When he crouched down to clean the wheels of his bike, I squatted down across from him to clean the other one.
I stole a glance at his knuckles. They were red and swollen from repeatedly coming into contact with Peter’s face.
“He left town,” I said, looking at him over his motorcycle.
“Who?”
It was hard not to notice the way his shoulder muscles rolled and pulled with every swipe of the sponge.
“Peter,” I said.
He paused, only briefly, but then kept washing the wheel. “Wise move.”
I couldn’t help but feel bad for getting Ruger involved.
“Turns out he didn’t have any balls after all.”
He lifted his head and his eyes met mine. “Men who force themselves on a woman very rarely do.”
I bit into my lower lip. “I know you don’t believe me, but I was going to kick his ass.”
He didn’t reply, but a ghost of a smile tugged at his lips.
When we were done with his bike, he hosed it off and dried it with a cloth, gently wiping away the drops of water on the shiny paintwork as if he were caressing a woman’s body. Instantly, heat flooded my veins. It was just a piece of machinery. A hunk of metal and chrome. But his hands swept over it with care and respect, and the tenderness of a lover.
Of course, my mind instantly went to where it shouldn’t. If he touched his bike like that, how did he touch a woman? I imagined it was with infinite tenderness. His hands were big, strong, and I would bet he could make any woman writhe with pleasure beneath them.
I glanced down at his boots. His feet were big. His body was big. His hands were big. What were the chances that his cock was big, too?
My breath left me in a gasp and he looked over at me, his sparkling green eyes questioning.
“You okay?”
My cheeks flushed.
I was standing there picturing him naked, and every inch of me felt hot with desire. I struggled to swallow. “I think I’ll start on my car.”
He joined me and we were both silent as we cleaned my beaten-up Dodge. I had lost my ability to talk because I couldn’t get the crazy images of a naked Ruger out of my head. But I wasn’t sure what had caused his silence.
I glanced over at him. He looked like he was lost in thought. Like he was trying to figure something out. It was probably club business, I decided, and he would never confide in me about it so I let the silence linger between us.
Without warning he aimed the arc of water at me, soaking me head to toe.
It shocked me out of my thoughts and I grinned wickedly across at him.
The move meant war.
I dunked my sponge in the bucket and threw it at him, hitting him in his rock-hard chest. Water and bubbles gleamed on his flawless body, the white suds in deep contrast to his smooth, tattooed skin.
It was on then.
Water flew through the air and soap suds rained down like snowflakes as we fought our battle and chased one another around the car.
As I ran toward the sponge laying on the hood of the car, I slipped, but Ruger’s strong arms caught me.
To right myself, I pressed my palms against his chest. It was hard like stone but infinitely warm. His eyes darkened and his lips parted. Immediately, the muscles between my legs began to throb, stimulated by the look of raw need on his face.
I struggled to swallow. “Thanks.”
He smiled but it didn’t reach his eyes. Heat radiated from him, and I could see his pulse pounding against his throat. “You’re welcome.”
The seconds ticked by excruciatingly slow. My breath caught in my chest. Against me, his body felt powerful and protective. And the scent of him. It was pure man.
He cleared his throat and let me go, and the sudden absence of his body against mine made me shiver. I took a step back, surprised by the tightening of his jaw and the frown on his face.
“I think we’re done,” he said, looking away and picking up the bucket and sponge.
And just like that it was over.
Ruger walked away and I was left standing there wondering what the hell had just happened.
RUGER
Jesus Christ, I was in hell.
In the bathroom I stripped out of my wet jeans and stood naked at the sink. I leaned against the porcelain, my fingers gripping the edge until they were white-knuckled.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” I asked my reflection in the mirror.
My cock was hard and my body was jacked up and tight with tension as images of Chastity all wet and soapy tormented me. I squeezed my eyes tight to send them away, but there was no escaping them.
The way her sopping wet t-shirt clung to her body and her tight, perky nipples. The way the soapy water slid down her firm, wet thighs. The way her bee-stung lips glistened when she ran her soft, pink tongue across them. Her juicy ass and long legs as she bent over and searched the water bucket for the sponge.