My body stiffened. I pressed my lips together, fighting to retain a neutral expression despite my discomfort.
Dean placed his hand on my lower back, rubbing up and down my spine.
“Easy, honeybee.”
He shifted behind me, brushing his lips softly to my neck. I couldn’t help it this time—my eyes fluttered closed.
Looping an arm around my waist, Dean pressed his hand flat against my lower belly, caressing my clit with a feather-light touch. I gripped his wrist to steady myself.
We stayed like that for what felt like an eternity. I was stuffed so full that I could feel every throb and pulse of his cock. The ache of discomfort lingered, until it gradually melted away like frost in the sun’s heat.
“Is this—?” I croaked in a strangled voice. “Is this…something you do with every girl you bring to the clubhouse?”
Dean chuckled, sinfully low. The vibrations rumbled through his chest, pressed against my back.
“You’re the only one who gets this privilege, honeybee. Couldn’t resist seeing you waltzing around in that flouncy little mini skirt all day.”
I ducked my head to hide a pleased smile, making a mental note to wear more mini skirts in the future.
“Might as well skip wearing panties next time though,” he added with a grit in his voice that sent shivers up my spine. “They just get in the way.”
My breath caught in my throat and I squeezed my thighs together.
“I’ll—I’ll try to keep that in mind.”
“Now that we’ve crossed this line, I fully intend to make you forget every cock you’ve had before now.”
Without thinking, I snorted.
“Well, that won’t be difficult since it’s not like you have any competition for me to compare you to.”
Instant regret washed over me. I wished I could take back every word.
Dean went quiet. His hand on my hip tightened with a bruising grip.
“What did you just say?”
“Um…nothing. I was just—you know—talking trash.”
“Ruby,” he growled.
Shit, shit, shit. I should have kept my mouth shut.
Before I could reply, Dean yanked my skirt down, shoving his cock into his jeans. Locking an arm around my waist, he lifted me as easily as if I weighed nothing at all, and carted me down a nearby hallway.
“Where the hell are you taking me? Dean!”
A series of doors flanked either side of the hall. He selected one at seemingly random, shoved his shoulder against the door, and stepped into a room with the bare essentials—a bed, nightstand, a table with two chairs, and a closet.
Dean plopped me on the bed and braced his hands on the mattress, blocking me in. He leaned close, pinning me with an unwavering stare.
“Is there something you need to tell me?”
I hedged, trying to crawl backward on the mattress. He grabbed my ankle and dragged me even closer.
“Like what?” I countered.
A muscle twitched in his jaw.
