by V. Theia
“You talk a big game for-----”
“For a what? A woman?” Outrage filled her dark eyes as if prepared to go to war with him on every feminist bullshit issue she knew and some she’d make up. Grinder bit back a grin, fingered her chin, tipping it up to better see her under the moon’s brightness. Fuck, she really was a beautiful, maddening warrior.
“----for someone who hasn’t stopped thinking about kissing me in days.”
“You have an overinflated opinion of yourself. I haven’t given you a thought since I escaped that nightmare motel room.” Cheeky thing dared to beam at him with a look so full of excitement and sass he got hard.
He got real hard.
“You kiss fine for a biker, I suppose.”
“Kissed many have you?”
“Sí. My fair share.” A growl began in his gut. Who were they? Where did they live? “Come on, keep up, kidnapper, you can buy me a drink, I have a proposition for you… if you have time?” she tacked on, looking at him while they walked, every now and then she’d turn a gaze behind them. Luxe was hiding and Grinder’s intrigue grew and grew.
Why did the expectation of her wanting something from him push fireworks into his chest?
She forgives me. He had hope.
“I got time. If only to hear why the fuck you shoved your tongue in my mouth to evade the Russian back there.” If she was shocked by his correct revelation she didn’t let on. Small world though and the timing fucking sucked, was a thief dabbling in the Russian’s business or with them?
Time would tell.
She quirked a secretive smile. Grinder shook his head. What was this woman getting him into? He looked down and grabbed her hand, laced them palm to palm and took over the leading, crossing the street there was a good bar two blocks away. Then she could say what she wanted and maybe he’d talk her into laying the lips on him again.
He deserved some fucking perks for the way she was shaking his foundations.
******
Watching Grinder walk back from the bar holding a bottle and a glass Luxe let her eyes feast unhindered, noticing he was catching looks from all corners, mostly women with obvious starvation, some men looking at him cautiously, probably because of his club jacket, bikers and their big-boy bad images. Men would never stop having dick contests no matter their ages.
But, in this case, she could confirm his bad boy status. By rights she should be stabbing in him the leg with a pitch fork, but when he’d looked at her, that last day in the motel room, there was something like guilt and regret in his steel eyes, as though he wanted to apologize a million times over on his knees.
She would have liked him on his knees begging, pleading, groveling.
Oh, sí, so much dirty groveling.
Luxe was a sucker for a man who brooded, better if he pouted all big and gruff.
So, if he regretted taking her, then all the better for her to ask for a favor, he owed her, owed her fucking big time.
He had such a walk on him, he moved like a cat—all sureness and no hurry. It stuttered air in her lungs, she moved across on the bucket seat, not to get a better look, no… placing her backpack on the floor under her feet, she stared at his strong gait, the way his hips seemed to move independently to his top half, poetry in sexy motion, he looked like a fighter striding through the battlefield.
He’d placed his hand on the base of her spine as he’d led her inside a few minutes earlier, assessed the place as men do, he probably clocked every man and woman in there before he deemed the place A-okay, then he stationed her at a table in the far corner before asking what she wanted to drink. Luxe was too stunned at the situating of herself to give it any thought, instead she’d mumbled for her usual lemon drop martini. Why hadn’t she ripped his head off for that? Acting like he needed to make sure was in a safe place first before getting their drinks? Anyone else would be walking around dickless now if they dared situate Luxe as if she was a damsel in distress.
Dios. He’d been cute.
That annoying bastardo.
Attraction to her captor. Fucking ridiculous. Who did that? Seriously. She was out of her mind.
Wearing dark jeans, she counted no less than four zips on his tree trunk thick legs, added with a few designer tears, her gaze streaked as he approached, down to the worn leather boots and back up to the thin leather jacket with more zips.
It was no designer stubble on his face either, but a perfectly groomed beard, he was a mountain man meets rugged GQ. With his wool hat and silver rings on each hand he was the quintessential too-handsome biker. He could be on every month of his own blue-collar calendar, it would sell out in minutes. Women masturbating over the pages all night long.
“How many pockets does one man need?” she asked when he was within hearing distance. His brow hiked. “What are you carrying that you need five billion zips?”
Lips quirked, he slid his massive bulk in, not opposite her as she assumed, but right up next to her, thighs touching. She instantly heated underneath her bra.
“You can open them to find out if you want to.”
Big flirt. She’d take a hard pass.
Picking up her drink she took a tentative sip. She felt every year of her twenty-seven under his watchful scrutiny, a smirk on his lips. That tingly feeling a woman gets when she was being really looked at by someone attractive.
Angling her body sideways, it placed her further into his space, close enough to count the number of hairs on his chin and see amusement light up the gray of his irises. He had seriously gorgeous eyes and long eyelashes. “So, kidnapper.”
“Grinder.”
“I know your road name. It’s ludicrous, by the way. Give me your wallet.”
His brow climbed up into his hat. “Stealing in plain sight now, dirty rotten thief?”
“Quit calling me that,” she scowled. “I’m quite clean and I’m not rotten.”
“Notice you didn’t deny the thief.”
“My spirit animal Gloria Gaynor said it; I am what I am. Wallet, kidnapper.”
“Grinder.”
They were going in circles.
She was close to rolling her eyes, this was a ridiculous conversation, why was she participating in it again? She never suffered fools easily or ever. Ah, yes, because she wanted something from this man.
All in good time.
She kept her eye on the door across the bar, if the mafia guy had caught sight of her inside their building he might have followed her, whatever her ruse of kissing Grinder. Five minutes, ten, she saw nothing, but kept a steady watch out, if she were to make a hasty exit she’d need to do it fast.
When Grinder didn’t make a move to hand over his wallet, she did indeed roll her dark eyes, she drank half of her lemon drop, the tartness suited her. “I promise not to steal from you tonight. There, is that better? Now hand it over, you can have it right back. What? Do you have nudie pictures in there of your woman?”
A twist of sudden jealousy, she schooled her face into not reacting. Did he have a woman? Would he kiss her as he did if he were in a relationship? Of course, he would, bikers and their like didn’t have qualms about fidelity. A hole was a hole, they’d stick it in and not care who was at home waiting for them. Dirty dogs.
“Tonight.” he laughed. “Nice adage, love.” Lifting his hip beneath the table, he reached into his back pocket, detached his wallet from the chain hanging around his jeans and handed it over. It was nothing fancy, the padded row of green notes didn’t interest her as she opened it, lifting her eyes she saw him watching her. She pulled out his driver's licence. “Nathan Frazier. Male, Thirty-four, six-two, gray eyes, two hundred forty pounds, Colorado.”
His real name on her tongue made something unexpected sink in her belly.
“Huh. A normal name for a criminal,” she handed over his wallet, he reattached it and sat back down, this time their thighs were crushed together, he didn’t give her room to breathe, let alone move. She gulped the rest of her drink and caught the eye of the
table waitress for another. “I expected Dr. Evil or Loki.”
“Loki does good things as well.” When he smirked she imagined women nearby had exploded ovaries.
Hers were feeling a little warm.
She wanted to punch him.
But she was trying to cut back on violent outbursts.
Chewing on her upper lip she accepted her fresh drink, and let him pay. He’d kidnapped her, he could pay for everything for the rest of ever.
She watched him take one measured sip of his beer. His throat moved in a sensual slide of reflexive muscle, surely meant to hypnotize the opposite sex, the corded sinew and veins, she was hypnotized and had to wrench her gaze from him.
In fact, she needed a moment to compose herself. “I need the bathroom,” without looking at him, she was out of the booth from the other side and clipping her boots on a path across the bar, only when she was standing in front of the wall mirror looking at her own reflection standing at the row of sinks did she let out a ragged exhale.
What was she even doing? Letting a man like him affect her.
Her chin dropped, women in the stalls behind her talking like they were in someone’s living room gossiping over café discussing one of their hook ups last night. Luxe felt sorry for the unlucky sonuvabitch the way they were annihilating his poor undersized dick.
While she was thinking about probably the biggest job of her criminal life so far, the one that could easily get her dead, forget prison, she wouldn’t get that far, she would seriously be dead, and the most important thing in these women’s conversation was the underwhelming orgasm she’d had. Showing the chasm Luxe felt between her and every other woman on the planet, she just didn’t think like they did. Orgasms were overrated if you asked her.
Rolling her eyes, sarcasm steeped in her thoughts, she gave her hands a quick wash, braced her churning insides to face the biker again.
Only her path back to their booth didn’t go as smoothly. Some vaca estúpida knocked into Luxe’s shoulder so hard she felt it long after the woman stepped back and glared and then had the audacity to blame Luxe for it. “Are you fucking blind? Look what you did!” bottle blonde hair and vivid pink lipstick with her pursed lips, glowered hatred, poking her finger right in Luxe’s face with her verbal attack.
Oh, Jesus. Don’t do it, Luxe. Remember your last court appearance?
Luxe looked the woman up and down in her too tight skirt, took a step forward in warning, the woman didn’t shut up. “Fucking bitch, didn’t you see me walking here? You owe me two drinks and my dress is ruined.”
“I owe you? I think you’ll find you walked into me because you were checking out that dick over there, and FYI, that dress was ruined before you put it on, should have left it on the closet floor, sweetheart. Now, do you want to get out of my way?”
Luxe knew it was coming the second the other woman opened her slimy glossed lips, something in how she screwed up her face and looked at Luxe like she was day old trash. Racists flew their flags proudly. “Fucking foreign whore!” Bitcherella slurred and though she outweighed Luxe, taller, too, it was Luxe who snapped. Her temper loose.
It was Luxe who grabbed the woman by the front of her skimpy dress and to throw her up against the booth behind her. “Do you want to repeat that again, you uneducated Barbie doll? I’m as American as you are, unfortunately.”
“Hey---look---” blondie panicked.
Air stuttered through her lungs and held there.
She had to tell her own fingers not to punch this ignorant bitch into next week.
It was only two months ago she’d been involved in a real bar scuffle, down on the floor, fists flying and everything, again it hadn’t been Luxe’s doing, but she would never back down from bullies or mouthy bitches thinking it was okay to say stupid crap to her.
Besides that, she did have a hair trigger temper, she was trying to work on it, was it her fault people tested her daily. Her fingers tightened, she got in the woman’s face, smelling the booze on her potent breath. “You walked into me, I had nothing to do with you dropping your fucking drinks, lady, so do yourself a favor and get the hell away from me before I send you home in the back of an ambulance.”
Dropping her hold, she stepped back.
She couldn’t afford more court mandatory anger management classes, those things were just a waste of time, having some moron tell her relaxation techniques, here was a clue, Bob, I know how to breathe, gracias.
She took another step away, the blonde woman visibly shaken. “Yeah, sorry, sorry, my mistake.”
“Yeah, it was. Think first before you bitch off to a total stranger.”
She caught glances from tables as she stormed back to her own, muttering to herself, now her mood was all messed up and she’d wanted to keep a level head to deal with Grinder.
The man in question was grinning like a moron.
“Holy shit. I’m a little turned on, can’t lie. I thought you were about to go WWE on that chick.”
“She made a mistake,” now she was rattled and she’d intended to swan back from the bathroom cool as a diva princess, dammit. “I set her straight.” Luxe took a long drink.
“Yeah, you did. Impressive. Not a fan of the females, Luxe?”
She scrunched up her nose. “Of idiots? No. I don’t have many women friends.” None, actually. “Mimi, probably, but she is my abuela, I don’t think that counts.”
“A friendly little thing like you with no girlfriends, I’m shocked…” she saw he was biting the inside of his cheek, the unmoored grin lit up his eyes and for a second she was taken aback by the feeling she had in her lower portion of her body.
Hot and sticky. Needy.
What had she said about orgasms being overrated?
“Oh, har har, fuck you. I have friends, but they’re men. I prefer their company, less bitchiness and backstabbing. I don’t have to worry if my mascara is being judged or they’re wondering if I’m wearing last season’s Valentino’s.”
“Nah, they’re just speculating how they can bang you.”
She scoffed in his handsome face. “Of course, you’d lower it to sex. Men and women can be friends.”
“I hate to tell you, but they can’t. I can guarantee every guy friend you have has wanted or wants to fuck you stupid. It’s just DNA.”
“That’s a load of bull crap”
“Trust me. It’s a guy thing. He might treat you like one of the boys, doesn’t mean that horny bastard hasn’t fucked you ten ways to Sunday in his mind or hopes you’ll give him the signal you want on his dick.”
“Sounds more like you talk from experience.”
Streams of women passed by their table, all of them eyeing Grinder up like a side of beef jerky. His eyes didn’t stray once from her face. She found it incredibly...intense. “You don’t have one female friend?”
“I didn’t say that, love.” Those lips smirked and rubbed one finger along the seam of the lower one. “I’m a guy, we think this shit. Just telling you how it is with your dick-buddies.”
She offered a token shrug. “Hmmm. Lucky, we are not friends then.” She didn’t find one of her friends/associates attracted enough to peel down their zippers, so they could think whatever they wanted.
This guy, however? Maybe he was right, because in the last ten minutes watching his mouth form words and stretch as he smiled easily she’d had not so friendly thoughts.
He’s not my friend. Didn’t count. And please stop drooling on the floor.
“I don’t wanna be your friend.” He said it was a growl in his throat, rearing her eyes up mostly from the shudder his growl caused in her chest.
If anyone had the right to be pissed off here it was her, had he forgotten the small matter of the duct tape and the forced entrapment? Luxe wouldn’t forget it for a very long time, she’d be scarred for life. Okay, she wouldn’t, she was over it already, but the point was made, he was in the wrong now and always would be.
Luxe’s eyebrows, perfect in their curvature,
she paid enough for them to be threaded, pointed down in what she’d been told was her vicious-fucking-scowl that made resting bitch face look like a happy day at the zoo petting baby koalas.
He didn’t flinch. Huh. Annoying.
Was she losing her super power?
Another drink soon disappeared, she ordered more and another while Grinder kept his first bottle half untouched. She hadn’t noticed how sexy his Adam’s apple worked when he swallowed. No, not at all.
She was half buzzed, relaxed like jello in her seat.
And when she got in any kind of relaxed state, with her defences down, she became an unrepentant tease.
Everyone had their party tricks.
Licking her lip, she gave an appreciative hum, her shoulders curling to the music pumping, it was like she could feel sex in her bones suddenly.
“You have amazing eyes. Sex eyes, I noticed that right away that first time you looked my way,” she leaned forward, gazing deep into gray sex, taking power from the way his irises blew up to two dark pools. “Did you know that? Nathan Frazier with the sex eyes.”
A surge of want fizzled between then. That same fizz she’d ignored back at her motel. Luxe always hated surprises, the biggest being when her mom dumped her on Mimi’s doorstep, from then she on she’d needed to be in control, having it taken from her for those two days with Grinder, though in zero danger, it had turned her inside out, she’d used the week she hadn’t seen him to find her footing again, to regain her composure and to acknowledge the attraction she’d felt a year ago was very much still present.
Her tipsy self was recklessly acting on it by staring at the giant package he had between his spread thighs. Holy fuck the man was built all over. Hard and just … there.
Another shuffle forward brought their legs touching again, she saw his nostrils flare and didn’t that just encourage her devilish teasing. She really needed to curb her urges because didn’t Mimi tell her they’d get her into trouble one of these days?
