4. LYRA
LYRA
O kay, to put it lightly, I’ve been a bitch. A wildly unsatisfied, overly horny, cranky bitch.
I need to get fucked. Big time.
It’s been a week since Hunter uttered the words, don’t take it personally, and to be completely honest, I’ve done nothing but take it personally.
I’ve spent the last seven days pissed off and desperate.
I have the kind of craving that no toy could possibly satisfy, and believe me, I have more than tried.
Hunter promised me a good railing, and now my cooch is holding him accountable.
Though, it doesn’t necessarily have to be him who delivers the thorough pounding.
Hell, I can guarantee that it won’t be. That man is never going to get within ten blocks of me ever again, but that doesn’t change the fact that I’m craving some hardcore human touch.
Damn. To put it lightly, I need a good, solid cock. And a silicone dildo—no matter how lifelike it may be—simply isn’t going to cut it.
I need that thing pounding into me, hips rotating, shallow pulses, and fingers rolling over my needy clit. I need to be thrown against a wall and manhandled, and nothing else will do. Which brings me to the reason behind being a raging bitch the past week.
It’s a little after four in the morning and Black Velvet is finally empty. The bass has died, and the main house lights have come back on, lighting the bar up like fireworks on New Year’s Eve. The scent of tequila and citrus is heavy in the air as my bar staff and I start closing everything down.
We’re wiping down tables and stacking chairs like we haven’t spent the last eight hours making espresso martinis with the emotional stability of frightened raccoons. Hell, the only thing getting us through is listening to Dean and Marcus standing outside, chain-smoking and arguing over football.
We power through our close ritual like underpaid strippers at tax time, and before I know it, we’re walking out the door and locking up behind us.
“Night boss,” Danielle calls over her shoulder as Dean falls in beside her, always ready to play the role of her knight in shining armor, though I’m positive she can more than handle herself.
But I don’t dare say anything, not if it means getting to watch Dean get all goofy and stupid around her.
I swear, every time he looks her way, his eyeballs turn into big red hearts.
The only problem is that Danielle seems to be the only person on the planet who can’t see it.
Like the perfect gentleman, Marcus walks me to my car, and I look up and down the street as we move.
This time of night, Onyx Heights is quieter, but it’s never really quiet.
There’s a chill in the air, and as I breathe it in, I hear a siren in the distance.
Drunken idiots are still stumbling through the streets, searching for bars and clubs that might still let them in, while Ubers hang around, searching for their passengers. It’s so on-brand for Onyx Heights.
Despite it only being a short walk to my apartment building, Marcus insists that I drive. So in order to avoid an hour-long lecture about my safety, I oblige every night.
He helps me into my car, and before I know it, I’m hitting the gas and heading home, still annoyingly horny and deeply irritated, all while blaming douchebag assholes who don’t know how to put it down.
God, I need to get laid. I’ve spent all week imagining just how fun it would be to gut the all-talk-no-cock bastard who bailed on me.
My grip tightens on my steering wheel, and I do what I can to focus on the road ahead.
I’m not exactly the best driver. In fact, somebody should probably suspend my license and have my car taken away from me.
I have a tendency to drive a little faster than the speed limit allows, and when I get inside my head like this, concentrating becomes almost impossible.
I breathe in and out, trying to invoke a little zen, but let’s be honest, it’s a lost cause at this point. All I can do is try to keep all four wheels on the road until I’m pulling up in the very last space outside my building.
Getting out of my car, I step up onto the sidewalk and tug my jacket tighter around my body, searching my bag for my keys.
I dawdle toward the main entrance as the loud rumble of an engine cuts through the night.
I ignore it at first, but when it becomes insanely loud, I can’t help but glance up just in time to watch headlights flash across the damp road, followed by a sleek, black sports bike that careens around the corner.
It’s the kind of bike that screams poor financial decisions and questionable survival skills, but there’s no denying that it looks like one hell of a ride.
I watch the biker for a second, waiting for him to fly straight past me, only he cuts between the parked cars and rides right up onto the sidewalk, careening toward me until finally coming to a dead stop right in front of the main entrance of my building.
I stumble back a step to keep from being hit by the moronic biker, and all I can do is watch as he sits back and kills the engine before slowly pulling off his helmet.
And . . . damn it.
This is about to be aggressively inconvenient.
He’s unfairly beautiful.
Dirty blond hair falls messily over his forehead, slightly flattened from the helmet, but it doesn’t last long as he reaches up and ruffles his hair. I’m instantly mesmerized.
He watches me as I appraise him, looking over his stubbled jaw, taking in his hazel-green eyes that somehow manage to look both warm and dangerous at the same damn time.
Then there’s the body. It’s hard to tell how tall he is while he’s still sitting on that bike, but there’s no denying that he’ll tower over me.
Broad shoulders and muscled arms stretch beneath a fitted white tee, which does a terrible job of hiding his toned chest and lean waist. He’s mouthwatering.
He’s less brute than Hunter, and more agile.
He looks as though he’s the kind of man who could go all night, leaving nothing but pure destruction in his wake.
Just the way I like it.
Red flags? Yes, please!
This is the kind of man who’s either going to ruin my life or scratch every itch I’ve ever had. Either way, he’s going to be useful.
His gaze narrows, watching me with a similar curiosity, but there’s something soft there. Don’t get me wrong, he definitely looks dangerous, but he also looks like the kind of man who’d stop and cuddle a kitten he found in the street.
He swings one leg over the bike so that he sits casually on the seat, one arm thrown over the handlebar while the other is braced on the seat beside him as he gives me the laziest grin I’ve ever seen—the kind of grin that should come with legal disclaimers.
“You always stare at strangers like that? Or am I just lucky?”
Well, fuck me. I’m in trouble. Or maybe this is a gift sent directly from the heavens.
I recover quickly and take a slow, deep breath to calm my racing heart. “Well, that depends,” I say, inching toward him, unable to keep my gaze from sailing over his body. “Are you dangerous?”
His eyes drag down my body in a way that leaves me burning up. “Are you into dangerous?”
Okay. So this one is a smooth talker. I can get down with that.
I just keep looking at him like the snack that he is, and when he pushes off the bike and steps closer, I’m finally able to see just how tall he is, and damn it, I was right.
The man towers over me. He’s well over six feet tall, and as he slowly moves closer, my nervous system crashes into complete failure.
Then I catch his scent.
Leather. Clean. A little smoky with something warm underneath. It’s masculine and sharp. Different from Hunter’s dark, woodsy cologne. This is less controlled. Wilder somehow.
My chest heaves with hunger. It’s almost comical how he likely assumes that he’s the one in control here, that he’s coming on to me, yet I keep reeling him in until he’s right where I want him.
My gaze flicks to the sleek black sports bike he just abandoned on the sidewalk. “Yours?”
He nods. “Unless someone stole it in the last ten seconds.”
A grin pulls at the corner of my lips. “Cocky.”
“Observant.”
A laugh slips out before I can stop it, and he moves in even closer, offering me his name. “Maddox Blake.”
“Maddox Blake, huh?” I say, ignoring his outstretched hand. I like the way it sounds on my lips, but I think I’ll like it more when I’m screaming it out later. “It’s a hot name. That’s the kind of name that says, I emotionally ruin women and still get myself invited to family Christmas .”
A knowing smirk plays on his lips, as if to say that I’ve hit the nail right on the head, and there’s no way in hell he’s about to deny it.
“And you?”
I finally take his hand and gently squeeze. “Lyra Vale.”
He nods. “Pretty name. Kinda name that warns a guy that you’re heavy into star signs and reading horoscopes. Bet you know exactly when your moons are rising and Mercury’s doing . . . whatever the fuck Mercury does.”
I stare at him for a long beat. “Did you just say my moons ?”
Maddox shrugs. “Was I close?”
A laugh bubbles up my throat. “Not even remotely. You sound like a man who thinks astrology is sponsored by NASA.”
He winks. “Isn’t it?”
Jesus Christ. Am I blushing?
This man flirts like he was breastfed on confidence and bad decisions. Like breathing is optional. And damn it, I like it more than I ever should.
He grins and inches even closer. “You live around here?”
I smirk back at him. “You trying to figure out if your bed is closer, or mine?”
“You’re forward. I like that.”
I purse my lips for just a moment, really considering him as I allow my gaze to drop again. A beat passes before I raise my gaze back to his and nod toward the building behind me. “I live just here.”
Maddox arches a brow, intrigue thick in his stare. “Is that so?”
His tone makes it feel like this is a challenge, and I’m so here for it. Wanna tick me off your bucket list? You won’t see me complaining. “Mm-hmm.”