Home > Impulsively (Dante's Nine MC #3)

Impulsively (Dante's Nine MC #3)
Author: Colleen Masters

Prologue

Las Vegas, NV

Present Day

The air is thick with rough laughter, heavy smoke, and the kind of sizzling sexual tension that can only be found in a self-proclaimed den of sin. I’m immersed in this world of vice, pleasure, and lawless freedom. And I know I’m about to be dragged even deeper.

I can feel his intent gaze raking along my body as I throw back another shot of liquid courage. My eyes flick up, lock with his across the rowdy bar. The scene around us—brimming with drunken, raucous voices, muscular inked bodies, and scantly clad women—falls away. We may as well be the only two people in this bar. The only two people in the world.

“I’m going to get some air,” I shout above the blaring rock music, more for his sake than for the sake of my two companions.

“Air, huh?” grins the friend at my right, spotting my intense admirer watching from down the bar. “Is that what the kids are calling it these days?”

“Shut up,” I grin, letting my tiny denim skirt slip a little higher along my thighs. I can practically hear the roar of his desire as I hop down from my barstool. A tight black tank top perfectly showcases my God-given curves, and daring scarlet lipstick makes my blue eyes pop even more than usual. For the first time in my life, I feel sexy. Unstoppable.

And I all had to do was become someone else entirely.

“What are you waiting for?” my second girlfriend laughs, giving me a playful slap on the ass. “Go get him, tiger.”

The easy blush spreading across my porcelain skin is hidden in the dim light, but my trembling fingers give me away. Anticipation and nerves mix with the desire that already pulses thickly in my blood. It’s a potent cocktail, that’s for sure, but not nearly as intoxicating as those emerald green eyes tracking my every step.

With one last glance at him over my slender shoulder, I turn toward the back door of the clubhouse. Raking my fingers through my long red curls, I will my heart to quiet down. I’m sure the entire bar can hear its incessant pounding, even over the heavy bass thumping through our very bones. All around, the lithe shapes of writhing women are spot lit, surrounded by the grinning faces of their male admirers, cloaked in the shadows below.

This is the last place I ever expected to find myself—a palace of lust and fantasy deep in the Las Vegas hills. But then, I’m not here as myself, am I? The thought gives me courage, as it always does. This is just a dream, I tell myself. An illicit, booze-soaked, incredible dream...starring the sexiest man I’ve ever met.

I slip through the back door at last, out into the cooling darkness of the Nevada night. Drinking in huge lungfuls of fresh air, I press my back against the brick wall of the club. Any second now, he’ll join me here. And as soon as he does, I’ll be a goner. I know that I’m crossing all kinds of lines, daring to be with him. He’s the last person in the world I’m supposed to want...

But that only makes this whole thing sweeter.

“Smoke?” a rugged voice growls in the darkness.

I whip around to face him, taken off guard by his stealthy approach. The sudden flare of a lighter illuminates his chiseled features—the strong, scruffy jaw, the high cheekbones, the vibrant green eyes. All lit up above the full, firm lips that cradle his just-lit Marlboro. Jesus, I think longingly, to be that cigarette...

“I’ll take a drag of yours,” I manage to reply, my voice riding low and lusty in my chest.

A crooked grin spreads across his face as he walks slowly toward me. I’m pinned against the brick wall, paralyzed with aching want. He plants himself in front of me, running a hand through his dark, tumbling curls. Ink scrawls all across his cut chest, his thickly muscled arms. I want to memorize every line of his perfectly balanced body. A deep, pulsing need ripples through my core as he plants a hand above my shoulder, closing me in.

With those wicked green eyes fixed on my face, he plucks the cigarette from his perfect lips and places it between mine. I breathe in a fiery drag, unable to focus on anything but his body, mere inches from my own. The air between us crackles with electric tension. My rational mind screams at me to turn and run from this dangerous, powerful man, but my heart and body have other ideas.

I toss the smoldering smoke to the dusty ground, crushing it beneath the heel of my leather boot.

“I was hoping you were out here for more than a smoke break,” he growls, letting his strong, rough hands slide down my bare arms. His fingers leave a trail of goose bumps all along my pale skin.

“You know exactly what I’m out here for,” I breathe, reveling in the sensation of his expert touch.

“Sure,” he shrugs, resting those hands on my slender hips, “but I still want to hear you say it.”

I gasp as he tugs me forward, flush against his ripped body. I swallow a groan as I feel his swelling desire pressed against me, exactly where I want—no, need—to feel it. The urgency of my yearning skyrockets, knocking every lingering worry from my mind. All I can think of is how good his hands feel as they run all over my body. Now that I know what he can do to me, there’s no way I could keep from coming back for more. He’s far more addictive than his signature Marlboros, that’s for damn sure.

“Tell me that you want me,” he commands, his voice raspy and rich in my ear. The scruffy stubble along his jaw brushes against my smooth cheek, driving me mad. The smallest things about him turn me on. And that’s to say nothing of the big things.

“You know how much I do,” I breathe, circling my arms around his tapered waist.

“Come on,” he grins, taking my face in his hands, “it’s just three little words. And not even the ones people usually get worked up about.”

I laugh, resting my forehead against the smooth leather of his vest. He’s got a point. And if saying it out loud means I get to have him that much sooner, then...

“I want you,” I whisper, my eyes fixed firmly on the rocky ground beneath our feet.

“What’s that?” he asks, raising my chin. He won’t let me get off that easily. His intense gaze nearly renders me speechless all over again, but I screw up my courage and find my voice.

“I want you,” I say, my voice full and forceful, “Now.”

“That’s my girl,” he murmurs, lowering his lips to mine at last.

The taste of him—smoky, sweet, unmistakably male—satisfies and intensifies my craving at the same time. What’s a girl to do?

   
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