A Hot Deposit (Motorcycle Club Romance) by Kelly Lawson

 
    A HOT DEPOSIT
     
    Sharon leans against her window, rapping her fingers on the counter in a slow, rhythmic beat. She stifles a yawn as she gazes around the bank. Her coworker, Emma, is leaning against her own teller window, tapping on her phone absent-mindedly. They technically aren’t supposed to be on their phones at work, but, seeing as business is dead at the moment, she knows their manager won’t mind. In fact, she can see him now through his open office door. He’s reclined back at his desk surfing the Internet – probably finalizing plans for his upcoming vacation to Cancun. Sharon is jealous. She wants to get away. She needs a break from the monotony that is her life at the moment.
     
    Sharon feels a little bad just sitting there, but she isn’t being lazy if there is literally no work to be done. This happens every now and then – the middle of the month, midweek slump in one. People haven’t been paid in a while; bills aren’t due anytime soon. No one seems to be in need of a trip to the bank. After years of working here, she should be used to it by now. But the slowness of it all, combined with the general tedium of her life, is driving Sharon insane. She has to do something soon or she’ll go out of her mind.
     
    Recounting her drawer is always an option, but there really is no need. She has only seen two customers since they opened this morning - there is no chance that her drawer is off by even a penny. She reaches into her purse for her own phone instead, wondering if she will be able to beat the next level of Candy Crush by lunchtime. Before she can find out, however, the bell chimes, announcing that they have a customer.
     
    Sharon looks up excitedly, only to freeze as soon as she catches sight of the man waltzing through the door. He's gorgeous in his own special way – uncouth, raw, and with an air of defiance. There's something about his lopsided grin and the confident way he swaggers through the lobby. A familiar heat is pooling in her lower abdomen as she watches him draw closer. She sits up just a little straighter and throws her shoulders back just enough to draw attention to the low neckline of her blouse.
     
    She sees Emma smirk and go back to her phone from the corner of her eye. It’s just as well; the man has already veered towards Sharon’s window anyway. Sharon thanks her lucky stars as the man saunters her way.
     
    He really is a god. A fitted leather vest, covered with patches, announces his affiliation with a motorcycle gang. The white t-shirt beneath clings tightly to massive muscles, which ripple over his arms and shoulders. Tattoos snake out from underneath the shirt on either side, wrapping their way down his arms towards his wrists. She can’t make out what they are from this distance, but with the way they move, she can’t help but wonder whether or not the tattoos wind all the way across his chest and down his back. She can picture the way the ink would undulate if his muscles were to tense and flex. She would love to have that sight above her, watching his painted body expand and contract as he bends down to kiss her.
     
    His blond hair looks like it had been pushed back against his head, but refused to stay in place. It shoots up in random places, as if someone has been running their fingers through it and pulling vigorously. Sharon hates the person who has been touching him so intimately. She imagines herself doing this instead – causing the mess in his hair as she pulls him towards her, feeling his beard against her lips. That beard! It’s short and scruffy; her mind wanders to what it would feel like scratching against her face and neck… perhaps between her thighs.
     
    As he gets closer to the counter, he removes his sunglasses, revealing big blue eyes so light that they’re almost grey. She could get lost in those eyes. She feels herself getting lost.
     
    As he nears her window, pulling a wad of cash from his pocket, Sharon is struck with the image