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Bitter laughs low. “Thought so.”

I hate how smug he sounds.

I love how rough his hand feels.

He gives me one more before dragging his palm down between my thighs. My hips jerk when his fingers find me wet again.

“Jesus. You liked that.”

“Shut up.”

“You’re dripping on my hand, sunshine. Ain’t exactly a secret.”

I push my face into the blanket, and his laugh rumbles behind me.

Then he turns me back over.

I blink up at him. “What?”

“I want your face.”

That wipes every smart answer out of my head.

He shrugs out of his cut at last, and even half out of my mind with lust, I notice the care he takes with it. He doesn’t throw it on the floor or dump it on the bed. He hangs it over the chair, patches facing out, then kicks off his boots and jeans before coming back to me completely naked.

This is different.

No leather between us now. No patches. No club.

Just Bitter.

That scares me more.

He reaches into the nightstand.

“Protection.”

“Yes.”

The condom wrapper tears loudly in the room.

I watch him roll it down his cock, and there is no reason that should be as hot as it is.

It is.

He catches me staring. “Observation?”

“Educational.”

“Learn anything?”

“You’re still conceited.”

His hand slides between my thighs, and I gasp.

“Still want my cock?”

“Yes.”