Wrath – Heartlands Motorcycle Club Read online Dani Wyatt

Categories Genre: Biker, MC, Romance Tags Authors:
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Total pages in book: 32
Estimated words: 30055 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 150(@200wpm)___ 120(@250wpm)___ 100(@300wpm)
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I roar into the parking lot and park my bike in my usual obnoxious spot, right near the front door, kick down the stand and pivot, pulling my leg over the back before shoving my hand through my hair and heading directly her way.

She sees me, I know she does. I ride my bike for a reason. I want her to know I’m coming.

It’s almost time for their service to start and there’s no one else behind me. I see her straighten up, glancing around, but I’m the only one here so she has to look at me.

“You here for the service?” She half snaps but I see the blush rise on her cheeks.

“Nope. Just finished my own service. I’m all set on God for today.”

She rolls her eyes on a shake of her head. “Good to know. What do you want? Why do you insist on bothering me?”

“Is that what I’m doing? Bothering you?”

She gives me an incredulous stare and tightens her perfectly plump, cherry-red lips together. “Yes. You are bothering me. So, get lost.”

I twist my lips, shaking my head. “You say get lost, but your eyes say stay right here.”

“You’re obnoxious. You have no idea what my eyes say.”

“Delusions run deep.” I reach my hand toward where she’s holding the fliers. “You gonna offer me one or not?”

She pauses, narrowing her eyes, and the glare she gives me only makes me want her more.

“Fine.” She bites out, shoving the white folded paper my way. “Now will you leave?”

I don’t answer. Instead I meet her outstretched hand, blatantly running my fingers down the top of her wrist, pinching the paper with her hand under mine.

Her cheeks ripen to stop-sign red, but she’s frozen and I love the way she gets so flustered. She does this little tug, but it’s halfhearted at best, and I move my thumb in slow, sensual circles on the underside of her wrist. I swear I can feel her pulse start to race.

She could get away if she wanted, I’m not holding her tight. At least not with my hand. But I am in other ways, and that’s why she’s staying put, because it’s what I want.

“Stop that.” She finally hisses, her eyes darting behind her, and I know she’s looking for her father.

“Stop what?” I tease, moving my thumb in bigger circles now. “This?” I look down, then back at her face, drawing a breath through my clenched teeth.

My dick is hardened steel and I don’t even care if she sees how hard she makes me. The touch of her skin makes me crazy, and I think of my thumb doing this to her clit, listening to her voice crack and beg me to stop as I tease every nerve ending, torturously slow.

Then make her beg me for more.

My mouth is watering looking at her, thinking such thoughts. Her toes are showing and my fucking dick is leaking cum. They are painted alternating daisy yellow and white and I want to feel them stroking off my crazed cock.

But what I really want is to kiss her. To me, kissing is a big fucking deal.

I’ve not kissed a woman in probably twenty years. I just don’t kiss on the mouth, it’s a thing for me. I’ve fucked my share, it’s lost a bit of it’s luster, even before Kristina. But, since I set eyes on her? There is no other pussy in the world. My dick would shrivel up and fall off if I even tried to hook up with anyone else now.

She’s ruined me.

“Stop that.” A deep voice draws my attention and Kristina jerks her hand away. Her father is dressed in his black robe, white hair cut clean and short, face shaved, and there is murder in his gray eyes.

“It’s okay...” Kristina starts, but he moves between us, looking down at her then at me. “Get inside.” He’s addressing her but his death glare stays firmly attached to my eyes.

With one sheepish look and an apologetic grin, she spins and disappears inside, the organ music rises, and the doors shut behind her.

“Get out of here.” Her father seethes. “Leave us alone or I’ll call the cops again. I’ve had enough of you and your kind.”

“My kind?” I tip my head back and forth. “You mean, dark haired, ridiculously handsome guys with beards?”

“You know what I’m talking about.” He jerks his head toward the bar across the street. “I’m not afraid of you.”

I shrug. “You shouldn’t be. I’m not here to hurt you. Or anyone.”

He gives that a moment’s thought, then clears his throat and finishes. “Get out of here. Or I’m calling the cops.”

“Do what you need to do.” I say as I turn toward my bike. As I throw my leg over the seat, before I start the engine, I give him one last look and finish as I do whenever he tells me to leave. I give him a quote from the bible. “Blessed are the peacemakers, for they will be called children of God.”



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