Throttle's Seduction: Insurgents Motorcycle Club (Insurgents MC Romance Book 7) (5 page)

When he walked into the clubhouse, it took him a minute to adjust to the low light. Thin wisps of weed and cigarette smoke wound around him as he went straight to the bar, motioning Puck for a double shot of Jack. Before he reached the counter, a short glass full to the brim with a dark amber liquid greeted him. He threw it back, loving the way the smooth fire scorched his throat then warmed it as the whiskey made its way down to his stomach. Jerking his head at the prospect, another double appeared before him.

“Bad day?” Rock asked as he slid on the barstool next to Throttle.

“No.” He threw back the double shot.

“You’re hitting it pretty hard for a good day.”

“Just enjoying my day off.”

Rock eyed him, suspicion lacing his gaze, but Throttle ignored him and took out a joint. “Want one?” he asked the Sergeant-At-Arms. After handing him one, Throttle took out another, lit it, and inhaled deeply, letting the tension he’d felt ever since he’d entered Hawk’s shop that morning slowly seep away. With each drag, his body relaxed, and he actually smiled when Rock recounted his escapades with the sexy twosome the previous night.

Hawk’s new employee was a class-A bitch, and Throttle’s plan was to ignore her and not let her get under his skin. She came across as a man-hater, and he didn’t need any of that shit. There were plenty of delicious women who couldn’t wait to spend a few hours fucking him. He wanted a woman who was soft, sexy, and compliant. He didn’t need to put up with Kimber’s shit.

Wheelie came up to the two brothers. “Hey, you got another joint on you?”

Throttle jerked his head and handed him one, lighting it for him.

“I heard Hawk’s got a bitch working on the bikes at his shop.” A cloud of smoke billowed around Wheelie as he breathed out.

Tension pushed into Throttle’s body again. He nodded, gesturing to Puck for another double.

“You seen her?”

Throttle swung up on the barstool and leaned forward, his elbows resting on the bar. “Yeah. She’s got tits that could fit on two of my fingers, and she’s got pink tips in her hair.”

“No shit.” Rock whistled softly. “No tits?”

“Nope.”

“Damn,” Wheelie said. “Does she know her way around a Harley?”

Throttle shrugged. “Hawk seems to think so. I guess we’ll find out once he brings Banger’s bike to him. She worked on it. I can’t believe how fuckin’ pussy-whipped Hawk is. Hiring a chick to do a man’s job. I know Cara was behind this. No way Hawk would’ve done it. That’s the trouble with these career women—they want to butt their fuckin’ noses in everything. Nothing’s sacred anymore, you know?” The whiskey created a nice buzz in his head, and all he could picture in his mind’s eye as he lamented the slow death of the good old boys club was Kimber’s nicely rounded ass so snug in her jeans. And what the fuck was up with her seductive, dark perfume? She smelled like a hot vixen who needed a good fuck.
Damnit! I need to get laid. How can I even think about
her?

“You listening to me, man?” Rock’s voice sliced through his whiskey fog, and Throttle stared at him bleary-eyed. “You’re fuckin’ wasted.”

“She smells like patchouli and roses. Fuck, have you ever smelled that before? It’s damn sexy. It hits you in your cock. Right. Smack. In. Your. Cock.” He slammed his fist on the bar on each word.

“Fuck,” Wheelie said after taking another drag.

Laughing, Rock helped his swaying brother to his room on the third floor. Before he left, he turned to Throttle, who sat at the edge of the bed with his head in his hands, and asked, “You want me to tell Rosie to come up here to get rid of your patchouli-induced hard-on?”

Throttle shook his head. “Another time.”

“You sure? She was looking for you earlier.”

“I’m fuckin’ wasted. I just wanna crash.”

With a chuckle, Rock closed the door behind him. Throttle lifted his head and stared at the closed door. What the hell was the matter with him? Rosie was ready to open her sweet mouth and wrap her lips tightly around his aching hardness, but he’d said no.
What the fuck?
The truth was the snarky chick mechanic pissed him off so bad that he wasn’t in the mood for banging Rosie’s mouth.
This is the second time the little bitch has made me too mad to fuck.
Groaning, he flopped onto his back and placed his arm over his hot eyelids. Incredible blue orbs filled his mind, and he felt drawn to them as he had at Hawk’s shop when he and Kimber locked gazes. Her eyes were striking but soft, and they made his blood dance as he drifted further into them until darkness took over.

Then he passed out.

L
eah Moore’s high
heels clacked on the brick walkway as she sprinted to her car. Her dark hair caught the early morning sun’s rays, and ribbons of light intertwined with her dark strands. With a muted jangle, her keys fell on the ground and she cursed under her breath. When she bent over to pick them up, her short turquoise skirt revealed a toned, upper thigh.

He held his breath as he took in the way her thigh muscles flexed under all that creamy skin. Hidden behind the cluster of evergreens, he watched her, thrilled to have caught a glimpse of her body that he hadn’t seen before. He wondered if she had on panties or a thong.

Two weeks before, the man had spotted Leah at the grocery store when he’d stopped after work to pick up dinner at the full-service deli counter. She’d been waiting in line to place her order for the two pieces of baked chicken and two sides. Her long dark hair cascaded down her back, and it glistened under the bright store lights. She was his type: slender build, dark hair, and a nice rounded ass that would look sexy in any panty.

After she’d received her order, he’d skipped his, for fear of losing sight of her. He’d followed her home, and for the past week he’d watched her from the shadows of the trees. The previous night, she’d given him a bonus and undressed without closing the blinds. Her small, pert breasts looked beautiful in a sheer gold bra, and her matching panties made him salivate. He’d come back early that morning, hoping to have some time with her lingerie before she returned from work. For the last seven days, he’d learned everything about her routine.

The good-looking man loved the anticipation before he made his move. Sometimes he’d spend three weeks watching the women he targeted. He’d even slip into their rooms while they slept and watch them, careful not to wake them up, and always leaving with a few pairs of panties. Later, he’d use the undies to pleasure himself, the image of the sleeping woman whose breasts rose and fell as he watched her foremost on his mind before climaxing.

Leah Moore drove away and the brown-haired man stood frozen for quite a while, his gaze still transfixed on the road. Finally, he wiped his hands on his jeans and crossed the street, a notebook in his hand. Going directly to the meter, he pretended he was reading it as his glance darted over to the sliding glass door. He moved slowly to it and tried it with his gloved hand. It opened. A wide smile spread over his face. It never ceased to amaze him how many people left their windows and doors opened. Sliding it open, he slipped inside.

Leah lived alone, which made it easier for him to do what he needed to do. From stalking her, he knew she wouldn’t be home for at least eight hours. He had time before he had to go to work that evening. Before going to her bedroom, he looked at the pictures of her and other people—family and friends, he’d guessed—in various phases of her life. Her sparkling blue eyes and heart-shaped face were beautiful. Leah looked to be about thirty years old, and if he were a different person, if he didn’t have the craving, he’d ask her out. And she’d probably go out with him—several women found him attractive and a real catch. Sighing, he climbed the stairs to the second floor and went straight to her bedroom.

Without hesitation, he strode over to her long dresser and opened the top drawer. In his experience, women usually kept their lingerie in the first drawer of their dressers. And Leah did not disappoint him—various colors and shapes of panties and bras dazzled him. Picking them up, he caressed his cheek with their silkiness, marveling at how soft they felt against his skin. As he lost himself in the world of undergarments, his phone rang, startling him out of his euphoria. Looking up, he caught a glimpse of himself in the dresser mirror: bikini panties in his hands, lust glazing his eyes, stiffness punching against his jeans. Then disgust washed away the excitement, and self-loathing set in as he dropped the panties on the dresser. Tears poured down his tanned cheeks and he sat on the edge of her bed, his head in his hands, sobbing.

After a long time, he pulled himself together, picking out the gold panty he’d seen Leah wearing the previous night, and a periwinkle blue one. Shoving them in his pockets, he closed the dresser drawer—making sure not to look in the mirror—then slipped downstairs and out the sliding door.

By the time he returned home, he was horny as hell, and he bolted all the locks on his doors and sat on the couch in his darkened family room. He slowly took the panties out of his pocket, unzipped his jeans, and firmly grabbed his hardness. Placing the gold prize over his dick, he began rubbing it up and down. Leaning his head against the wall, he closed his eyes and let the image of Leah undressing in her room play out in his mind.

*     *     *

Kimber sat cross-legged
on her kitchen chair, munching on a piece of buttered toast with blueberry jam, reading the
Pinewood Springs Tribune
. Even though everyone she knew received their news via the Internet, she still liked browsing through the newspaper, loving the smell and feel of the ink under her fingertips.

As she scanned the local news section, a small article caught her eye: “Lingerie Bandit Strikes Again.” Intrigued by the heading, she read the most bizarre story in the paper that day. Amazed at how weird people were, she wondered what compelled the perpetrator to risk breaking into a woman’s house to steal a couple pairs of panties. Shaking her head, she pushed the paper away and poured herself another glass of orange juice.

She stared out the large window above her sink. The main reason she’d decided on renting this house was because of the windows; there were many and they let in a lot of light. Running a hand through her hair, she was happy that she didn’t have to be to work until noon. Kimber wondered if
he’d
be in the shop when she arrived. Why did she even care? It wasn’t anything to her, but she found herself secretly hoping she’d bump into him. Not that she wanted anything with him, but he was good eye candy, and she enjoyed teasing him because it pissed him off so much. When she recalled how he’d checked her out the previous day, her stomach did that weird flip-flop thing and it made her mad. She couldn’t let herself be involved with another biker. And even if she wanted to, it was obvious the guy hated her for daring to throw a wrench in his chauvinistic idea of what jobs women should have. For a man to have that attitude in the twenty-first century was unbelievable.

She wasn’t shocked at his reaction to her being a mechanic. She’d hung with bikers for most of her life, and more than the majority of them felt that a woman shouldn’t mess around in a man’s world. Even though the guys she knew weren’t in one-percenter clubs, they were still just as bad. A friend of hers became the old lady of an outlaw biker, and she couldn’t even speak her mind lest his club brothers think he didn’t have a respectful wife. For Kimber, that was bullshit and a very small step away from damn slavery. No way would she ever sign up for that crap.

Since she’d run away from her ex, she’d thrown herself into her work, and now school. She attended Pinewood Springs Community College part-time and her area of study was business. Ever since she could remember, she’d dreamed of owning her own motorcycle repair shop, and taking business classes was the first step in fulfilling her aspirations.

All work and no play wasn’t the best way to meet people. Her only real friend was Sarah, who she met at a bike rally soon after she came to Pinewood Springs. She didn’t know her very well, but so far they seemed to have some things in common. Sarah loved bikes and bikers, but she also loved cowboys. She was always game to go out on the weekends, and they usually had a good time. Sometimes she was too much when it came to men, though, and Kimber thought she threw caution to the wind when she’d leave with men she’d just met at the bars.

Maybe Riley, the cowboy man, would turn out to be someone Kimber would actually like to date. She hadn’t dated very much in Silver Ridge, and since she’d come to Pinewood Springs, she’d only had a few dates, nothing serious. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d screwed anyone worthwhile. Hell, she couldn’t remember the last time she’d been with a man. She was so overdue.
Maybe that’s why I keep thinking about that jerk friend of Hawk’s. Damn, the way he looked at me with his deep black eyes made me want to melt at his feet. Fuck, Kimber, if Riley is halfway decent, you gotta get laid tonight.

She couldn’t risk even fantasizing about Throttle’s mouth on hers—it was too dangerous. What was it with her and bikers? Shaking her head, she decided to go to work early—she could use the hours. As she pulled her sleek mane up in a high bun, a small shiver of excitement ran through her in anticipation of seeing Throttle. If he were at the shop, she’d make a real effort to be civil to him, maybe even a bit flirty, but if he said anything stupid—and the chance of that was extremely high—she’d cut him down to size. Biker or not, gorgeous or not, there was no way she was ever going to let a man get the best of her.
Been there, done that.