I cock an eyebrow at him. “You following my schedule now?”
He shrugs one shoulder, raking his gaze back up my body to meet mine. “If I like something, I take it.”
And fuck… if I don’t like the way that sounds.
“It was a pleasure, Dr. Cormier,” he says, backing away slowly as he adjusts himself in his jeans.
I lean back against the table and cross my arms, letting a small smirk form on my lips. And I don’t say a thing.
His eyes flash, and he exhales. “Fuck…” he mutters, shaking his head like he’s holding himself back.
But he gives me one last look, then turns and walks out the door.
Fuck is right.
EIGHT
As I pullup to the clubhouse and kill the engine on my bike, Kurt steps out and leans against the brick wall, lighting a cigarette like he’s been waiting for me.
“So?” he asks, blowing out a lazy stream of smoke.
“It’s done,” I say, swinging a leg over my bike and hanging my helmet on the handlebars.
He nods. “Any trouble?”
I shrug, blowing out a heavy sigh. Because, yeah… There was some.
Victor was a fucking cakewalk. I had that in the bag.
But the other two assholes who show up at every auction like it’s Christmas now suddenly think they can disappear. I had to track one down at his cottage and corner the other pulling into his kid’s private school. And one of them had the balls to sayno.
Nothing a little forceful persuasion couldn’t fix, with a tap of my gun against his windshield just as the school bell rang, ready to show his kids how easy it is to make their daddy piss himself. But he made the right choice and said he’d be there.
No.
Yeah fucking right.
“The Porsche is getting picked up tomorrow, and the money is wired. The other dickbags are going.” I step towards Kurt, watching as he blows out another slow curl of smoke. “Should probably put someone on him during the auction. Make sure he remembers how to use his wallet. He didn’t seem too fond of my gun up close.”
Kurt huffs a laugh and shakes his head. “Put Trip on him. He’s got a way of reminding people that pain is optional if they behave.”
I nod, rubbing the back of my neck and letting out a sigh. These fuckers. I could have been tongue or dick-deep in delicious professor ass… now I need to wait until tomorrow.
But damn… the way he just sat there when I left, all calm and knowing, just letting me go like he didn’t even have to try.
Fuck, that was hot.
That’swhat I crave. The slow burn, and the tension that coils in the gut and drags out every second like it matters, humming steadily just beneath the surface. The chase that demands something raw, real, and earned. The one that comes with risk and challenge, momentum and gravity, and where every move forward is a burn I feed with my own hands. Where I know it will take me apart, but I keep doing it anyway.
But chasing after spoiled buyers and gutless fucks who suddenly forget how auctions work?
Not fucking worth it.
“So, what’s our plan here?” I ask, shifting my gaze to the door behind Kurt to the clubhouse, knowing the crew is in there waiting to hear how this went.
Kurt takes the last drag of his cigarette, and I watch longingly as he drops it and crushes it under his boot.
Of all the days to quit smoking, why the fuck did I have to choose today?
