Page 9 of Claimed By Lock

"Colt showed up," I finally manage.

Maria's expression darkens. "That piece of shit. What'd he do?"

"Grabbed me. But someone intervened. A guy called Lock, from the Sons of Ruin."

Her eyes go wide. "Lock? Their Sergeant-at-Arms?"

"You know him?"

"I knowofhim. Big guy, doesn't talk much, looks like he could murder you six different ways." She shakes her head. "And he just... stepped in?"

"Stepped in. Made Colt back down. Made sure I was okay." I pause, my cheeks flushing. "We may have kissed."

Maria stares at me for a solid five seconds. Then she bursts out laughing.

"Oh honey. You're so fucked."

She's probably right.

Later, lying in bed, I stare at the ceiling and replay the whole night.

The confrontation with Colt. The stranger who stepped in. The kiss that short-circuited every logical thought I've ever had.

I should be worried. I should be reminding myself of all the reasons this is a terrible idea — the leather cut, the club life, the fact that I just escaped one biker and have no business getting tangled up with another.

Instead, I keep thinking about his hands. The rough calluses against my jaw. The way his fingers tightened in my hair. The way his palm spread across my lower back and pulled me against him like I weighed nothing.

I keep thinking about what those hands would feel like elsewhere.

Sliding under my shirt. Rough palms against bare skin. Those thick fingers hooking into the waistband of my jeans, tugging me closer, then lower?—

Jesus.

I press my thighs together, but it doesn't help. My whole body is wound tight, pulsing with a want I haven't felt in longer than I can remember. Maybe ever. Colt never made me feel like this — desperate and aching from a single kiss.

I think about Lock's mouth. The way he kissed me like he already knew exactly what I needed. I think about that mouth on my neck. My collarbone. Lower.

I think about his voice, low and rough:Tell me to walk away.

My hand slides down my stomach before I can stop myself. Under the waistband of my underwear. I'm already wet — embarrassingly so, just from thinking about him. My fingers find my clit and I gasp at how sensitive I am, how ready.

I don't tease myself. I circle tight and fast, chasing it, picturing his dark eyes watching me. Picturing him here, in my bed, those rough hands replacing mine. His weight pressing me into the mattress. His voice in my ear telling me to come for him.

It doesn't take long. The orgasm crashes through me, sharp and sudden, and I bite down on my lip to keep from crying out.

When I come down, I'm breathing hard, staring at the ceiling, my hand still between my thighs.

I just got myself off to a man I met three hours ago.

Shit.

CHAPTER 3

LOCK

Three days since the rally, and I still can't get her out of my head.

I'm at the clubhouse, nursing a beer at the bar while Diesel argues with a prospect about carburetors. Ghost is in the corner on his phone. Rogue's holding court at one of the tables, telling a story about a deal gone sideways in Flagstaff.