Read Chrome: With a Heart Forged in Steele (Carolina Bad #4) for Free Online

also made me painfully hard in my pants, imagining her naked body with those ridiculously ripe curves all mine for the taking. Mine to lick and suck and bite until she came all over my face and fingers. Mine to fuck deep and hard and fast until she shattered apart all over my cock.
    I slammed the laptop shut then gripped my dick through my pants. Lucy and Brodie did not need Boomer’s boner bonus material to keep up their running hahaha commentary at my expense.
    The thick stick in my pants finally going half-mast, I made a quick dash to the john to clean up before leaving.
    A splash of water on my face.
    A rinse of mouthwash from the bottle stashed in the cupboard.
    A quick check of my appearance. My shoulders filled out the seams of my blue dress shirt like my dick wanted to fill out my gray-colored pants. Short stubble created a black shadow on my jaw.
    I wished I had some of that nice cologne I’d used for Cat’s beachside reception.
    Then I dropped my hands to the edge of the sink and groaned.
    Here I was, thirty-one, and standing in a bathroom worrying about what I looked like.
    Christ. I knew it. I’d grown ovaries overnight to go with the new vagina.
    Out in the front room I put on my jacket in stiff silence while the hecklers grinned conspiratorially at me.
    Brodie’s parting comment, “Go get her, tiger!” earned him an exaggerated stroking motion of my fist.
    “Yeah.” He snickered. “You’ve had enough practice doing that.”
    Douchebreath.
    Must’ve been about quitting time at Stone’s when I showed up again. The parking lot was mostly empty, and all but one of the bay doors had been closed down for the night. I unloaded Rayce’s bike and sat her helmet and goggles on the seat, listening to the soft sound filtering outside from the garage.
    The noise wasn’t the usual hum of high-powered tools or the clank of metal on metal, but a throaty female voice singing a sultry bluesy tune. I followed it by instinct, the woman’s voice dipping and rising, beguiling me.
    Turning the corner, I momentarily lost the ability to do anything other than stare. Rayce was in the bay, alone, rocking her shoulders as she sang. Her back was to me as she crouched next to a new crotch rocket.
    She seemed completely recovered from last night’s trauma and the morning’s incidents and was in full wrench-wench mode, and holy shit could she sing.
    I must’ve made a noise—probably the groan of a man who wanted nothing more than to strip her naked and give her some good loving—because Rayce whipped around with her hand pressed to her heart.
    “Holy crap!” She flicked up her chin. “You scared me.”
    I tried to think of something to say, but I was too busy trying to keep my eyes in my head at that point. She’d ditched the coveralls and was in the tight jeans she’d had on in the morning. Apparently she’d ditched the black tank top, too, in favor of a white one.
    Yeah. A white one with no bra because her nipples looked like pink smudges in the center of her way-more-than-a-handful tits.
    I growled.
    “Hello, caveman.” She placed her hand on her jutting hip.
    “When did you change your top?” Standing with my arms crossed over my chest, I coasted my gaze down her body then up again, firmly settling on her unfettered beauties.
    “When did you revert to being a Neanderthal?”
    She was back to full ballbuster mode.
    I liked it. Liked it so much I decided to bait her.
    Instead of answering her, I strolled around the red and white Honda CRF 250 X. “New project?”
    “This is a recovery.”
    She had that right. She was gonna have to Frankenstein the twisted aluminum frame back to life. It was nothing like the other bike I’d seen—not her enduro but the Gas Gas strictly motocross, hardcore trial dirt bike waxed to a brilliant red, white, and black sheen.
    “I need a back-up in case I total the TXT.” She huffed one blue-streaked strand of hair from her face.
    I flinched at the mention of crashing, but