Free Wanting It All: A Hellfire Riders MC Romance (The Motorcycle Clubs Book 3) by Kati Wilde

Not a bolt or a tool is out of place. The concrete pads practically gleam.
    “Are you the hard-ass in here,” I ask quietly, “or is someone else?”
    He grins. “I would be. But I don’t need to. Blowback gets on them if they leave shit lying around.”
    The Hellfire Riders’ vice president, Jack Hayden. I know him by sight, but I don’t think we’ve ever exchanged a single word. I’m not really sorry for that. Saxon looks big and mean; his veep is just big and scary, built like a tank and always wearing an expression that said he’d just as soon kill you as look at you. “Why is he called Blowback?”
    “Because he’s the hell that rains down on your head when you fuck up.”
    “Has he ever rained on your head?”
    He glances at me. “A few times. But that’s what veeps are for.”
    Uncle Thorne does the same for my dad. Never in front of the other club members, always in private—and my dad lets him because he trusts Thorne over any other living man. I suspect that Blowback is the man Saxon trusts.
    “He’s kind of terrifying,” I say as we enter the main building. “Is he really like a giant, gentle puppy on the inside?”
    Saxon’s deep laugh echoes through the big, open room. “Not even a bit.”
    That’s good to know. But I don’t reply, because curiosity has taken hold and I’m looking everywhere at once. The outside of the clubhouse tips toward the side of ugly, but they’ve got a nice setup inside. There’s a couple of seating areas with plush leather couches and big screen televisions. A galley-style kitchen with stainless steel counters and a well-stocked bar take up one wall. A pair of pool tables stand at the far end, and through an open partition is a weight room filled with equipment. Doors in the back wall probably lead to bunks or showers.
    There’s a pair of women sitting at one of the dining tables. A blonde and a redhead. I recognize their faces but don’t know their names. They both fall silent as we come in, their mouths rounded in surprise and their eyebrows raised high. Saxon doesn’t look that direction at all but I give them a little wave and smile. Even if I’m not around the clubhouse much, starting off wrong with the old ladies is a guaranteed way to make my life a living hell. It’s a relief when they grin and waggle their fingers at me in return.
    Everyone else seems to be gone. Probably outside crying over Lily’s bike or over at the Wolf Den drinking their Saturday night away. Saxon leads me to a staircase built against the south wall. The clubhouse is only a single level, but they’ve constructed a spacious open loft over the weight room. The Crib, I’m guessing—and probably off-limits to everyone but the club’s officers and the people they’ve explicitly invited up.
    In the corner of the Crib stands an office with walls and a door. There’s another beside it with a heavy lock. Maybe the treasurer’s office, or where the club’s weapons are stored.
    Instead of a desk, a conference table fills the corner office. Saxon leaves the door open and takes the chair at the head of the table. He doesn’t have to ask me even once before I’m straddling him. My mouth quickly finds his—and, God, his kiss unravels me so fast. But there’s already a little thing rearing its head. I don’t even want to bring it up. I need to, though.
    My breath is coming in sharp pants when I raise my head. “I don’t want it here.”
    He palms the back of my neck, guiding me down again until our lips are only a whisper apart. His voice is a low growl. “You don’t want what here?”
    “Sex. It’s not…private. Even if the door is closed.”
    His mouth claims mine, and I feel the possessive heat of his kiss down to my toes. A whimper escapes me, and I can’t stop myself from rocking against him. He’s thick and hard and in another minute I might not even care that the door is open.
    He groans and pulls back. Big hands slide down my spine before gripping my hips.