Hammer (13 page)

I want to climb on him
, I immediately think.

Dammit! I tell myself to cut this shit out. I have only been here four days, and even though he is a surly asshole sometimes, he is a damn hot, surly asshole. My need for brownies right this instant is entirely his fault, too!

I shimmy a little before climbing down. Take that, Hammer! If I have to see him rolling around with no shirt and those blue eyes I get lost in every time he looks at me, then he can deal with a hard-on from my ass.

“Wanna tell me what the hell you’re doing?”

“Brownies,” I answer, slamming the bowl down before going right to work, mixing batter.

He laughs. “I figured we would be living on salads and vegetables having you here. Brownies are a surprise.”

I mix with a spoon before I lean over and set the oven to preheat. Taking down a coffee mug, I pour some of the batter into it for later before putting the rest in the pan to bake. Then I lick the spoon, moaning my appreciation.

“Seriously?” he asks. “It can’t be
that
good.”

“Look here, Macho Man, real women eat chocolate. I don’t care if you are a body builder and it’s cut day. Chocolate is the exception to every rule in the women’s handbook. I want brownies—no, I
need
them, so just wheel away while I have them, and later on, we can discuss salads.” I dip my spoon in the mug for more batter.

“Raw eggs can’t be healthy,” he says with a half-grin.

“Hammer, unless you want to be pushed to the point you’re begging for brownies, I suggest you back off. You want your coffee, and as a woman, it is my duty to indulge in chocolate.”

“Oh, baby, you’re all woman; that’s for sure.” He holds up his hands in surrender. “I promise to never question the need for chocolate or impede on your ability to have said chocolate again.”

I smile at him. “Now we’re getting somewhere.”

If only that somewhere would relieve the lust I feel and if only the brownies could promise to fix that … Alas, they don’t, but they damn sure help me get through today a little more easily.

~Hammer~

“Stop hogging the remote, woman, and give it to me!”

It’s been five days since Desirae moved in, and things have mellowed between us. She taught me the hard way through my training sessions that she knows how to give as good as she takes. To top it off, there is something about her that has melted my icy resolve to be an asshole around her.

There is never a moment with her when I feel as if she is only being nice to me because she feels like she has to or because she pities me. Over the years, I have developed a pretty damn good bullshit meter, but she never trips it. Her words are always genuine when she asks me how I’m really feeling, and honestly, she’s the best roommate I have ever had, not to mention the sexiest.

This is a problem because I know I should keep my hands off her. She isn’t just here to help me get back on my feet; she is hiding out to save her life. It wouldn’t be right to take advantage of the situation … but damn if I don’t want to.

A knock sounds on my door, and we both look over at it. Desirae then looks back at me sitting comfortably on the couch instead of my wheelchair. “Want me to get it?”

“Hold on a second, babe.” Whipping out my cell phone, I pull up the feed to the security camera that is trained on my front door.

You better believe, the moment Screech signed on to our team, I put his ass to work setting up security systems at all the brothers’ places. You can’t live the kind of life all of us have—first in the military and now crossing over the legal line—without pissing a few people off.

It’s not hard to figure out who is at my door, because the screen fills with the image of Coal from the back. Between his bald head, six-foot plus gigantic frame, and his Regulators’ cut, there is no mistaking him.

Nodding my head to the door, I tell Des, “You can answer it.”

She cocks an eyebrow at me yet doesn’t say a word. Going to the door, she opens it and gives Coal a big grin.

“Why hello there, Mr. Clean! It’s nice to see you, but I’ve already cleaned the place with Pine-Sol. Sorry!”

I try to smother my laugh but am completely unsuccessful, which is why Coal flips me the bird as he walks through the door.

“Thought I’d stop by and see if you two need anything before I head home.”

Desirae doesn’t miss a beat. “Yes, I’d like a large, stuffed-crust pepperoni pizza with a two-liter diet soda.”

My club brother shoots my sassy roommate a glare that makes most men cower in their fucking boots. Not Des. She just stands there with a big, innocent grin on her face.

“I’m not your fucking pizza delivery boy.”

“Then what are you?”

“The only thing between you and the motherfuckers who want to make you quit breathing.”

Desirae’s face goes pale, and a haze of red covers my vision.

“Yo!” I shout in Coal’s direction.

He turns his head toward me, and I can immediately tell from the look in his eye that he knows he went too far, not that he will apologize to Des. He’s too proud, which is one of his fucking problems.

“It was good of you to stop by, man, but we’re good here.” That’s my nice way of telling him to get the fuck out. He has the best of intentions, but in usual Coal style, he saw two legs attached to a pussy and decided he should act like a dick. One of these days, I’m going to find out exactly what his fucking problem with women is.

Coal doesn’t say a word. With a dismissive wave, he walks out the front door, slamming it behind him.

Desirae is still standing in the same spot, looking like she has seen a ghost. Ironically, in a way, she has. Coal is only a ghost of the man he could have been.

I motion her over to me. “Come here, Drill Sergeant. I’ve got this big, ol’ couch to myself, and I’m cold. Warm me up, woman.”

My order snaps her out of whatever head space she was in, and she cocks a disbelieving eyebrow at me. “You want me to cuddle with you?”

Sighing in mock frustration, I groan, “Why do women insist on saying the C-word? I said I want you to warm me up. If that involves you being tucked into my side to do that, why can’t we just leave it at that?”

She crosses her arms over her chest. “You’re just trying to make me feel better after Coal was an epic shithead.”

“Nope. Really, I’m cold,” I retort without batting an eye. “And you should know Coal is an epic shithead to every female he comes across. It’s not just you. Now stop your yapping and come warm me up. The faster you get over here, the faster we can watch television and chill the hell out.”

She stands there, contemplating me as if I’m a snake that might bite. “No funny business?”

Shrugging, I tell her, “I won’t push you away if you insist on feeling me up.”

Desirae snorts. “Right. Don’t hold your breath, waiting for that, buddy. You’ll run out of air.”

When she starts walking back over to the other couch, I think she’s going to pass up my offer of cuddling, but she scoops up the television remote in her hand, instead. Then she heads over to me and sits on the cushion next to me, tucking her feet up until she is curled into a ball.

Taking a chance, I throw my arm over the back of the couch behind her. It will give her the option to move closer if she wants. She starts flicking the channels absently.

“What are we going to watch?” I ask, as if some idiotic part of me isn’t putting myself out there with a woman who probably won’t give me the time of day.

She stops channel surfing, and I hear the roar of car engines and fast music on the screen. Looking at it, I see one of my favorite action movies is on. I smile then give into temptation and grab her by the shoulder to pull her into my side.

Sighing in exaggerated satisfaction, I say, “I swear you’re the perfect woman.”

I feel her shaking with laughter, and something in me lightens. It feels good to make this woman laugh. I wonder what it would be like to be able to do it all the time.

~Desirae~

Tank and the Hellions always say I get off on causing them pain. Well, Hammer gets off on getting me wound up and knowing damn well we won’t finish the job.

Okay, well, he doesn’t exactly know he has me ready to blow from a simple touch. First, the man is sexy as hell. His body is a machine, and he takes damn good care of it. More than that, his scars tell a story of a man who has fought and overcome many things. His eyes draw me in and keep me locked tight with every stare. Then, when he speaks, my insides quiver.

I want to slap myself for reading too many romance novels. I don’t know if he’s really this damn good or if my mind just wants him to be.

In the time since I got here, I have learned not only is Hammer sexy as sin, but the man is not a morning person. He is the definition of coffee first, and I think it’s funny, but I have learned to only push so far.

He enters my space, and my whole body comes to attention. My skin tingles at every touch. I even have to try to find new exercises we can do where there is less contact between us.

Every breath, I inhale his scent and want to breathe deeper just to have more. He’s masculine, and he doesn’t back down.

“Researching an escape already?” he challenges.

“You can’t get rid of me that easily, Hammer.”

“I’m just getting started,” he says, taking off his shirt before wheeling himself into the open space of the living room where we have been exercising.

I feel my heart rate pick up and fight to keep my breathing under control. Then he looks up at me and gives me his half-grin, and I want to smack him and ravage him at the same damn time.

I love a challenge. However, Hammer is one I’m not sure I can win. Then again, I’m not sure losing would be the worst thing ever, but I have never crossed the line of professionalism before.

Chapter

10

~Hammer~

What the hell have I gotten myself into? Yeah, I wanted to go home, but how was I supposed to know trouble was headed my way if I did? Now I have the sexiest woman alive moved in with me.

She walks around here in these short-ass shorts that hug her luscious ass that is calling out for me to grab with two hands as I slam her down on my cock. And when she thinks I’m done for the night, she takes off her bra, letting her boobs move freely inside the tiny tank top she prefers to sleep in. I never thought a woman could be sexier in clothes than out of them, but the sight of Desirae in her pajamas gets my dick harder than any porn ever could. There is something about the way her night clothes cling to her that fuels my nightly fantasies of peeling them off before licking her from head to toe.

One week, she’s been here, and one week, I have had the worst case of blue balls known to man. Yesterday, I called a barfly here and fucked her hard. No, that’s wrong. She fucked me hard. So hard the bed was banging against the wall and Desirae, thinking I fell, came rushing in. The blush that hit her face only had me thinking of how pink her pussy is and if I could make her blush everywhere. After her invasion, I wasn’t able to finish and sent Kate on her way, pissed off. Oh, fucking well.

Kate isn’t the only one who is pissed off. I’m pissed that I have blue balls! And my doctor will be more than pissed if he finds out I went against his orders and had sex at all.

The only good news that came out of that cluster-fuck was the realization that the doctor could suck it about his no sex rule. The only part of my body that hurt after Kate stormed out was my dick, because it was still rock hard and begging to finish. My hips, back, and legs were a little sore the next day from the way Kate had done her best to try fucking me through my own damn mattress, but it wasn’t that bad.

Since then, I have subjected myself to being the silent stalker at night. I’m not sure this is healthy for me or Desirae. I want nothing more than to have my legs working so I can pin her to the wall and fuck her with her legs wrapped tightly around my waist, and the noise she hears will be the sounds of her back and head slamming into the wall as I slam into her.

With the way my bedroom door sits open, I can hide in my chair in the shadows as she moves around my place as if it’s her own. Night after night, once I wheel into my room, she slides off the oversized T-shirt she wears around me and takes off that bra. Every step, her curls bounce, breasts jiggle, and ass moves in sync, all of them calling out to my cock.

What does she do that only makes things worse for me? She sleeps on my fucking couch. Oh, to be the leather clinging to her skin each and every night. She says it is to be close should I need her. Sure, I need her all right. I need her to climb on my dick and ride me until neither of us can see straight. Then maybe my eyes would stop watching her ass every time it sways back and forth as she crosses the room or her plump breasts as they bounce with each step she takes.

What’s worse is she’s not a fucking Amazon. She’s simply perfect: tight in the right places and soft where I want to grip. She has all the training to lift me and move me when needed without overexerting herself. She damn sure knows what she’s doing both for herself and for me. Every touch only makes me want one taste of her, just one.

If this obsession my dick and eyes have for her doesn’t stop soon, then I am going to start thinking she is a living, breathing drug, addicting parts of me to hers slowly, one piece at a time. An addiction like that could be dangerous.

In our line of business, I see a lot of ass. I see a lot of curves, titties, and pussy when the panties slip the wrong way. I have had a lot of ass and handled a lot of curves.

I look down at my large, calloused hands. I have massaged more than my fair share of titties. I have had tight pussy, loose pussy, fat-lipped pussy, skinny-lipped pussy, hairy pussy, trimmed pussy, and the sculpted for my pleasure pussy. I have seen it all, had it all, tasted it all.

I love women. I love their curves, their soft touch, the feel of their bodies against mine. I love sliding in and out as a woman’s pussy molds to my cock.

A woman’s pussy is a powerful thing, really. It is not a delicate flower. Its beauty is far greater than any flower, any painting, or anything of this earth. The pussy is a deadly weapon. It is like a Venus fly trap. It mesmerizes, calls to you, and then
snap
! It has you contained. Inch by inch, it molds to you. A woman’s pussy holds the power as you slide balls deep inside, getting lost to the sensation. No man has control once he finds himself in the depths of the perfect pussy.