Claimed by the Playboy MC President

Arousal

Thea

"Your name." The words brushed against the shell of my ear like a physical caress. “I want your name.”

My tongue felt like lead. The mechanic who could diagnose an engine by sound alone was gone, entirely vaporized by the suffocating heat rolling off the man caging me in.

I couldn’t answer him. If I opened my mouth, I was terrified a whimper would slip out instead of a word.

Panic clawed its way up my throat, battling against a dark wave of desire that I had no business feeling.

I needed to move. I needed to break this terrifying spell before I completely forgot who I was.

With shaking hands, I dropped the plaid flannel onto the edge of Sam's bed. I twisted out of his loose hold, spinning around to make a break for the open door.

“I… I need to get back to the garage.” choked out. I sounded breathless. Pathetic.

I didn't even make it a single step.

Before I could cross the threshold, thick arms banded securely around my waist.

With a gentle but entirely ruthless force, he pulled me backward.

My spine collided solidly with the wet, rock-hard wall of his chest.

A sharp, ragged gasp tore from my throat.

He clamped me against him, his forearms crossing tightly over my stomach, anchoring me to his heat.

The dampness of his jeans seeped through the thin, faded denim of my own. As he dragged me against his hips, the air in my lungs vanished.

There was no mistaking it. No polite, innocent way to brush it off.

Pressed right into the soft curve of my ass was his c**k.

Heavy. Thick. Rock-hard.

A fresh, blinding heat exploded across my skin, burning all the way up to the roots of my hair.

He was entirely turned on and the bastard wasn't even trying to hide it. He was letting me feel every inch of exactly how hard he was for me.

The ragged rise and fall of his chest against my back told me he was fighting the exact same dangerous friction I was.

“Running away?” He murmured.

I was paralyzed. If I breathed too deeply, if I shifted even a fraction of an inch, I would rub right against his d**k. And if I did that, I wasn't sure my knees would hold me up.

And just then, in the suffocating silence of that tiny room, the final piece of the puzzle slid into place.

It wasn't just the size. It was also his torso. It was the distinct, intoxicating scent of expensive cologne layered over sweat and dark musk. It was the raw, predatory confidence of a man who didn't ask for permission because he was so used to owning everything he touched.

The dark, red-lit office. The deafening bass vibrating through the floorboards. The breathless, desperate sounds of the blonde woman squirming on the leather sofa, her manicured hands gripping a man’s bare, sweat-slicked chest.

My eyes widened in the dark.

Him.

The moment the realization fully clicked into place, the blinding heat pooling in my stomach turned to absolute ice.

He was the guy from the club.

The exact same man I had watched getting his hands all over some half-naked blonde not even twenty-four hours ago. And here he was, cornering me in a back room, pressing his hard c**k against me as if yesterday's girl hadn't even existed.

Just like Felix.

A fresh wave of disgust crashed over me, washing away every ounce of the dangerous desire that just sparked.

He was just another dog thinking with his d**k, effortlessly jumping from one warm body to the next without a second thought.

I felt utterly disgusted with myself for even letting my breath hitch in the first place.

A sharp anger flared through my body.

You want a reaction? Fine.

Instead of freezing or trying to squirm away, I shifted my weight.

I stepped back just a fraction of an inch and deliberately, viciously, rolled my hips back, grinding my ass straight into the thick ridge of his erection.

He wasn't expecting it. A rough, strangled moan ripped from the back of his throat, his breath catching harshly against the shell of my ear.

Encouraged by the sudden friction, his grip on my waist shifted. His large, warm hand slid dangerously upward, his long fingers traveling past my ribs and moving purposefully to cup my heavy breasts.

Not a chance in hell.

Before his fingers could even graze the underside of my chest, my hand snapped up.

I clamped my fingers around his thick wrist, digging my nails in with all the raw, unyielding strength of a mechanic who wrenched rusted bolts for a living.

I stopped him dead in his tracks.

"What's your name?" I demanded.

My voice was stripped of the breathless, trembling panic from just a moment ago. It was cold.

I felt him pause, his erratic heartbeat thudding against my spine.

"Miles.” He rasped, his voice dark and thick with a lust I no longer cared about. "My name is Miles."

"Right."

I brutally yanked his hand away from my body and break his hold entirely.

I snatched the blue plaid flannel off the edge of Sam's bed and shoved it hard against his bare, sculpted chest.

"Well, Miles..” I said, my eyes entirely deadpan as I looked him up and down. "Put a shirt on."

I didn't wait to see the expression on his face. I didn't stick around to listen to his excuses or his smooth lines.

I just turned my back on him, walked straight out the door, and left him standing alone in the tiny room.