Page 15 of Scary Hot

After Z fell asleep, my white sheet twisted around his naked lower half, contrasting dramatically with his beautiful tan and tattooed skin, I couldn’t fall asleep myself.

What the hell had I just done? I barely knew the man, and I had slept with him? Sure, there was an undeniable connection between us. I was pulled toward him with the force of the strongest magnet in the world. And it sounded like if he had it his way, we would be a “thing.”

I hadn’t been a “thing” with anyone in a very long time. I’ve only slept with men I was in a serious relationship with, which, before last night, was a grand total of two.

“God, this is so freaking backward,” I groan into my half-empty coffee mug. Isn’t it usually the woman who wants a relationship, and the man who fights her off as long as he can?

Well… no, actually. If Wes and July are anything to go by.

“What is with these bossy-ass bikers?” I mumble to myself. “They think they can just roll up on their sexy motorcycles, in their sexy leather cuts, and be like, ‘You, woman. Mine!’ and we’ll be all swoony and shit and just agree.”

“Yes. That’s exactly what we think,” Z’s amused voice comes from behind me, making me jump and slosh a little coffee onto my hand and table. I glare over my shoulder and watch through slitted eyes as he approaches, trying my best to ignore the deep V at his hips, where his jeans are slung low.

Before I know what he’s doing, he pulls my wet hand to his lips and sucks the coffee off my fingers, causing my core to clench. It makes me undeniably aware of the soreness there, and my cheeks flush.

“Mmm, mind if I have a cup of that?” he asks low.

“S-sure. The K-cups are in the drawer under the Keurig,” I reply, hating the way he can zap all my sassiness with one lick of his skillful tongue.

“I wasn’t talking about the coffee—” He glances down at my lap, as if he can smell my arousal there. “—but I guess that’ll have to do, since I know you have to get to work soon.”

My stomach twists with a surge of need, and I stand abruptly. “Uh. Right. Yeah. I gotta go get ready. Help yourself to whatever you want… in the kitchen. The food, I mean. Yeah.” I shake my head and pull my hand from him, ignoring his chuckle as I hurry to my master bathroom.

I take the fastest shower in history, because I have no doubt if I’m in here longer than what it takes to soap up and rinse off, I’ll have an unwanted—or so I tell myself—visitor, thanks to my bathroom door not having a lock. The damn room has a pocket door, which I never worried about before, living alone with no one to walk in on me.

I throw on my scrubs for the day, white ones covered in every Disney dog character. Even though I’m not a vet tech or anything, I choose to dress like July at work, to give us a uniformed and professional look, but mostly because it’s like wearing comfy pajamas all day. I tie up my non-slip tennis shoes and grab my purse, heading into the living room.

Z is fully dressed, lounging on my couch and typing something into his phone. When he looks up and spots me, his face softens and he stands. “Ready to go?” he asks, pulling his key out of his pocket.

“Uh… yeah. But I don’t need you to follow me. I’m just going straight to work from here,” I tell him, pulling my own keys out of my purse.

He doesn’t respond, just gives me a look that says he’s going to do what he wants whether I like it or not. I roll my eyes and pass him on my way out the door.

Every glance in my rearview mirror makes my blood boil. How dare he look so freaking hot, cruising on his dark green Harley, seeming like he doesn’t have a care in the world? Images of those outstretched, tattooed arms flash through my mind, but instead of gripping handlebars like they are now, I remember the way they bulged and rippled as he braced himself above me last night, holding his weight up as he slid inside me.

By the time I park in front of the clinic, I’m an irritated mess, and I hop out of my car, slamming the door and throwing my purse on my shoulder.

“I told you I didn’t need you to follow me!” I yell over my shoulder at Z, who sits on his bike with his arms crossed over his chest, watching my every move with a smirk on his irresistible face.

“Have a good day, kitten,” is all he says, and I shake my head then storm over to July, stomping as I cross the parking lot. When I reach her side, I grab her arm and pull her toward the door of the building.

Tags: K.D. Robichaux Suspense