Imperfectly (Dante’s Nine MC #2)(24)
Author: Colleen Masters

“You won’t look elsewhere,” he says, full of confidence. “You know that I’m unlike anyone you’ve ever had before. You know that I could make you come harder and faster than any man you’ve met. And until you’ve had me, no one else will do. Don’t worry, babe. It’s gonna happen. And you’re going to fucking love it.”

“Damn you, Leo,” I mutter. He’s absolutely right, of course, but that only makes me madder. I can’t get out ahead of this guy, no matter how hard I try.

“That’s right, let all that anger boil up in there,” he says, yanking open the door, “Angry sex is my favorite. Now come on, I wanna show you the rest of the compound. Or you need a moment? Lookin’ a little flushed over there.”

“I’m fine, asshole,” I say, marching past him out of the room, “Don’t be worrying about me. You’re the one who’s still rocking quite the rise in your Levi’s.”

And just like that, we carry on like nothing’s happened. Or at least, Leo does. For my own part, I’m totally tweaking out.

What the hell just happened in there? I’ve never been shy about getting it on in unconventional places, myself. But never have I been so swept away with someone that I would jump up on a desk and screw him fifteen minutes after we’d officially met. I’ve never even done anything like that drunk, let alone stone sober. And that’s to say nothing of the fact that this guy aided in my best friend’s abduction within the last 72 hours. I’m here to spy on him and his club, to covertly patch up the bond between the Wraiths and the Nine. My job is to make things right and high tail it back to my normal life before anyone gets hurt. Can’t very well do that with my knees spread, can I?

And yet, that’s exactly what the Nine’s original plan was. I was supposed to show up here and bang as many guys as I needed to until I got some answers. If it had been left up to them, I would have showed up here as any old mama. I would have been fair game for anyone who wanted me. They wouldn’t have cared a bit. But because of Matthew’s intervention, Leo got first dibs. And now, I’m all his. It’s because of him that I didn’t get thrown to the wolves. I know this. He knows this. The only question that I have now is which club actually has taken my best interests to heart?

To heart. Yeah, right. I can’t forget that these are not men operating from a sense of love and romance. Chivalry and manners have no place in outlaw bars and brothels. To these guys of the Nine and the Wraiths, I’m just another gash. Another potential conquest. One more notch in the bedpost. The Nine only care about me because I might help get Dec’s old lady back. And the Wraiths can’t touch me, now that Leo’s decided he wants to keep me. And what about Leo? Is he really heartless, too, or could he grow to care about me? Could a man like him ever fall in love, the way I’ve always known love to be? Declan ended up being kind of sensitive and lovey-dovey, despite Kassie’s early misgivings.

“Hurry up,” Leo calls over his shoulder, marching across the strip club, “Christ, we’re not taking the scenic route, here.”

So much for sensitive. But I could have guessed as much. And to be perfectly honest, I don’t really want a man with a soft, gooey center, no matter how hard the shell. I’m sick and tired of men who need to be coddled, whose deep emotional scars are still raw. I don’t want to hold some guy’s hand while he tells me all about his insecurities and trust issues. I don’t have time for that kind of shit. Not anymore. I’ve never allowed myself to wallow in that kind of stuff, so why would I seek out someone to wallow with? No thanks.

What I want, in the end, is exactly what’s in front of me. A ruthless bad boy who will call me out on my shit, screw me senseless, and not bring messy emotions into the mix. Leo is right. I’ve never had a guy like him, and I don’t want to waste my time with anyone else. He’s arrogant, and harsh, and totally aware of how sexy he is. He knows exactly who he is and what he wants; and I like him all the more for that. He’s the one I want. And I’m a lady who gets what she wants.

Chapter Nine

Leo gives me a grand tour of compound. I learn, first off, that this place is called the Wraith’s Nest. The Devil’s Playpen stands at the center of the sprawl, and serves as the club’s primary source of income. Members spend a good deal of time at the bar inside, but their place of real congregation is a squat, impenetrable-looking building behind the strip club. With its tiny windows and brick walls, it looks like it was built to withstand a volley of machine gun fire. And probably, come to think of it, it was.

The building packed with bedrooms is actually called “the barracks” around here. Eight small apartments are squeezed into the low building, available for members or choice clientele of the Playpen. Walking by, I hear at least one woman doing her best porn star impression. Leo laughs at me when I make an embarrassed face at the sound.

“A blusher?” he observes.

“Shut up,” I mutter.

“You don’t seem the type to be ashamed of a casual fuck,” he goes on, leading me across the Wraith’s Nest, “Especially what I saw back in the office.”

“It’s not casual sex that bothers me,” I tell him, “Its women feeling like they have to act like porn goddesses every time they screw. Sounds like she’s reading off a script in there.”

“Baby, she’s a hooker,” he spells it out, “That’s kind of her whole thing.”

“Still, it’s a shame,” I say, “And, for the record, I’m not your baby.”

“Alright, sweet butt,” he laughs.

“My name will do just fine, thanks,” I say.

“Kelly: the biggest sexual hypocrite the world’s ever seen,” he says grandly, genuflecting in my direction.

“You really get a kick out of yourself, don’t you?” I ask. I have to admit, though, I’m totally charmed by his sense of humor—even if I am the butt of the joke. But there’s no reason he needs to know that.

“I do okay,” he says, “But come on. You can’t come down too hard on our girls here. You’ve faked an orgasm or two in your life. Moaned a little louder than you had to, trying to make some poor fucker feel better about his tiny dick.”

“Sure, when I was seventeen and had no sense of myself,” I tell him.

“Well, your days of faking are over,” he says, placing his hand on the small of my back.