“Yes.” The word is barely loud enough for my own ears.

The pause that follows is filled with tension.

“Yes, I understand,” I say louder this time.

“Good.” He pushes my face to the side before dropping his hand. Then he backs up and sits on the edge of his desk. He crosses his arms and continues to glare down at me. Minutes pass and I sit there for what seems like hours under his intense scowl. Finally, he says, “Answer me this? What happens at the party when Edge wants his piece of you? You gonna freak out? Embarrass the club?”

I shake my head.

“Let me hear you say it.”

“No.”

“What about when you’re the fresh piece of meat everyone’s looking to get a taste of?” He points to the door. “Those bastards can’t wait to get you on your knees, Doll. What happens when one of my brothers wants to get a sample of the smart mouth of yours? You gonna run? Or flip the fuck out?”

“No.”

“I’m not Dozer. Don’t bullshit me.”

“I’m not!”

“That right?” He shakes his head. Looks down. “Then why don’t I believe you?”

A few seconds later, he lifts his face. His eyes lock with mine. The corner of his mouth twitches almost as if he’s restraining a smile.

“Prove it.”

I blink up at him. “What?”

He uncrosses his arms and grabs the edge of the desk. His large knuckles go bone white and every muscle strains against the cotton of his T-shirt as he leans forward.

“I said . . . prove it. I want to see you get those knees of yours dirty.”

“But I—but—”

“What? You don’t want to? There’s the fuckin’ door. Around here clubpieces”—he jabs his finger into my sternum—“that’s you, take orders from brothers”—he points at his own chest—“like me. You’re here for one thing and one thing only. Don’t ever forget that.”

“It’s not that. It’s just—”

“This is the deal, Doll. You don’t like it. LEAVE!”

I’m so sick of him cutting me off. “If you’d let me finish!” I snap. “I was only going to ask why the hell you want head from me. You obviously detest me. All you can see when you look at me is some other damn girl!”

His eyes blaze with emotion, but he quickly masks it.

“I don’t have to like a bitch to get off on her suckin’ my cock.”

Frustrated, I huff out a long breath and sweep my hair from my face. “And what’s this point you’re trying to prove?”

“That when things get real, you’re gonna freak the fuck out and run.” He hikes his thumb over his shoulder. “It’s what girls like you do. You can’t take it when life gets tough. And you’re not going to open your legs for a bunch of bikers after years of saving yourself for the right man.”

I look away and then down at my lap. He has no idea. It’s almost comical, in a crazy, depressing way. “I can handle anything you can dish out,” I say through clenched teeth without meeting his gaze. “You want me to prove it? Fine.” I will. This is nothing. NOTHING!

“That right? Then let’s break in those soft knees of yours, Doll. Show me you’re not a runner. That you can do more with that mouth of yours than piss me the hell off.” His smile’s a cold smile. It’s fake. Forced. His eyes molten. “I want you to suck my cock like you like it. Lick it like it’s a goddamn lollipop, and the best fuckin’ thing you ever tasted.”

I know what he’s doing. He doesn’t want me here. But he can’t make me leave because of Dozer. So he’s trying to get me to run. Leave on my own.

It’s going to take more than this to scare me off. Especially since I’m a lot more scared of what’s outside the clubhouse waiting for me than I am of the men inside it. Including Mav.

Fine. If this is what it takes to prove to him I’m not like his ex, that I’m not going to run when things get hard, then I’ll do it. I’ll give him the best damn blowjob he’s ever had. One he’s not going to forget. So good, all others will pale in comparison. Maybe that will shut him up.

He’s waiting for me to rush out of here. A smug expression inches over his face.

I decide to play with him a bit first.

Reaching into my pocket, I pull out my cherry ChapStick. The lid pops when I remove it. I take my time, slowly drawing it over my lips, rub them together, and pop them apart, before capping the ChapStick and putting it back in my pocket. Reaching back, I pull the elastic from my hair and shake out my braid. “So you can grip it better,” I tell him and I’ll be damned if that muscle in his jaw doesn’t start to tick.

I ever so slowly slip out of my chair to the floor between his legs.

He spreads them wider to give me room. I start by rubbing my hands up and down his thighs three times. His thigh muscles bulge under my hands. Strong and sturdy. My movements are unhurried, testing his patience as I slide my hands to his belt.

“Put your hands behind your back.”

I pause and blink up at him, as an alarm goes off in my head.

“Do it.”

Cautiously, I circle them behind my back and cross them.

With rapid movements, he unlatches his silver belt buckle. For a second, I recall all the things Warner could do with a belt. I cringe and fight to stay in the present.

What if he ties me up?

That thought sends an icy chill down my spine.

He flicks the top button on his jeans open. He fingers the zipper and draws it down.

I look up. “Mav?”

I’m surprised by what I see. His jaw is clenched. His eyes are tightly shut. Even when I say his name, he doesn’t look down at me. His entire body is rigid. And he might just break the desk with the death grip he’s got on it.

I don’t think he realizes I’m looking at him. That I can see how much he doesn’t want this. You’d think he’s waiting for a deadly blow, not a pleasurable one.

“I don’t have all fuckin’ day,” he rasps out. “Get the fuck on with it. Or get out.”

I lower my gaze to the opening in his jeans. He’s commando. His cock, at least from what I can see of it . . . is as beautiful as the man himself. The veiny ridge is in plain sight, but he’s still partially hidden behind his jeans. I don’t dare move my hands for fear he’ll tie me up if I do.

I lean forward though. My breath’s heavy as both passion and anxiety roll through me. I contemplate the best way to release him from his jeans.

Licking my lips, I can’t deny I’m a little curious to know what he tastes like.

A shudder rolls through his body as my nose grazes his skin.

I move forward and I’m about to lick up his length, when he growls and jumps off the desk, knocking me backward in the process. I fall into the chair behind me and crack my head on the corner of the arm. Fiery pain flares through my skull.

I cradle my head in my hand as I hear, “Fuuucck! Fuck! Fuck!”

He’s pacing, raking his hands back and forth over his head. Then down twice over his face. He groans.

In one smooth swipe, he sends everything on the top shelf of a waist-high bookcase crashing to the floor.

Holy shit.

My heart stops and stutters before it starts beating again. I’m holding my breath. I want nothing more than to disappear. I’m all too familiar with this kind of rage. In mere seconds, he’ll turn on me. And physical pain will follow.

His head snaps in my direction. His eyes are cold and deadly.

I draw back as tremors run down my body. I hate that his furious stare stirs more than fear inside me. How can I be turned on and terrified of him at the same time? This is so wrong.

He’s an enigma. The most beautiful man I’ve ever seen—and yet he’s the biggest, unapologetic asshole I’ve ever met.

Why should I feel anything but contempt for him?

After all, he’s a biker, a criminal, a drain on society. He hates me. I’m nothing and nobody to him. No, that’s not true. To him, I’m a dirty alley cat. Something to be used and thrown away. A snitch.

The ironic thing is, it’s in his hands which of those things I become.