Claimed by the Playboy MC President

Specific condition

Miles

When she shifted her weight against me, I thought she was finally caving.

But then her hand dropped low. Deliberately, boldly, the back of her knuckles brushed firmly against the heavy, aching bulge straining against the zipper of my jeans.

My brain completely short-circuited. A rough, guttural groan tore out of my throat before I could even try to swallow it down. The sheer, agonizing friction of her touch, even through the thick denim, sent a blinding spike of pure, unadulterated fire straight to my c**k.

All my restraint shattered. I couldn't resist her anymore.

My hands slid up her sides, my calloused fingers eagerly grazing the hot, exposed sliver of tan skin where her faded T-shirt had ridden up. She felt incredible beneath my touch.

My blood was roaring deafeningly in my ears. Driven by a blind, peaking desire, I let my hand trail higher, moving purposefully to cup the heavy, soft curve of her chest.

But before my palm even made contact, her hand snapped up like a viper.

Her fingers clamped around my wrist with a sudden, vicious force.

I winced as I actually felt the bones in my hand grind together, accompanied by a sickening, faint pop of my joints under her grip.

It hurt like a b***h.

But holy hell, it was exhilarating.

She wasn't just putting on a tough act; she possessed the raw, unforgiving, bone-crushing strength of someone who wrestled with steel and engine blocks all day.

The unexpected sting of physical pain only poured more gasoline onto the roaring fire between my legs. It was deeply, undeniably arousing.

I expected her to fight me. I didn't expect the ice that followed.

"Well, Miles..." She spat, her eyes utterly deadpan and devoid of the desire I had just felt rolling off her. With a brutal yank, she coldly pulled my hand away, breaking the suffocating tension in the room.

"Put a shirt on." She shoved the bunched-up flannel violently against my bare chest, turned on her heel, and walked out without a single backward glance.

The door clicked shut, leaving me alone in the suffocatingly small room.

I caught the blue plaid shirt with my right hand, instinctively flexing my bruised fingers.

A dull, throbbing ache radiated all the way down to my knuckles.

I looked down at the massive, tented state of my jeans, completely ignored and painfully hard.

For a second, I just stared at the closed door. Then, a low, breathy chuckle escaped my lips.

The chuckle quickly snowballed into a genuine, loud laugh of disbelief that echoed off the cramped metal walls.

No woman had ever treated me like that.

They usually tripped over themselves trying to get into my bed, desperate for a sliver of my attention.

But this girl? She had basically blue-balled me, nearly broken my wrist, and tossed me aside like yesterday's trash.

She is absolutely magnificent.

Still shaking my head with a wide smirk, I shoved my arms into the dry flannel. The shoulders were comically tight, straining against my back but it covered my chest.

I walked out of the hallway and back into the brightly lit garage.

Thea was nowhere to be seen, likely hiding out in the back bays.

Sam looked up from the sedan, wiping a smear of grease off his forehead. "Everything alright back there, son?" Sam asked, eyeing the tight flannel.

"Perfect..." I replied smoothly.

I reached into my back pocket and pulled out my silver money clip. I peeled off five crisp hundred-dollar bills and slapped them down onto the nearest metal workbench.

Sam's eyes widened slightly at the sight of the cash. "Now hold on, I haven't even written up a quote yet.”"

"That's for the deposit, and for the dry cleaning of my shirt." I interrupted, my tone leaving absolutely no room for argument.

I grabbed a greasy pen and a scrap of paper from the bench and quickly scrawled down my private cell number and the address of my penthouse on the north side of the city. I slid the paper across the metal table toward the older mechanic.

"Order whatever parts you need. Put the rest on my tab, I will cover it in full." I instructed. "But I have one specific condition for this job."

Sam picked up the paper, his brow furrowing as he read the upscale address. "What's the condition?"

I looked past him, my gaze lingering on the dark doorway where Thea had disappeared. The throbbing in my right hand pulsed in time with my heartbeat.

"When the bike is finished and running perfectly..." I said with a slow, predatory smile touching the corners of my mouth. "I want Thea to personally deliver it to this address."