Chapter 4
FOUR
LUCKY
I don’t even make it back to the table before I pull my phone out again. Her name is already there. Not Savannah, but Firecracker. And she texted herself from my phone.
Me: Your team is far superior. I bow down to you oh wise one.
I laugh under my breath and glance back across the bar. She’s still celebrating with her friends, arms in the air, face flushed, laughing like she owns the place. Like the whole room bends a little toward her without realizing it. Fuck. She’s gorgeous.
Her hair falls down her back in long, blonde waves, catching the light every time she moves, and the thought of running my fingers through it hits hard and suddenly.
Damn, and that makes me think of fisting it while I thrust into her, owning every single inch of her.
She’s a tiny thing with a body that makes no sense in the best possible way.
Thick ass filling out those jeans like they’re holding on for dear life and tits that pull my eyes back every damn time I try to be polite about it.
The ink along her arm flashes when she lifts her bottle, color and lines flowing over her skin, and something tightens in my chest at the idea of tracing them with my tongue.
I’m dying to know where each piece starts and ends, and find out which ones mean something and which ones she got just because she wanted them.
I shouldn’t want this. Shouldn’t want her.
Not like this. Not this fast. But my eyes keep coming back to her anyway.
Yeah. I’m already in trouble. Something tightens in my chest lighting up under my ribs like I just found a new addiction.
Firecracker fits her too damn well. Her spunk.
Her mouth. The way she stood there, cocky and fearless, daring me to blink first. The way she didn’t hesitate when it mattered.
The way she looked at me like she already knew she’d won.
I tuck my phone away and head back to the table. Riot clocks it immediately. His gaze flicks from my face to my pocket and back again, brows lifting slow. “Well, I’ll be fucked,” he says. “You look like you just won something better than trivia.”
I drop into my chair and grab my beer, but I don’t drink it. I don’t need to. I’m already wired. “Did we not lose?”
Riot snorts. “You did. But that’s not what I’m talking about.” He jerks his chin toward the front of the bar. “Is that her?”
I follow his glance without really meaning to. She’s still glowing, still laughing too loud, still exactly herself. My chest tightens again, possessive instinct flaring hot and fast before I can stop it. I shrug, casual on the surface, locked down underneath. “Maybe.”
He huffs a laugh. “You don’t do maybe.”
I don’t answer. Because he’s right and saying anything else would feel like giving something away I’m not ready to share. Not her. Not even her name. Especially not her name. She’s mine and I don’t want anyone else’s hands on her.
Riot lets it go, but not without one last look. “Alright,” he says. “Guess we’ll see how this plays out.”
I stand before anyone else can chime in. “I’m heading out.”
A couple of the guys look surprised. Someone mutters, “Already?”
“Yeah,” I say, grabbing my cut. “Not feeling the bar tonight.”
Which is true. I don’t want the noise. And I sure as fuck don’t want some random woman pressing herself against me in a dark corner, offering something empty and easy. I don’t need it.
I step outside, the night air cool against my skin, and swing a leg over my bike.
The engine roars to life beneath me, vibration steady and familiar.
As I pull out onto the road, my thoughts drift right back to her.
My Firecracker. The way she smiled when she won.
The way she didn’t flinch. The way she looked at me like a challenge instead of a fantasy.
I’m riding the high of learning her name, of knowing I’ll see her again, of the promise sitting heavy and real between us. And it feels a hell of a lot better than any rando in a back room ever could.
My phone buzzes before I even turn onto my street.
I glance down at the screen at the red light and freeze.
It’s a picture of Savannah at Jake’s, phone angled just right.
Booth behind her. Neon beer sign glowing over her shoulder.
Cheeks flushed, eyes bright, that smile on her face like she knows exactly what she’s doing to me.
Her hair’s loose, falling over one shoulder.
The neckline of her top dipping just enough to be distracting without trying.
She looks happy. Buzzed. Dangerous. Like she’s riding the same high I am.
A second later, the text comes through underneath it.
Firecracker: Still smiling about that win ??
My grip tightens on the handlebars as my chest gets hot and tight all at once. Yeah. That’ll do it. I pull into my driveway, kill the engine, and sit there for a second longer than necessary, staring at the picture, then I text her back.
Me: You still celebrating at Jake’s?
The reply comes almost immediately.
Firecracker: Nope. Just got home. Why?
I grin as I step inside, helmet dropped on the counter. The quiet of the house settles around me, but my attention stays right there with her. I glance back at the photo she sent, smile tugging at my mouth.
Me: You looked pretty pleased with yourself in that picture.
There’s a brief pause, like she’s deciding how much trouble she wants to cause.
Firecracker: I was. Still am. You ready to sit for that tattoo?
I toss my keys down, lean back against the counter.
Firecracker: Cruel isn’t the word I was thinking. Try memorable.
Me: Dangerous thing to promise. Where were you thinking of putting it?
There’s a pause long enough to feel deliberate.
Firecracker: Oh you don’t get details yet. You’ll have to earn those.
I laugh quietly, shaking my head.
Me: Encouragement like that makes me competitive. You already know how that ends.
Her reply comes fast.
Firecracker: Confident too. Shocking. Are you always like this?
I glance down at my phone, thumb hovering.
Me: Only with women who can keep up.
Firecracker: Good. I’d hate to be bored.
I exhale slowly, a smile settling in.
Firecracker: Wait for what?
I smile to myself, leaning back against the counter, already picturing her face when she reads this.
Me: To see you again.
Firecracker: That sounds like a you problem… but I’m open to a solution.
Me: Black Iron Tattoo. 10 a.m. I’ll be there with coffee.
Firecracker: I like mine iced, creamy, and sweet.
God this woman is doing something dangerous to me.
Me: Okay Firecracker, tell me something real. What do you do when you’re not at Trivia?
Firecracker: I run the office for my dad’s construction company. Schedules, contracts, damage control. I keep grown men from setting the world on fire.
I smile to myself.
Me: Explains why you don’t scare easily.
Firecracker: Chaos is basically my job description. What about you?
I sit on the edge of the couch, elbows on my knees, phone warm in my hand.
Me: Security with the Iron Reapers. Mostly protection work. Crowd control, threat assessment, making sure people walk out the same way they walked in.
There’s a few long seconds before she replies, like she was thinking
Firecracker: Sounds intense.
Me: It can be. Piston runs a tight ship. I work under him. Long nights, a lot of watching, stepping in before things go sideways.
Another pause, then she responds.
Firecracker: You don’t seem like someone who panics when things get messy.
Me: Yeah. You get used to staying calm when everyone else isn’t. Learn to read a room fast and when to act and when to wait.
Firecracker: Sounds like you’re good at it.
Me: I am. Because people don’t get second chances when I miss something.
Me: I take that seriously.
I stare at the screen for a second, then shake my head. I’m not about to let this turn into a job interview.
Me: Alright. Enough serious for one night.
Firecracker: Oh?
I grin, stretching out on the couch.
Me: Favorite food. No thinking too hard.
Firecracker: Tacos. Real ones. From a place that looks like it might fail a health inspection.
I laugh out loud.
Me: That’s an excellent answer.
Firecracker: I know.
Me: Steak. Medium rare. If it needs sauce, it’s wrong.
Firecracker: Strong opinion. I agree.
Me: Favorite color.
Firecracker: Teal.
That one fits so perfectly it almost makes me smile wider.
Me: Dark green.
Firecracker: That also fits you.
I roll my neck, settling in.
Me: Okay. Something crazy. What’s the most impulsive thing you’ve ever done?
The pause is shorter this time, like she already knows.
Firecracker: I quit a job on the spot and drove five hours away just because I was mad and needed air. I stopped for the night, got drunk at the hotel bar, and came back the next day happy with my decision.
My brows lift.
Me: Why did you quit?
Firecracker: The asshole manager fucked up and put the blame on me. I called him out in front of everyone but no one believed me. They took his side so I peaced out. Stupid fuckers.
I throw my head back and laugh.
Me: Fair. My turn. I took a contract once without asking enough questions and ended up guarding a charity gala full of drunk socialites in tuxedos.
Firecracker: That sounds painful. Like literally a nightmare come to life.
Me: It was. I learned a lot about patience and champagne.
Firecracker: Patience? What does that word even mean?
I can’t help the smile plastered to my face. I’m not even with her, and I’m in a far better mood than I would have been anywhere else tonight. Well. Not anywhere. I’d rather be wherever she is.
Me: I can teach you patience, Firecracker.
Firecracker: How would you do that?
Me: Are you lying down?
Firecracker: I am now.
The image hits hard and immediate. I drag a hand over my stomach, the ache in my jeans impossible to ignore.
Me: Take off those jeans and leave your panties on.
She goes quiet, and for a second I wonder if I pushed too far. I’m already typing something lighter, something to pull it back, when her reply comes through.
Firecracker: Done.
I exhale slowly, control snapping back into place even as the want tightens.
Me: Run your hand up your calf and over the inside of your thigh. Back and forth. Let your fingers trail closer and closer to your pussy. But don’t touch her. You have to wait. Be patient.
Firecracker: Mmmhmm.
I unhook my belt and pop the button of my jeans, then slide the zipper down. I fist my hard length, pulling free of my boxer briefs, my hand stroking slow and firm as I watch precum bead and slide down the tip.
Me: Now I want you to take off your shirt and bra. Hold your gorgeous tits in your hands. The only thing you keep on is your panties.
Firecracker: Only if you take your shirt off too.
I sit up, tug my shirt over my head, then snap a picture of my torso and send it to her. She hearts it immediately. Are we really doing this? I’ve never done this before. Never wanted to, never needed to. But it’s so fucking hot I’m right on the edge.
Me: Slide your hand up your stomach and pinch your nipples.
Firecracker: Are you touching yourself too?
Me: Baby, I can’t stop touching myself, picturing your hand on me instead of my own.
She sends me a picture of her hand on her thigh, black lace panties covering a pussy I’m already salivating over. I heart that shit and pinch the head of my cock, forcing myself to slow down. I need to practice patience too.
Firecracker: Tell me what to do, biker boy.
Me: Slide those fingers inside your panties and through your wet lips.
Firecracker: Yes.
Me: Don’t rush. Imagine my fingers sliding inside you slowly, pushing in, gathering your wetness, rubbing your swollen clit.
Firecracker: Fuck. I’m throbbing thinking of you touching me.
Me: How bad? Tell me how wet you are for me.
Firecracker: I’m so wet. Slippery. I’m pushing two fingers in and out of my tight pussy.
Me: How tight is she?
Firecracker: It’s been years since I’ve had more than my fingers. She’s fucking tight and aching.
I speed up my fist, precum sliding down my shaft as I work my cock over and over, wishing I was there with her. Fuck. I’m about to come.
Me: Rub your clit, then push those fingers into you. Over and over. I want to come at the same time. Don’t you come without my permission.
Firecracker: I’m so close. Oh God, it feels so good.
Me: I’m sucking your nipple into my hot mouth while I finger fuck your tight pussy. I push a third finger into you and come. Come for me, baby.
I lose it, groaning as I come all over myself. Jesus Christ. Fuck.
A minute later, I’m still breathing heavy when I text her again.
Me: Tell me you came for me. Tell me you were picturing me.
Firecracker: Yes. It was a first.
I sit up, staring at my phone. What was a first?
Me: Sexting?
Firecracker: Yeah. That too.
Me: Savannah. Was that your first orgasm?
She doesn’t reply for a couple of minutes, and I’m losing my damn mind.
Me: Tell me right now, or I’m driving to your house so you can tell me in person.
Firecracker: You don’t know where I live.
Me: Give me five minutes. I’ll have it and be on my way.
Firecracker: Yeah right.
Me: Want to test that theory?
A beat.
Firecracker: Yes. That was my first orgasm.
I just stare at the screen. How the fuck has she never had an orgasm before?
Me: Why?
Firecracker: I think that’s enough for tonight. See you tomorrow, biker boy. And don’t forget my coffee.