“Becki,” he growls without turning.“You better not be standing where I think you are.”
Pulling the curtain back, I say nothing.
The steam shifts, and I catch a glimpse of his back, wet skin, scars, and the tattoo across his spine.His Kings of Anarchy patch.My thighs press together at the sight.
But I gasp, realizing what I know but haven’t yet considered.Royal’s in deep.An officer with his backpack, if he leaves the club, they’ll carve that tattoo out of his skin.
I think he fears that too.
Biker turns just enough that the water hits his chest now, streaming over muscle and heat.His head low, wet black hair hiding his face, he drags a hand down his abdomen, his tattooed fingers sliding lower, before he fists his cock with a slow, punishing grip.
His head drops back against the fake porcelain, throat working as a groan escapes him.Water runs down the ridges of his stomach, his abs tightening as he strokes himself once, twice, long slow pulls that make his shoulders shake.
Beating his cock, he mutters a curse that sounds like my name.Watching him unravel from want in the half-steam darkness is the filthiest, most intoxicating thing I have ever seen.
My breath snags.He looks up.His eyes find mine.Slowly, very slowly, he smirks.
“If you don’t stop staring,” he warns, voice pure sex.“I’m fixin’ to drag you in here and make you finish what you started.”
My pulse stutters.
“Maybe I want you to.”
He swears under his breath.A violent, guttural sound.
The shower shuts off abruptly.
He steps out dripping, towel slung low on his hips, water running in rivulets down his chest.
He stalks toward me with purpose.
“Last chance to walk away,” he murmurs.
I don’t move.
I’m tall, almost as tall as him.But biker makes me shrink.Royal towers over me.One hand cups my jaw.The other grabs my hip, dragging me flush against him.
His mouth grazes my cheek.
Hot.
Starving.
“I can’t touch you again tonight,” he says, voice trembling with restraint.
“If I do… no more Kings.”
My breath shakes.
“Royal…”
He pulls back a fraction, forehead pressed to mine.
“Get in bed,” he orders softly.“Now.Before I forget the difference between protecting you and taking you.”
I listen.
Because his self-control will not last forever.
