Chapter 7: His Rule

His palm settled against my cheek, and I turned my face into it.

He was warm from the sun.

I had been thinking about his hands for twenty hours.

"Not here," I said.

"No," Boone said.

"The guard is watching."

"Let him."

"Take me back to the clubhouse."

He did not say a word.

He put his helmet on my head with both hands, fastened the strap under my chin and swung onto the bike.

I climbed on behind him, careful of my arm, and wrapped my good one around his waist.

Through the leather, I could feel how hard his stomach was.

I held on tighter than I needed to.

The ride was short, and I felt every turn of it in my thighs.

He parked at the back of the clubhouse, away from the lot.

The door of his room stood open, and a lamp was already on.

It was a bare, clean room with a wide bed, a dresser and one window that looked at the river.

He shut the door behind us and turned the lock.

For a moment neither of us moved.

"The rules were," I said, "nobody puts a hand on me."

"My rule."

"You made it."

"I did."

"Does that include you?"

His eyes went to my mouth.

"It includes me," he said. "That's what I said. My roof, my men, nobody touches you. I meant myself most of all."

"Then break it," I said.

His jaw went tight.

"Laney."

"I'm asking."

"You're hurt."

"My arm is hurt. Nothing else is."

I took the leather jacket off my shoulders and let it fall.

I stood in front of him in scrubs and a sling, my hair coming loose, and I said it plainly.

"I want you to touch me. I've wanted it since you knelt on that floor."

He crossed the room.

He took my face in both hands and kissed me, and it was nothing like the polite kisses I knew.

It was slow for about two seconds.

Then his mouth opened against mine, and I heard a low sound come out of his chest, and I grabbed his vest with my good hand and pulled.

He lifted me against the wall.

I wrapped my legs around his hips and felt how hard he already was.