Down & Dirty: Dawg (Dirty Angels MC)
Coming September 9th!
The Dirty Angels MC Series, Book 7
Genre: Contemporary, Erotic Romance
This book can be read as a standalone
Welcome to Shadow Valley where the Dirty Angels MC rules. Get ready to get Down & Dirty because this is Dawg's story…
She has a secret. But little does she know, so does he.
With a past he’s not proud of and a secret only recently discovered, Dawg’s life is about to change when a kindergarten teacher walks into Heaven’s Angels Gentlemen’s Club, a DAMC business he’s run for the past fifteen years. With no experience, her dancing sucks but he can’t deny the woman’s determination to get the job and, against his better judgement, hires her anyway. While her girl-next-door looks may be good for business, he’s not ready for someone like Emma to walk into his life.
Emma’s desperate. She not only needs a lot of cash, but needs it quickly. Recently unemployed and with nowhere else to turn, she takes a drastic step by auditioning at Dawg’s club. When he finds out her secret, he’s willing to go above and beyond to help her. However, Emma has no idea how a bearded, tattooed biker and strip club manager can help when law enforcement can’t.
Coming from two different worlds, Dawg’s life needs to change drastically to make things work, but is he willing to give up almost everything he’s ever known for Emma?
Note: This book can be read as a standalone. It includes lots of steamy scenes, biker slang, cursing, some violence and, of course, an HEA. If you like alpha males who like to take charge, this book is for you.
“For fuck’s sake,” Dawg muttered. He glanced at the digital clock that was hidden behind the bar for the tenth time.
The bitch was late.
She’d begged him for an audition, even though his stable was full.
Her soft, husky voice over the phone finally convinced him to say yes. Against his better judgement, of course. Because when he asked her if she was experienced, she beat around the fucking bush.
Which meant she wasn’t. And he had no patience for amateurs or novices.
Scrubbing a hand over his beard, he shot a glance at the front entrance, then at the clock once more.
He grabbed a cold Iron City beer from the cooler behind the bar, popped the tab on the can and lifted it to his lips.
He was done.
No bitch was worth the wait.
He’d been stood up. Almost like a bad date. Though it had been a long time since he’d been on anything that was even remotely similar to one.
Well, unless fucking some random snatch until she came all over him was considered a date. Most likely it wasn’t. An actual date probably included flowers, a movie and even dinner.
Or at least a shot of whiskey and a little fingering, before busting a nut.
“Fuck you, bitch. Dawg waits for no one,” he muttered to the sweating beer can in his hand, then took another swallow of the ice-cold brew.
But, fuck him, if he didn’t stand there and wait even longer. Again, it was that smooth as warm honey voice that made him keep his ass planted right where he was. He’d give her until he finished his beer. Then he’d head back up to his apartment, knock a quick one out with his own palm, and catch some more zzz’s.
He slammed the can onto the bar, causing it to splash over his fist. With another curse, he wiped his dripping hand along his jeans.
Then he heard the door open down the front corridor and a sliver of ass-crack-of-dawn sunlight reflected off the wall. Suddenly a woman was standing at the end of the hall, pale as shit and eyes wide. Like a skittish doe about to be plowed down by a Mack truck.
Raking his gaze over her from top to toe, the first thing that hit him was she had sweet fucking tits. If they were real, she already had a leg up on this audition. The second was...
She was wearing a fucking high-neck blouse.
Who the fuck wore a boring beige top that covered her as much as a turtleneck to a stripper audition?
Her waist was narrow, her hips curvy, and...
She wore a skirt all the way to her fucking ankles.
And she wasn’t even wearing heels!
“What the fuck,” he muttered.
Maybe she was confused and was looking for a church nearby.
While there were a lot of “Oh Gods!” being said in his establishment, they were usually during private lap dances.
“Are you Dawson?”
A muscle ticked in his jaw as his teeth clenched. Dawson? He hadn’t heard that name spoken out loud in a long damn time.
“Dawg,” he grunted.
She blinked, but remained at the end of the corridor. He wanted to see what color those eyes of hers were and if they matched the husky tone of her voice.
“Dog? Like the woof-woof kind of dog?”
“What the fuck,” he muttered once more. “No, like Dawg... D-A-W-G.”
She tilted her head and studied him. There was another thing wrong with her... Her hair was pulled up high and tight. His customers liked his girls’ hair long and loose. So they could swing it when they danced. So the men could imagine fisting it while they fantasized about one of his girls sucking them off. Or picture pulling it like the reins of a pony while fucking one of them doggy-style and slapping their ass.
Which never happened on his watch. Fuck no. His girls weren’t whores. They were “exotic entertainers.” They didn’t put out for money. If they did, and he found out about it, they were outside looking in faster than they could say “G-string.” He ran a respectable joint and certainly didn’t need Shadow Valley PD breathing down his goddamn neck.
Though some of them did give it up to his brothers in the Dirty Angels MC, that was their choice and not for money. None were forced to do it. It had to be a mutual agreement between the brother and the girl.
A little reciprocal pleasure.
As he stared at the woman still hovering by the nearest escape route, he doubted this woman would give it up to any biker. She seemed way too uptight for that.
“I-I think I made a mistake.”