Claimed by the Biker Giant (Maxine and Tank) novel Chapter 352

Chapter 352

Skittles POV

Playing pool was fun, with Sprocket almost on top of me, showing me how it was done, making it more of a prelude to something more. My panties were drenched, and we hadn’t been playing that long. I like it when he leans over me, and I can feel his want, need on my hip, his warm breath in my ear and neck, as he helps me line up a ball, and explains what we are aiming for. I can’t help myself from wiggling my hip, brushing it harder against his groin, gaining the groan from his lips.

I was so disappointed when Loser came and called him away. I had another guy offering to help me, but I politely brushed them away.

“Just one game.” Junk pushed, annoying the crap out of me, when he kept pushing.

“I am a taken woman, my man doesn’t have the patience to deal with others trying to take what’s his,” I replied politely, still trying to be nice about refusing his offer, which I already knew meant more than a game of pool. I missed the pocket a few more times and was getting frustrated by Junk’s persistence.

“You got it all wrong. Come on, let me show you.” He came forward to try to take me over, grabbing me from behind. Before I could react, he was gone. I turned to see a fuming Sprocket, holding the smaller Junk by the neck. Sprocket’s fury was evident. I wonder how much he got to see before he

arrived.

“Junk, my woman said no, I clearly heard it. When a woman, any woman, says ‘no‘, she means no. You have been warned, time and time again. This is your last warning.” Sprocket growled out at this man, who was drunk and most likely won’t remember this tomorrow.

“Sorry.” Junk slurred back and stumbled backwards when Sprocket let him go, not punching his lights out. To my relief, punching a drunk man won’t serve any purpose, just gives you a bruised

knuckle.

“Are you okay, Hun?” Sprocket asked, rushing to my side, searching my face with concern.

“I’m glad you’re back.” I leaned into him, and he quickly wrapped his arms around me, securing me to his chest. I could feel I was shaking, but not for fear of Junk, but what might have happened if Junk persisted?

“You’re trembling.” He rubbed my back, trying to comfort me.

“If you hadn’t arrived, when you did, I. I. I was going to punch him; he made my blood boil and made me sick to my stomach. He wouldn’t back off, and I don’t know if punching him had done any good or spurred him on more.” I confessed, I was already worked up, ready to give it my all to get my point across, when Sprocket saved me from embarrassing myself,

A

+25 Pemts

“He won’t trouble you again. Drunk men do stupid things and have no filters. Want to keep playing or leave?” He offered me an out, and I hesitated.

Do I want to run again, or face this?

“I was having fun with you. Can we continue? I don’t want to keep running and hiding when faced with unpleasant situations.” I tried to keep my voice light, but even to me, it sounded fragile.

“Okay. Let’s reset the balls and start again. Can you grab the rack?” He nodded to something on

the table.

I moved over, looked at my choices and suddenly remembered they started in a triangle shape.

“This?” I asked, hoping I got it right.

He looked up.

“Yep.” He had removed all the balls from the pockets and had them down at one end.

“See this dot here? That is where you place the rack. The balls are usually set in a sequence, but for us, it doesn’t matter, just small and large, will do.” He started placing the balls inside the rack.

“But the balls are all the same size.” I looked down, confused.

“See the size of the white area where the number is? They are different, see small and big.” A blush heated my face, causing Sprocket to chuckle at my reaction.

I broke this time; the balls barely moved from the starting position, and Sprocket racked them

back up.

“Harder this time.” He encouraged, and I thought of last night, when I begged him to go faster and harder, and I sucked in my lower lip, trying to stop the groan from escaping my mouth. Triggers, they come at the wrong time.

Sprocket carried a suitcase in one hand and his other arm around my waist. We followed the others down a long path past a small cottage and arrived at another. When I watched them guys enter this one with our luggage, my throat went dry, and my stomach got butterflies.

This?

Beautiful cottage.

Was our new home?

I allowed Sprocket to guide me in, and he thanked the others as they left us to put away our things.

We worked as a team for about an hour, as I changed my mind a few times about where I wanted things, and talked about getting my other belongings from the shed and all the while waiting for Sprocket to talk to me about why the sudden change, not that I minded, this was perfect. Better than perfect, I can make this a home, if he doesn’t get tired of me and kicks me out. We are, after all, very new to having a labelled relationship.

Satisfied we were done unpacking, Sprocket led me to the lounge and sat me down.

“We moved here for two reasons. One, because Storm thought we might like a bit more privacy while we navigate our relationship, without the pressures of those around us. What Nightingale said hit a few of us. If she thought that way, others might too. I doubt it, but it will linger in the minds of those who heard and saw the incident. The second is that your mother is returning home early. Storm’s contact says she knows you and your brother have fled, and might come looking for you both.”

+25 Ponts

“Does Stinger know?” I asked, thinking he was in just as much danger as I was.

“Storm told him last night that he was ready for her. Don’t worry, we both have your backs. You are our club members now, and it’s staying that way. Coming here all fired up, you will be seen as aggression against our club and members, which could develop into a war between us. You need to be ready for the backlash. Starting tomorrow, I will be escorting you to and from work, with two or more guards as protection. We don’t want either of you alone, giving her a chance to snatch you. That would quickly turn into blood spilled between clubs.”

“Okay.” Mother always wants to spoil things for us, and I never know why. Was it because of our

dad?

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