Imperfectly:A Dante's Nine MC Novel

By: Colleen Masters

Prologue





The Forty-Five Club, Las Vegas NV, One year ago...




I can still hear the boisterous clamor of raised voices and hard rock as Sam pushes me up against the wooden door. We may be tucked away in this secluded bedroom, but the noise of the bar still pulses heavily in the air. Running my hands over Sam’s chest, I can feel hard muscles through the thick black leather of his Dante’s Nine cut. Every day since we first gave into our lust for each other, I’ve gotten to memorize a few more inches of Sam’s tall, cut figure. Some days, I even score a few sessions of...memorization. Looks like today is going to be one of those lucky days here in Las Vegas.

My bearded, burly lover pins me against the door with his strong, tapered hips. I can feel him hard and ready as we grind against each other, pressed together just the way we like. I raise my lips eagerly to his, my nerves thrilling with delight as his scruffy beard brushes against my skin. He catches my lips in his, kissing me hard and fast. For all the men I’ve been with, I’ve never encountered a mountain man beard like Sam’s. I was afraid it might tickle or scratch, but I can’t get over how much I love the feel of his mouth against mine.

Our tongues glance against each other as I wrap my lean arms around Sam’s bulky shoulders. I wrap my legs around his waist, my denim skirt bunching around my hips. That spot between my legs pulses with desire as I press against the telltale bulge in his jeans. He holds me with no effort whatsoever, exploring my body with his rough, strong hands. I’m a rather petite lady—5’ 3” and 105 pounds dripping wet—but I bet that Sam would be just as capable of hoisting a buxomer woman into his arms. In fact, I know that he is.

“You’re going to make Wendy awfully jealous, bringing me back here,” I grin, running my hands through his dark hair. “You know she wants you all to herself.”

There are a few hang-arounds here at the Forty-Five Club, mamas looking to latch onto club members of their own. The men of the Dante’s Nine MC are pretty picky about which women they keep around for good, but none too shy about having a good time with a sexy sweet butt. Or two. Wendy’s one of those girls around here, a club groupie with a thing for Sam. Her plump curves and long blonde hair have enticed Sam before, I know. But maybe my jet black curls and pixie-like figure are more up his alley? That certainly seems to be the case.

“Sounds like you’re the one who’s jealous, Kelly,” Sam grins. “But it’s you I want all to myself. I’ll show you.”

In one swift motion, he swings my tiny frame around and drapes me over his shoulder. I laugh wildly, pounding against his back with my fists. The Dante’s Nine logo is emblazoned there between his shoulder blades—a pair of dice rolling a four and a five. I’ve only just been introduced to this particular MC. My best friend Kassie has been here in Vegas all summer “interning” with the club’s treasurer, Declan Tiberi. But by interning, I mostly mean falling madly in love with and fucking like a damned bunny. Oh, and getting mixed up in some crazy dangerous club drama along the way.

I first came to visit a couple of weeks ago, only to find myself smack in the middle of deep shit that was going down between Declan and some gangster named Lorenzo. On my very first night in Vegas, Kassie and I were attacked out on the town. Some of Lorenzo’s thugs pulled guns on us at the club, and we barely got away when they opened fire. I was placed in Sam’s care until the whole thing blew over. Let’s just say it was a bonding experience for us.

My breath catches in my throat as Sam lays me out across the well-worn bed that stands in the corner of this little room. The Forty-Five club boasts a few bedrooms within its walls, perfect for the club members’ needs. These men can’t possibly be expected to wait until they arrive home to bed their conquests for the night, can they? I have to admit, I love the grittiness of this place. I love how free it makes me feel, being here. Doing whatever the hell I like.

A look of vibrant intensity comes over Sam’s face as he kneels over me. That staggering body of his strains with wanting me. I love driving big, bad men out of their minds. And this man is no exception. I arch my back, drawing my thin white halter top up over my head. Sam’s hands run down my bare sides, fingers glancing against my ribs. He can practically fit his hands all the way around my tiny waist. My chest is heaving with every breath, now. His simplest touch sets my every cell on fire with anticipation. My sex is throbbing, aching for his touch. He may be a big, strong biker, but he doesn’t skimp in the bedroom when it comes to my needs.

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