Fire & Dark (The Night Horde SoCal Book 3) Read Online Free Page B

“What is?”
     
    “Fight me.” She shoved at his chest again.
     
    It was a risk, but it didn’t feel like one. Though she didn’t know him, she felt sure that he wouldn’t hurt her. He just gave off that vibe. There was a protector thing about this guy, outlaw biker or not. And yeah, she knew he was an outlaw. He was Night Horde. She’d been on a couple of calls at the Horde’s compound. Somebody had thrown a barrel full of burning horse through their window. And a few months after that, somebody had shot their clubhouse up. Those weren’t the kinds of things that happened to law-abiding citizens, generally speaking.
     
    He took a step backward. “What? No. I’m a lot bigger than you are.”
     
    Indeed he was. “I’m not asking you to hurt me.” Though she wouldn’t mind it much if there was a little bit of hurt. She pulled her t-shirt over her head. Under it was a sport bra—there was no point wearing silky or lacy anything at the barn; the guys would just make a meal out of it—but it was a nice one, turquoise, with thinner straps that crossed on her back. “I’m asking you to fight me. Let’s get sweaty.”
     
    He was staring at the midriff she’d just bared. So she flexed those muscles.
     
    “Jesus fucking Christ,” he muttered. “Look at you.”

CHAPTER THREE
     
     
    Pilar was standing in front of him with her t-shirt wadded in her hand, wearing a little blue sport bra that wasn’t much in the sexy lingerie department but was stellar in the tiny shirt department. But that hardly mattered, because Connor’s entire attention was locked on her belly. Jesus fucking Christ. She had as much definition as he did.
     
    No—she had more. He had bulk and breadth, but she was lean, and every fucking muscle in her body looked like it had been etched into her bronze skin with a laser. He’d never seen anything like it, not in person where he could touch.
     
    Which he did now, laying his hand over the sharp planes of her belly. “Do you compete?”
     
    Her abs flexed when she chuckled. “No. But I work out.”
     
    “Fuck yeah, you do.” He smoothed his thumb over one of the cans of her six pack. Damn.
     
    But she surprised him, knocking his hand away and then hitting him in the chest again. “You don’t need to do your seduction act on me. I’m just looking for a good, sweaty fuck.”
     
    The hitting him thing was getting old fast. Connor was hot as hell for this chick, no mistake. But wild, rough ruts weren’t his thing, not with chicks he didn’t know. The downside was way too fucking steep. When he wanted or needed to be rough, he went for club pussy. They’d been around, they knew the score, and they wouldn’t scream assault if they came up with a bruise or a bite mark.
     
    What she’d called his ‘seduction act’—that was his thing for a random hookup. It was why he liked young girls. He liked to do a little sweet talk, get a chick all dewy-eyed, offer her a ride on his Night Train, then take her back to the clubhouse and broaden her horizons a little. He also knew which girls were prime to be swept off their feet for a night but not want more than that one night. The princesses looking for a walk on the wild side—or what they thought of as the wild side—and then wanted to get back to the car their daddy had bought them and drive home to their safe little suburban life.
     
    Every now and then, one would simper a little, making noise like she wasn’t done with him. But he hadn’t met a pretty young thing yet who still wanted to see more of him after he’d walked her through the clubhouse on a weekend morning, with its inevitable array of passed-out, naked bodies. Not to mention the stench.
     
    This girl, though, this woman, wasn’t remotely like his usual game. She was coming at him hard, and all Connor’s warning bells were going of like the fucking apocalypse had arrived. It was one thing to go for a quick rut against the wall back here. But she was asking him