I mean, quite literally, it unhinged and slacked. She. Was. Fucking. Hot.
The jet-black hair was still there, and so was the nose stud, but everything else about her oozed fucking sex. She no longer bothered to conceal her cleavage, wearing a red tank top that had me wanting to charge her like a fucking bull. She wore booty shorts that revealed her long, slender legs, legs that I’d never taken note of before.
But it was more than that. Hannah in her teenage years was quiet, subservient to Mason, and cautious, though with good fucking reason. This Hannah, though, looked fierce. She looked not just comfortable being here, but like she welcomed it. She looked like she had forced Mason to bring her, not the other way around.
Not that Mason would have. He would have sooner taken a cock in the mouth from the Bandits than he would have let any of us—or anyone, period—so much as kiss his sister.
Which was a real fucking problem, considering how hard I was getting in my pants and how much I fucking wanted her.
“Hey, Hannah,” Brock said.
“Sup, welcome,” Steele said.
It was not lost on me that the only two people who said anything were also the two who had old ladies for themselves and were content to not stare at a club officer’s sister like she was a PornHub model. I was not the only one already planning how many different ways I could fuck her before Mason would wake up from an alcoholic stupor.
Which reminded me. I needed to get Mason hammered, and I needed to do it fast.
“She’s going to stay here for the next hour or so before you assholes lose self-control,” Mason said. “I—”
“Relax, Mason, I’m fine.”
Oh, and how she spoke…I didn’t get turned on by how women spoke, mostly because I noticed so many other features beforehand that it never fucking mattered. All I needed were tits on a rack, an ass blooming out of some jeans, and a wet pussy to compliment it.
But her fucking voice, sultry and seductive without trying that hard to be…oh. Fuck. Me.
Please?
“I just—”
“I’ll take care of myself, and I’ll leave at midnight.”
She looked around the room at all of us as she spoke. She smiled at Zack politely—he was no threat. She smirked at Connor—that could be some trouble, but that seemed more of a bemused look at a man who would slit his mother’s throat in the name of the club.
She looked at Steele and Brock with no apparent reaction. And then she looked at me, and she hesitated.
Shehesitated.
As in, she wanted to keep looking at me.
Oh, Christ.
Well, what was the fucking worst that could happen?
A lot. A fucking lot.
And then I heard the low rumble of what I’d waited for all along. I couldn’t believe I was saying this, but I had to now play the part for what was about to happen.
“And now, assholes,” I said, rising from the couch, smirking at Mason. “If you’ll excuse me, the entertainment has arrived.”
I walked past Mason and Hannah, taking care to walk on the side where Hannah stood. I took in a whiff of her perfume as I moved past her and had to fight to keep a straight face. I recognized most scents of most perfume, given how, well, I was a manwhore’s manwhore, but this was one that I hadn’t sniffed before. It just made Hannah Jett that much more of a taboo prize to have.
No, Garrett, don’t you fucking dare. Don’t. You. Fucking. Dare.
The club before a girl. Any girl.
Besides…
I kicked some rocks as I went in front of the repair shop to see a limo opening up. About a dozen girls, all of them in either cocktail dresses more appropriate for a Las Vegas nightclub or in booty shorts and tank tops that barely qualified as “legal,” stepped out and smiled. The “leader,” a girl named Diamond, approached.
