Page 16 of Ridin’ Dirty

As if he felt me peeking back at him from over my shoulder, he shifted his attention my direction. Our eyes locked and held on. Back at the diner, when Max told me she wanted to introduce us, my first glimpse into those dark green eyes sent a slight shiver down my spine—the intensity of his stare not intimidating but completely and utterly alluring.

His eyes read cocky but not annoying.

Mysterious but not evasive.

Dangerous but in the most titillating sort of way.

Now, there was an unmistakable spark of desire in his gaze that burned right through me, making my insides spasm.

We’d been yards away from each other all night, with not a word exchanged between us, yet somehow, my thong was soaked through.

Fuck, but I wanted him.

I ached for him in a way that only made sense on account of I hadn’t been laid in months, I was tipsy, and he was smoking hot. I squirmed in my seat, certain if he didn’t make his move soon, I would have to.

The alcohol running through me made it difficult to contain the whimper that wanted to slither up my throat as I squeezed my thighs together, reminding me of my swollen clit—but I managed. Barely.

Pulling my bottom lip between my teeth, I righted myself, shifting my attention down to my heels, needing a second to catch my breath.

Fuck, but this was fun.

This was living.

I was totally on edge and loving every bit of it.

“Lyla, come on!” giggled Max, thrusting a full shot glass at me. “You’re not nearly drunk enough.”

She wasn’t wrong, so I didn’t fight her as I grabbed the glass, clinked it against the rim of hers, then threw it back. The burn of the clear liquid as it raced down my throat felt good, and I laughed as she made a face and shook her head at the taste.

“Oh, my god, I love this song!” cried Natalie.

Like Brooklyn—who had successfully seduced Crow, both of whom disappeared thirty minutes earlier—Natalie was close in age with Max. Unlike Brooklyn and Maxine, Natalie resided at the clubhouse. I watched her as she stood and climbed onto the wooden coffee table and swore I saw a vision of my former self. We looked nothing alike. Her eyes brown to my blue. Her hair warm honey to my dark chocolate. Her pin-up body voluptuous to my thinner, more subtle curvature. But the spirit within her was familiar.

She was wild.

As she swayed her hips, wrapped in a pair of jeans so tight they could have been painted on, there was something entirely carefree that wafted from and swirled around her, giving new life to the song playing overhead. When Buff decided to join in on the fun, crowding her on the table, she leaned into him, pressing her back to his front as she reached behind her and draped her arms around his neck. He took this as an open invitation and brazenly slid his fingers underneath her crop top, liberally palming her breast with his huge hand.

The sight of him fondling her out in the open sent another spark of desire through me, and I found myself looking away in search of a pair of dark green eyes. But as I glanced over my shoulder to peek at the poker table, I found Pistol wasn’t there.

I sat up straighter, instantly and unabashedly on the hunt for the man I wanted.

I felt him a second before I gasped, startled to find him standing directly in front of me.

He paused a beat, long enough for his eyes to travel down the length of me and up again—a journey I felt as if he’d used his hands.

Shit, how I wanted those hands.

On me.

In me.

Everywhere.

His eyes found mine, and I swear he read my mind—his entire expression darkening enticingly before he held out his hand.

“Enough eye fuckin’. Let’s go.”

I didn’t even blink.