Burned (Devil's Blaze MC, #2)(72)

Librarian. Fuck me, my brain keeps telling me to turn away, and if I could talk any sense at all into my dick right now, I would. That ship has sailed, though. I’m going to nail this woman, it’s just a matter of when at this point.

“I thought so,” I mumble, looking under the hood of her vehicle. I’m pretty sure I know the problem, but just to make sure, I get down on the ground and crawl under the SUV.

“You don’t have to do this. I’m sure they’ll be sending someone out any minute now.”

“That’s why I knew you weren’t from around here. You’re in the backwoods of Kentucky, honey. Nearest tow would be Ray’s, two counties over, and when he gets here, he’ll either be shit-faced, horny, or both.”

“I…I’m sure…I can find someone…”

“Your water pump is blown,” I inform her, deciding to lay on the ground a moment longer because the view of those f*cking fantastic legs of hers that I’m getting through the slit of her skirt is amazing. Jesus.

“I…will that take a long time to fix?” She asks, looking down at her…Mickey Mouse watch?

I get up and slam the hood down on her ride and watch as she steps back to look at me. Those blue eyes of hers are wide, but I’m not sure if it’s with fear or something else. Her nipples are hard and poking through that tight-ass dress, so I’m hoping it’s something else entirely.

“What’s your name, honey?”

“Um…Annabelle.”

“Of course it is,” I answer, shaking my damn head. Hell, even her name is wholesome.

“I’m sorry?” She asks, those blue eyes full of confusion.

“Not a thing, Annie, not a damn thing. Okay, let’s load you on my bike and get you home. I’ll get one of the boys to fix your car and drop it off.”

“You…I mean, do you run a garage?”

“Something like that,” I agree, shaking my head.

I follow as she goes around to the driver’s side of her car and gets her purse and some folders. She bends over and that clingy fabric she’s wearing tightens up on her ass, and I nearly cum in my f*cking jeans. As it is, I can’t stop the groan that leaves my lips. She straightens up and looks back at me. Her gaze goes down and watches my hand. The hand just happens to be palming my cock so I can adjust myself. Heat rises on her cheeks and it looks f*cking good on her. I don’t think I’ve ever known a woman who blushes.

“I’m not sure I should be going anywhere with you…Mr.…What was your name again?”

“Sabre.”

“Sabre?”

“That’s my name, honey. Now, it’s hotter than hell out here and I’m looking for you to stroke out any minute, so how about you get a move on and haul your ass to my bike.”

“Your bike?”

“Yeah, my bike.”

“I’m not dressed to ride on a bike, Mr….umm…Sabre.”

She’s f*cking sweet. So sweet she makes me want to taste her to see if her * is as sweet as she is. I bet she’s luscious and juicy like a peach.

“Honey, get your shit. I got things to do, and I’m not leaving you out in this heat.” When she continues not to move and just stares at me, I sigh heavily. “Do it Annie, or I’ll carry you. It’s your choice.”

She jerks at my words. Then she continues watching me for a minute. Finally, she must have assumed (correctly) that I wasn’t kidding and starts walking away. I grab her arm just to make sure she doesn’t get away and lead her to my bike. The muscles in her wrist tighten up under my hold, but she doesn’t pull away. It takes her three tries to get on the back of my bike with that long-ass skirt and f*ck-me shoes. I watch it all over my shoulder and love the way the dress pulls up to her knees. I grieve that I’m on a deadline because I’d love to get a look at what she’s hiding under that dress. I will, eventually. I make myself that promise.

“Where do you live, honey?”

“The old farmhouse on Turkey Ridge?”

A farmhouse? I’m still shaking my head as I pull out on the street. Ms. Annie has hit me like a motherf*cking thunderbolt. I’m screwed.





Chapter 2


Annie


When your father is a minister, you can go wild or stay safe. When your father is also a monster, you pick safe. Still, I’ve always wondered what life was like on the wild side.



Every warning my father ever drummed in my head is replaying. Every beating I ever took by his belt flashes in my memory. You might think those memories would disappear since I am now twenty-six years old. They don’t. They are always there…heavy in my chest and lying like a weight holding me down. Still, when this big (and I mean huge) man stands in front of me wearing faded jeans, a white t-shirt, a black leather vest, dirty-blond hair, sunglasses, and tattoos…everywhere…my first instinct isn’t to run. No, my first instinct is to lick him from head to toe. I obviously don’t, but the more he looks at me like he wants to eat me up, the more I’m tempted. I briefly think of my favorite bedtime story as a kid, ‘Little Red Riding Hood’. No wonder Little Red ended up being eaten by the wolf. If the wolf were anywhere near as potent as the man in front of me, I would have, too.