I’d made a mental note to A, never play pool here.
B, use Lysol on my entire body when I got home.
C, destroy this entire outfit, because there was way too much DNA on it.
Entertaining though it was, the reason my friends had come here was to get laid by biker dick.
More daddy issues.
Apparently, being treated like a piece of ass was on their to-do list. Well, it wasn’t on mine.
I had no such issues.
Dad might not be a saint, but he was cool. Cool enough to support me as I tried to figure out what the fuck I was doing with my life after I’d ‘messed’ things up at school, at any rate.
I didn’t need to get back at him by being gangbanged by a bunch of bikers who wouldn’t understand the word ‘respect’ if Aretha Franklin screamed it at them.
Of course, all those thought processes went down before I saw him.
He had his hand down some woman’s pants, and his smirk set fire to my body in a way that made my eyelashes aroused.
My fingernails tingled too.
Everything about him screamed sex and sin. But even worse than that? He screamed a promise fulfilled.
He would give you sex and sin, but you’d love every fucking minute of it.
I was no virgin, and I’d played around in college, but fuck, he made me question if I was technically a virgin.
Because, dayum, he should be illegal in at least thirty states.
Shamefully, I thought all that while he was finger fucking some wannabe porn starlet who made a banshee look quiet.
As I nursed the same bottle of beer I’d been drinking all night—no way was I going to be under the influence with these guys in my vicinity—I watched him work.
And work it was.
Even if he did it so fly that he should have been selling something. Hell, vending ice to the Inuits would be easy for this guy. Shit to a horse farmer even easier.
His laughter was just as mesmerizing as the smirk, and the way his dark eyes twinkled was clear, even from over here.
He was a man who lived and loved life, and he charmed me without even having to say a word, with a laugh that lit up a face that’d make an angel sigh.
He was all rugged charm, a wide brow, strong nose, stubborn jaw, but his coloring? Heaven.
Dark hair, close to black, creamy skin that was beyond lickable.
Perfect dark brown stubble on his chin that framed lips, which were apricot in color—they were even more lickable than the rest of him. Shit, that was really saying something.
Inwardly drooling, I watched him, though it was shameless.
Ogling the tats on his forearms that roped over thick muscles revealed by his wifebeater, the strong shoulders that the leather cut he wore didn’t hide, and the long lean legs that were covered in denim he filled out better than the Coke advert guy—yeah, I just wanted to make lurrrrvve to ‘him’—and carried on observing when someone pointed out to him that I was checking him out.
I didn’t stop, didn’t let my gaze flicker away when he started to move toward me now that he’d finished finger fucking the chicklet, and that smirk was back in business.
But he braked to a halt when I smirked back.
That response?
Dynamite to him.
I saw it. I saw my cockiness hit him square in the face, like I’d smacked him with my fist. I saw his visceral reaction to my lack of coyness, to my lack of flirtation.
I gave him back what he’d given me, and suddenly, he was just as ensnared.
I’d seen all the women around here cooing over the men like they were the second coming of Jesus. Not only my friends, but the clubwhores too. I knew what they were.
Not only from Sons of Anarchy, but because talk about the clubhouse ran rampant in the small area where we lived.
My family and Lily’s were new in town, but it seemed like the Sinners were at the top of the list of the gossip chain, and to be honest, I was as curious as someone who gawked during the aftermath of an accident.
The clubwhores lived in and, get this, did the laundry, made the food, and fucked all the brothers for board and lodging.
Blew my mind too.
Regardless of my personal opinion, these women had actual positions in this place, and they were all over the bikers like chlamydia.
Seriously, none of the chicks here looked like they were even capable of playing hard to get. Well, maybe one.
There was a tall motherfucker with a scowl meaner than Odin’s, who stood glowering at a pretty pixie with a murderous scowl, whose only enjoyment at this ‘party’ seemed to come from glaring at everyone and no one.
Seemed to me like she was claimed by the Enforcer—he had a patch on his cut which was kind of neat because at least we knew who was who—who was staring at her like he owned her.
Since she was the only one not dropping to her knees to suck any dude’s dick in the building, I figured they were lovers in the middle of an argument.
I got to my feet, even though I was going to miss out on the blowjob beside me, and knowing I had the man’s attention, I began to walk out of the bar.
Considering the hype, this place wasn’t that cool. It was pretty disappointing. But then, I lived in a pool house and had my own cinema room. I was rich and could afford the best.
Spoiled? Yep. I admitted it.
But why the town was so obsessed with what happened within these walls, I didn’t understand.
As far as I could see, the job of a biker was to fuck, drink, and shoot the shit.
Oh, and ride bikes.
Simple.
As I strolled outside, he grabbed my arm the second I was in the yard.
“Where you going, darlin’?”
I almost rolled my eyes at the endearment, even if his accent did things that confirmed he should be illegal in more than just the thirty states I’d thought earlier.
Because he turned me on so fast, I kept my voice cool as I told him, “Somewhere you’re not welcome.”
A husky chuckle escaped him, and I hated that it made my bones turn molten. “That doesn’t sound very friendly. Look at what we’d both be missing out on?—”
“Nothing to miss out on. I’m not going to fuck you. Not when your fingers still have some other woman’s pussy on them.” I shot him a look over my shoulder. “They might get off on it, but I don’t.”
Though he’d liked the challenge back in the bar, it figured it’d piss him off when it came down to playtime.
“If you’re too good for this place, then why are you here?” he demanded, like I’d spread my legs for him and was suddenly saying no.
“Never said I was too good for this place.” My smile was sweet. “Just said I was too good for you.”
Those stormy eyes of his narrowed as he pulled back his arm. “What’s your name so I know to never let you back in here?”
“Why would you do that? Don’t you want to fuck me?” I knew I’d confused him, so I spelled it out. “You’re not good enough to fuck me now, darlin’, but that doesn’t mean you can’t work up to it.” I twisted around to pat his cheek. “Looking forward to your efforts.”
His nostrils flared in outrage, making me smirk harder at him, but when his gaze dropped to my lips?
I knew I had him.
And I sweetened the deal.
I licked my lips, letting my tongue run along the bottom one.
Leaning into him, I pressed my hand to the leather cut he wore, and murmured, “You can have any woman in there. They’d be on their knees in an instant. But me? I won’t do that. You can’t have me.” I smiled. “Yet.”
I winked and carried on strolling until my butt was in my Jag and I was driving out of the clubhouse’s courtyard.
And the guy?
The biker who had ‘Sin’ embroidered on his cut?
He stood there watching me as I rolled out and onto the open road.