Wildfire (Men of Inked: Heatwave Book 3), Page 2

  “Ballsy,” a hot guy mutters as he reaches for something under the bar.

  I lift my drink, holding the flimsy straw between my fingers, gawking at the sexilicious dick-stick in front of me. “Truth is sometimes the best policy.”

  He leans forward, resting his elbow on the bar, holding a beer, and smirks. “And when isn’t the truth the best policy?”

  The dingy, low-hanging overhead lights let me get my first real look at the hottie.

  Holy mother of God.

  Hottie isn’t even the right word for his level of sexy. The light-gray eyes, the color of the sky just after a storm, study me.

  I do my best to pretend he’s just like the guy who slunk off the stool and that his level of hotness has no effect on me. “When you’re protecting yourself or someone else,” I reply, somehow keeping the lust out of my voice.

  “What’s your name, princess?” His smirk grows, exposing a dimple. Yep, a freaking dimple.

  God…I know we’ve had a shit relationship at times, but give a girl a break.

  “Tamara,” I breathe and instantly wrinkle my nose.

  Shit. I sounded like a whore moaning my own name. Why in the world does this guy get to be so hot? He makes Crow look average, and by no means would any woman turn him away.

  “Tamara,” he repeats in a deep, silky tone.

  I blink, feeling my cunt twitch. Behave. Jesus, it’s been so long since I’ve been touched by anyone, a single word sets my body on fire. I’m the lamest of the lame at this point.

  “I’m Mammoth.”

  I’m sure you are, I think to myself. Or at least, I think I do until he leans closer, bringing those stormy eyes level with mine. “You’re cute.”

  Oh shit.

  Way to go, me.

  I’ve never had a filter, and the small one I do have seems to be failing me a lot lately. My head and mouth are going to have a talk soon, and it’s not going to be pretty.

  I don’t lean back to avoid his penetrating gaze. Show no fear or, in my case, horniness. I can do this. I don’t have to throw myself across the bar and suck his face. I can hold a normal conversation with a hot guy without screwing his brains out, right?

  “You’re all right,” I mumble and don’t so much as blink through the lie.

  And by all right, of course, I mean off-the-charts hot. He’s the type of guy who would make you do a double take or a long, slow blink, thinking your brain’s playing tricks on you because there shouldn’t be a man this hot in the world. He’s tatted everywhere. Well, at least everywhere I can see that isn’t covered by the black T-shirt he’s wearing. His hair’s pulled back with just a few strands falling at the sides, begging for me to fix them, but I don’t.

  One of his eyebrows rises, and that sexy-as-fuck smirk doesn’t go away, taunting me. “Just all right?” he asks.

  “Yep,” I snap, driving that P home, as I look him right in the eyes.

  “Still fuckin’ cute,” he mutters again, lifting the bottle to his thick, full, and very kissable lips.

  “I am not cute,” I bite out.

  Bunnies are cute.

  Kittens are cute.

  Babies are cute.

  But I, Tamara Gallo, am not cute.

  I’m hot, and there’s a huge difference.

  “Y’are.”

  “Nope. Not cute,” I argue, but my body’s disagreeing, going all warm and squishy with his compliment.

  “Yep, so damn cute.” He chuckles, throwing me a wink.

  “What the fuck are you doing?” a familiar voice snarls behind me, killing all the sexy fun.

  “None of your business,” I reply, not turning to look at the asshole because I have the new hottie in front of me.

  Mammoth’s eyes flicker to Crow. “She yours?” he asks him and not me, like I don’t even matter—or at least, my opinion doesn’t.

  “Yes,” Crow growls.

  That lie has me spinning around on my stool so fast, the liquid flies right out of my glass, splashing over my hand. “Does lying come naturally to you?” I glare at the bullshitter.

  “Whose name did you use to get your luscious ass on that stool?” Crow taunts with a smile hanging on his lips.

  I narrow my eyes, wanting nothing more than to wipe the happiness right off his face. “Some asshole I thought I knew.”

  Mammoth’s laughter is low but there.

  “The fuck you laughin’ about?” Crow questions him, eyes squinted and dark as he takes a step forward, gaze locked on Mammoth.

  “You’re such a tool, man. This fine piece of ass shows up looking for you, and what do you do? Fuck it up. What a shock. Once a fuckup, always a fuckup.”

  The compliment coming from Mammoth’s lips washes over me, turning the tense situation even hotter.

  Here I am, sandwiched between these two hot bikers, both men I’d fuck in a heartbeat, and they’re arguing over me.

  God, maybe I am a little slutty.

  My sexuality isn’t something I’ll ever apologize for.

  Men never do.

  They get a slap on the back and an “attaboy” from their buddies for their sexual prowess.

  As women, we’re judged—even by our friends—for sleeping around. The conquests aren’t notches on a bedpost, but slashes in our Scarlet Letter cardigans.

  But not me. I’d never hang my head in shame, and it doesn’t hurt that I’ve never given a fuck what anyone else has thought about me.

  Crow growls, inching forward, shoulders bunched up near his head. He’s pissed by the shit Mammoth said, and I’d be lying if I didn’t admit, at least to myself, his anger makes me so damn happy.

  “Fuck you, man,” Crow thunders, earning him my free hand slamming into the middle of his chest before he comes any closer.

  “Stop it, Crow.” I hop off the stool so we’re almost eye-to-eye. He’s a good six inches taller than me, but my killer heels make us equals. “You pretended like you didn’t know me. Like you didn’t want me here. So now, I’m minding my own business, having a talk with this guy—” I pitch my thumb over my shoulder at the big guy, holding Crow’s steely glare “—and leaving you the fuck alone. That doesn’t mean you get to be an asshole and insert yourself where you’re not wanted!” I holler, getting the attention of more than one biker, including Morris and Tiny.

  “Incoming!” someone shouts as the two men stalk across the room, heading toward us like they’re ready to throw down.

  Oh my God. Oh my God.

  I stepped over the line.

  Yelling at a brother and being a woman do not mix.

  I knew that.

  I don’t have a ton of experience around motorcycle clubs, but I know enough, or have seen enough television, to know I’m supposed to be seen and not heard.

  “I’m so, so, so, so sorry,” I plead, stepping back with my hands in front of me until my ass hits the bar. “I didn’t mean…”

  “What the fuck, man?” Morris barks, crossing his arms over his wide chest, looking scary as all get-out.

  “I-I…” I stutter, wincing and waiting for…I don’t know, but I figure it isn’t going to be pretty.

  Tiny’s eyes flicker to me, and he shakes his head before they snap back to Crow, going icy freaking cold. “Crow, in Church now.”

  “This is bullshit,” Crow hisses, glaring at me like he wishes I’d burst into flames and cease to exist. “This bitch comes in here, talking trash, and I’m getting hauled into Church. She should be tossed out on her ass for…”

  “Stop right there!” Morris roars, moving toward Crow’s back, placing his giant palm on the asshole’s shoulder. “Don’t say another word unless you want to be sipping your beer through a straw tomorrow.”

  Crow snarls, looking like he wants to bite my throat open, watch every drop drain from my body before he can bathe in my blood.

  I widen my eyes as I practically hyperventilate, never more scared in my entire life. When Crow turns his back to me, I finally let my body go slack, gripping the bar to k
eep myself upright. “Fuck,” I whisper as softly as possible, not looking for any more attention than I’m already getting.

  Morris studies me for a moment, lips twitching, before he finally unfolds those thigh-sized arms from across his freakishly massive chest. “Mammoth, you busy tonight?”

  “No, brother. Just enjoying a beer and talkin’ to this sweet thing.”

  “‘Sweet’?” Morris barks out a bitter laugh, making me smile even though I’m still scared shitless. “There’s nothing sweet about this one.”

  “I was talking more about her ass than anything coming out of her mouth,” Mammoth replies.

  I glare over my shoulder at the hottie, putting on a show, when in reality, my stomach flips like there’s an acrobatic performance going on inside my body. He thinks my ass is hot. It freaking better be with the number of squats I do in a day to keep the bitch firm and tight.

  “Finish your beer,” Morris orders him, throwing his large index finger toward me, “and take her sweet ass back to her family.”

  “It’s a three-hour ride,” I croak, biting down on my lip as soon as Morris’s eyes snap to mine.

  Morris scrubs his hand down his face, muttering a very creative string of curse words behind his palm. “Get Pike’s room made up and keep an eye on her. Tomorrow, you can give her a ride home.”

  “I’m housekeeping now? Do I get one of those fancy uniforms too?” Mammoth teases.

  Morris sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose and closing his eyes for a second. “Don’t be a dick. Ask one of the women to make the bed for her, and make sure she gets there unharmed and without stirring up any more shit tonight.”

  “Got it,” Mammoth replies. “I’ll make sure she gets where she’s meant to be.”

  “Don’t screw her,” Morris warns, killing any hopes of a fun, playful evening.

  “Great,” I mutter, but I squeak as soon as Morris swings his eyes back my way. “You’re the best, big guy.” I smile, trying to stay on his good side…if he has one.

  “Fuckin’ Gallo chicks. Total pains in the asses, full of trouble, and crazy, stupid beautiful. Deadly combo,” Morris mumbles before stalking away, heading toward the room Crow and Tiny disappeared into.

  I slide back onto the stool, grabbing a napkin from the bar to wipe the soda I’d spilled on my hands, but I don’t dare look at Mammoth.

  I can’t.

  Not after all that just went down.

  “I’ll just crash on the couch,” I tell him, not wanting to saddle him with my problems. “I don’t want to be a burden.”

  Mammoth’s hand lands on mine, stopping my movements. “A cute chick is never a burden,” he says with a slight squeeze of his fingers.

  I peer upward, almost melting into a puddle when that freaking dimple makes an appearance, and so does that goddamn smirk too. “I’m pretty sure a cute chick you can’t screw is, in fact, a big-ass burden.”

  One side of his mouth moves higher, deepening the dimple. “He never said we couldn’t fool around in that bed after I put you in it,” he murmurs.

  I dip my eyes to his luscious lips, thinking about kissing him. I squeeze my legs together, trying to quench the ache, but I find it impossible. “What makes you think I want to kiss you?” I rasp, my gaze still locked on his mouth, betraying me.

  He drags his tongue across his bottom lip as he leans closer, swiping his thumb across the top of my hand, and sending goose bumps up my arm. “Tell me what you want, princess, and I’ll make it happen.”

  “I…uh…” I stammer as my head swims with all types of dirty ideas. I’m not only thinking about making out, but sex and the filthiest kind. The type that stays with someone for a lifetime, burned into your brain as well as on the skin.

  “Still cute,” he teases, instantly snapping me out of my pornographic fantasies.

  I flick my gaze upward, scrunching my nose. “You’re killin’ your chances.” I push my mostly empty glass toward him with my free hand. “I need something stiff.”

  His eyebrows shoot up, and that freaking panty-melting smirk slides back. “I like a chick who knows what she wants.”

  I cough as soon as I process what my dumb-ass mouth just vomited. “To drink,” I insist, trying my best to recover from my slip of the tongue, “I meant something stiffer to drink.”

  “Uh-huh.” He laughs, lifting his hand away from mine to grab my glass. “What do you want?”

  You.

  “Tequila,” I blurt out, needing the strongest shit I can handle. If my mouth isn’t going to fall in line, I might as well do everything I can to make this evening impossible to remember.

  He lifts the bottle, twisting off the top slowly. “One finger or two?”

  I blink, suddenly breathless and forgetting for a second he’s talking about tequila. My eyes dip to his hands and the ink covering the backs and down his slender fingers almost to his nails.

  “Princess,” he murmurs when my mouth opens and closes like the words are stuck in my throat.

  I swallow hard, never having felt thirstier than I do now. “Two fingers,” I whisper before I can ask for a Mammoth-dick-width amount, just to see what he’d give me.

  He looks down as he pours the tequila, giving me a break from those sexy gray eyes, but he’s still smiling.

  I stare at him, soaking in every inch. From his dark brown hair, his chiseled jaw, right down to the veins popping up from his inked forearms.

  This isn’t how I thought this night would go, but hell, maybe it’s not a complete waste after all.

  3

  Mammoth

  “You’re really pretty, big man.” Tamara almost purrs the last word, standing so close, I can feel her body heat on my back.

  I fluff her pillow, finishing making her bed myself because all the women in the compound were busy. “You’re cute as fuck, princess.” I laugh softly, trying to remind my dick she’s off-limits, but wanting nothing more than to bury myself inside her.

  “I don’t want to be cute as fuck,” she whines as I turn around to face her, “I want to be hot as fuck.” She gives me a lopsided frown with glassy, tequila eyes.

  I reach out, placing my hand on her cheek, slowly sliding my thumb across her jaw. “You are hot.” I stare at the lips I’ve been fantasizing about for the last hour, knowing I’m crossing so many lines.

  Her mouth curves as she blinks those hazel eyes, each one closing out of sync with the other. She’s definitely shitfaced and somehow cuter than she was when she was being mouthy as hell at the bar. “Thank you.” She leans toward me and brings her plump, pink lips closer, tempting me.

  I can’t take my eyes off her beautiful mouth, especially the high arches and deep V in the middle. “But still fuckin’ cute too,” I add, knowing she’s going to get pissed again.

  I’ve never cared for chicks with tempers, but there’s something about this one’s ability to fly off the handle that makes me want to aggravate her over and over again.

  “Mammoth,” she warns, swaying as I hold her cheek in my palm.

  “Tamara,” I tease, unable to keep the amused smile off my face.

  “You’re a jerk.”

  “But you want me.”

  “Yeah,” she replies before her tongue pokes out, sweeping across those lips I’ve done nothing but think about being wrapped around my cock since the moment she opened them. “So, you going to kiss me or what?”

  “You fucked Crow?” I ask, needing answers. The last thing I want is a chick who’s had every dick in the compound inside her. I’m not into club whores or messing with anyone else’s woman.

  “Nope.” She beams.

  “You make out with him?”

  She shakes her head.

  “You kiss him?”

  She pauses, staring at me for a second before she shakes her head again.

  I sweep the pad of my thumb across the bottom of her lip, studying her beautiful face and soaking in her hazel, gold-flecked orbs. “Why’d you come here for him, then?”

&
nbsp; Her chest heaves as her gaze sweeps across my face. “I thought we were friends.” She shrugs, looking so adorable and lost. “But again, I was wrong.”

  “Men and women can rarely be friends, princess. Especially when the woman is as hot as you are,” I admit, knowing this from personal experience.

  “I’m hot,” she repeats my words as pink fills her cheeks. “You asking about Crow because you want him for yourself?”

  I bow my head, pulling her against me, bringing my mouth closer to hers. “Does that feel like I want Crow?” My cock presses into her, twitching at the warmth of her belly.

  She draws in a long, shaky breath as her eyes blaze with nothing but need. “No, but your dick isn’t screaming cute right now either,” she teases, sliding her arms around my body, groping my ass. “You gonna keep playing twenty questions, or kiss me already? You’re killing me, smalls.” She plasters her tits against me, smiling up at me like she’s the dirtiest fucking angel I’ve ever seen.

  “You’re trouble, princess,” I rasp, wanting to rip off her clothes, showing her just how much I want her.

  But I can’t.

  Morris cockblocked me for the first time ever.

  He said don’t screw her, but he never said I couldn’t have a little fun.

  “But the best kind.” She smiles, batting her eyelashes like she’s innocent.

  I tighten my fingers around the back of her neck, pulling her face closer as my eyes search hers, needing the affirmation she isn’t just all talk and tequila. “You want me, Tamara?” I ask, never wanting to take advantage of any woman when she’s drunk.

  Her fingers dig into my ass as she grinds against me, making it clear she wants more than a kiss. “Yes,” she moans before licking those pretty lips. “But do you want me?” She raises an eyebrow.

  I crush my lips down on hers, done with the games, wound so tight I could probably come in my pants if she’d grind against me a little longer. The girl is that freaking hot. Not only is she beautiful, but the attitude on her could bring any man to his knees, begging for a taste of her sweet pussy or to be put out of his misery.