Devil’s Game (Reapers MC #3)(51)
Author: Joanna Wylde

HUNTER

I stared down at the phone, wondering if she’d do it. I’d promised myself I’d let her call first. Of course, I’d also promised myself I’d let her text first, and look at how long that’d lasted.

My phone rang.

Fuckin’ beautiful.

“Hunter?”

Her voice was soft and questioning, a whisper in the darkness. Holy shit, she sounded soft and pretty. Just texting with her was enough to get my dick up, but hearing her voice?

Made me so hard it hurt.

“Hey,” I said, falling back down on my bed. Outside my door I heard voices and the faint sound of music. Not too loud—the phone wouldn’t pick any of it up. Last thing I needed was her hearing whatever bullshit might be going on downstairs. “Call me Liam.”

“Hi, Liam,” she said. Damn. What was it about this girl?

“Fuck, Em. I missed talking to you. So you’re in bed?”

“Yeah,” she said, and I felt my balls tighten. I reached down and pushed on my denim-covered c**k with the heel of my hand, the pressure sweet and painful all at once. Those pictures of hers did me in every time, but they had nothin’ on her voice. Husky and sweet, just for me.

Jesus, I wanted to drive over there and just pound her ’til she screamed. No, scratch that. I wanted her here, with me. In my bed. Riding my cock. Shouldn’t be so goddamned complicated to make that happen. I’d given almost a decade of my life to the club. Never complained, never held back. I’d done terrible things for the Devil’s Jacks. I’d keep doing them, too.

All I wanted in return was one thing. One girl. Of course it had to be the girl who could start a f**king war with a phone call . . .

I still wouldn’t give her up.

“This is bullshit,” I muttered. “Let me see you tomorrow. I’ll pick you up, we’ll go for a ride. Hell, it can be like a date or something.”

She laughed.

“Do people still date?”

“Fuck if I know,” I admitted. “Not my thing.”

“So you’re a love-’em-and-leave-’em kind of guy?” she asked, her voice teasing.

“Yeah, but I leave my women happy,” I replied, rubbing my hand up and down my dick again. I imagined her lips wrapped around it and my hips arched a little. It took everything I had not to groan. Damn. I couldn’t think.

“I don’t know what to say to that,” she replied softly. “I don’t know, Liam. I want to . . . But is it a good idea?”

I gave a short laugh—she had no clue how bad an idea it was.

“No, probably not,” I said. “So why don’t you tell me what you’re wearing instead? No harm in that.”

I heard her breath catch. Would she answer?

“I’ve got a pink camisole, with pink and gray jammie shorts,” she said. “It feels weird talking about this. Should I have said I was wearing something sexy from Victoria’s Secret?”

“I can’t imagine anything sexier than what you just described,” I replied, and I meant every word. I’d jacked off to the pictures of her naked a hundred times—and yeah, I get how creepy that is, and no, I don’t give a shit—but hearing her talk about her little pink cami was f**kin’ hot. Em wasn’t some cover model or anything—nice curves without being super stacked. But those tits of hers were perfect for me in every way. Now I pictured them, spread out a little as she lay back in her bed, the ni**les making little peaks in the soft fabric of her top.

I wanted to suck them into my mouth and roll them around until she screamed. Maybe bite them when I finally came after f**king her tight cunt for an hour. I slid the zipper on my jeans down, letting my c**k pop out. Then I wrapped my hand around it.

“What are you wearing?”

“Jeans, an old T-shirt. Nothin’ special.”

“You look pretty special in jeans,” she whispered. Then she gave an awkward giggle. “That was so cheesy. I can’t believe I said that.”

“I’ll take it,” I replied, smiling.

“I’m just not real good at this. I mean, I know we’ve talked at night, but that was before . . . You know.”

She didn’t want to say it and I sure as shit didn’t need her remembering what I’d put her through.

“We’re not doing anything,” I said, slowly rubbing my c**k up and down. I squeezed it hard, watching as fluid beaded up on the tip. “This is just two friends talking, okay?”

“Okay,” she said. “But there’s something I need to know first.”

“Ask,” I told her, hoping to hell it was a question I could answer.

“Liam, do you have an old lady tucked away somewhere? I mean, I know I don’t have any right to ask, but . . .”

That caught me off guard. What the hell? This was what I got for giving her space, I realized. Was someone filling her head with shit?

“No. Fuck no—where’d that come from?”

“Well, you say you’re not into relationships, but a lot of guys say that when they want to get laid,” she replied, sounding nervous. “Then it turns out they’re already with someone, just looking for something extra on the side. For all I know you’re married with ten kids. You’ve already lied to me about other stuff, and I know some of the brothers keep more than one woman.”

I coughed.

“If I was married with ten kids, I wouldn’t be talking on the phone with you. I’d be shooting myself in the f**king head.”

She laughed.

“So the answer is no?”

“The answer is definitely no,” I said. “I’ve slept around—I’m not ashamed of that. And I lied to you for my club. But I don’t have to trick girls to get laid.”

“So no more surprises?” she asked.

“No, straight up,” I answered, hoping she’d believe me. My phone beeped—another call—but I ignored it.

“Where are we going with this?” she asked. “Has anything changed? Or should we just hang up and end it before things get worse?”

I considered carefully before I answered.

“I don’t know,” I replied, and for once it was the truth. “You want me to be honest, so I’ll be honest. I don’t know what’s between us because it’s not like we’ve had a chance to explore it. You’re different than any other woman I’ve been with. I actually like talking to you about shit that’s not sex, but I won’t pretend that f**king you isn’t what I think about the most. Just your voice makes my dick stand on end, so I’ll take whatever I can get. If that’s just a phone call, don’t spoil it for me yet, okay?”