A Note From The Author
Will Ernestine ever take Grinder back?
Will Creech ever find someone who can love him?
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About the Author
Cate C. Wells is the author of the Steel Bones Motorcycle Club series. She writes gritty, real, emotionally satisfying romance. She’s into messy love, flaws, long roads to redemption, grace, and happily ever after, in books and in life.
Along with stories, she’s collected a husband and three children along the way. She lives in Baltimore when she’s not exploring America with the family. #allfiftystates
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Sneak Peek
DIZZY: A STEEL BONES MOTORCYCLE CLUB PREQUEL
I wake up in the crack between the bed and the wall.
It’s not my bed.
And it’s not so much waking up as coming to.
My head is pounding, my mouth tastes like tire, and last night is a blank. But there is a bottle of SoCo on the floor.
I bend to get it, every muscle and joint protesting.
I’m too old for this shit.
I swirl the bottle. Sweet. There’s a quarter left. Hair of the dog has never done me wrong. I take a swig.
What fuckin’ day is it? It ain’t Friday. I get the boys on Friday. Goddamn, it’s bright in here. And there’s someone in the bathroom.
Did I get laid?
I got morning wood despite my condition. That don’t tell me shit. I always wake up hard.
My head pounds. I chug, trying to work up the energy to stand.
And then a pretty little thing, naked and wrapped in a towel, sashays into the room, stops dead in her tracks, and does a double take.
What’s that she’s holdin’? A box of condoms?
She smiles. It’s wonky, lop-sided and sweet as hell. My cock jerks, chafes against my jeans. Well, hallelujah. I got pants on.
“Hey, mister,” she purrs and winks. “I’ll show you my titties for that shirt.”
I ain’t wearin’ a shirt.
She nods at my hand. I’m holdin’ a flannel. Oh. There’s my shirt.
She raises an eyebrow. Big brown eyes full of mischief. Jet black hair drippin’ on the carpet. She ain’t got much meat on her. Firm little titties under that towel, though.
Fuck.
“How old are you, girl?”
“Twenty-one.”
“Bullshit.”
“Okay. Twenty.”
“Where’s your ID?”
“What? Are you the bouncer? Want to see my titties or not?”
I do. She’s the prettiest thing I seen in years. Her smile kind of quirks at the corners. Like the Joker, but not insane.
“Why do you want my shirt?”
“I’m into grunge. Why the fuck you care?”
“Watch your mouth.”
I don’t like this sweet girl talkin’ like she’s hard. She’s curlin’ her bare toes, squirming, goosebumps all up and down her arms. I set the bottle on the floor.
I never seen her around before. Could be a new sweetbutt. When I was with Sharon, I didn’t screw around, so it’s possible she’s been here a while. I’m more into bikes than chasing pussy, even now that Sharon’s moved on.
Shit. This girl might be with one of the younger brothers.
“You property?”
She shakes her head. “Are you?”
“Nope.” Not since the divorce. “Why you want my shirt?”
“I’m cold.” She bites her bottom lip, blinks at me from under thick black lashes, and my belly clenches. My cock wants out. In. Whatever it can get.
“It’s my favorite shirt.”
“I have amazing tits.”
I shrug a shoulder. Ain’t no arguing with that. “Okay.”
“No touching.”
“I’m familiar with the rules of the champagne room.” Steel Bones owns a club. The White Van. I do security there on occasion when they need a shift covered. So, yeah. I am the bouncer.
She narrows her eyes, shoots me a look. I keep real still. I’m totally invested in this now. My head don’t hurt anymore, and the fog’s clearing. I’m harder than I’ve been in a long time. I don’t know what I did to deserve this, but I ain’t ever looked a gift horse in the mouth.
“Okay.” She exhales, drops the box of condoms, and tugs the towel loose, letting it fall. She squeezes her eyes shut. Her nose wrinkles like a rabbit.
She’s gorgeous. Her titties are small, no bigger than those apples you buy in bulk. She’s got puffy nipples that peak like sugar cones. Perfect. I bet I could fit a whole one in my mouth.
She pops her eyes open. Her shoulders relax when she sees I’m still sitting on the bed.
“You’re gonna stay right there?”
“I’m gonna do whatever you want.”
She gets a little confidence, cocks a hip and rests a hand on her it. She’s slim, but her waist nips in, and she’s got that womanly figure.
“Like what you see?” she asks.
“Hell yes.”
There’s a bush between her thighs, as dark as the hair on her head, beaded with droplets from her shower. Haven’t seen that in a long time. Sharon and the dancers at the club keep it waxed. Reminds me of the chicks in the porno mags the old timers keep in a crate by the jukebox.
“So, what do you want me to do?” She tries a new pose, sticks her ass out.
My cock begs to be touched. What I’d give for her to come over here and go to her knees, suck me with that sassy mouth. But she’s skittish. I do not want to scare her off.
“Show me more, baby.”
Her forehead furrows. Her arms fall to her sides. She’s at a loss.
Yeah, she’s bold, but I don’t think she does this on the regular.
“Turn around.”
She raises an eyebrow. I raise one back. She stiffens her spine and turns.
She’s got a juicy, heart-shaped ass. My mouth waters. I want to take a bite. I have always been an ass man, and hers is exquisite. Enough heft so it’ll jiggle when you slap it, but firm. Taut. Perfect handfuls.
“Go to that bureau. Bend over it.” My breath’s coming quick. My forehead’s broken out in sweat.
“You got a jacket?” Her chin lifts.
“Yeah. Around here somewhere.” She wants a coat? I’ll buy her a coat. Fur. Leather. Whatever. I want to see that ass spread wide. Damn, it’s been so long since I wanted anything but a fuckin’ nap.