Clubwhore (Devil's Renegade MC #1), page 25
I lick my lips. “Much.” The word is released on a breath. His smirk widens to a grin.
“I put some clothes on the bed for you. Get dressed. We’re going out.”
“Out? Out where?”
He winks at me. “I believe I owe you a ride.”
Once again, I find a pile of my own clothes on the bed. Fashionably sexy, but warm. Who the hell is choosing these outfits? I make a mental note to ask as I layer myself in leggings and a snug-fitting turtleneck before pulling on my jeans and a thick sweater. All black—just like Bryce.
The weather in south Mississippi makes no sense at all. One day you’re in flip flops, the next a parka. Tonight it’s cold, even though today it was warm and sunny. Craziest shit ever.
I zip my boots up my legs, and grab my leather jacket before going to meet him back in the kitchen. He rakes his eyes up and down my body before finally speaking. “You look good.” Not beautiful. Not sexy. Just good. But the thickness in his voice and darkness in his eyes says he likes the way I look very, very much.
“These are for you.” He tosses me a pair of leather gloves. They’re new, stylish and even have the little pads on the index fingers so you can operate your phone while wearing them.
“A gift?” I tease, fanning myself with them. “How thoughtful of you Mr.…” I frown. “What’s your last name?”
“Parker. And don’t ever call me that.” His tone is playful, but I know he’s serious.
Bryce Parker… I like it.
“Mine’s Scott, by the way.”
“I know.” Of course he does.
“So,” he says, pushing away from the counter. “You ready?” The wickedness is back, and nervous thrill ripples through me.
“Always.”
“I thought you said this was going to be fun!” I yell, leaning up so my mouth is next to the vent on his helmet. Once again, we’re slowly making our way down the curvy back road toward the highway. But just as I say the words, we near the intersection and I’m blinded with the flood of lights coming from several bikes parked in the median.
Bryce had removed the sissy bar, forcing me to cling tight to him or fall off. My grip had been loose the entire ride, but it tightens when he wracks the pipes—notifying his brothers of our arrival. Pulling back on the throttle, he falls in line with the pack.
Two by two, we ride hard and fast down the highway. Bryce and I are on the outside next to Scratch as we barrel through the night riding so close, I can reach out and touch the handlebars next to me. I’m finally getting that ride I was promised. It’s fucking exhilarating. The wind in my hair, shallow breathing, heavy beating heart, rush of adrenaline and feel of Bryce between my thighs is the most thrilling thing I’ve ever experienced.
The fun part is when we break from the highway and hit the busy streets of downtown. Traffic is heavier here, but we flow at a steady pace—sometimes breaking away from the pack to split cars or pass in the turning lane. Even through my leather jacket and layers of clothing, I can feel the bite of the cold air. It just makes it that more intense.
By the time we arrive at the small building with a wooden sign labeled “Last Call,” I’m shaking. And I have no idea if it’s from the cold or the adventure of it all. But whatever the reason, it takes me a moment and a little help from Bryce to climb off the bike. My shaky fingers struggle with the strap on my helmet, but he makes quick work of it before removing his own—replacing it with a plain black cap he wears backwards on his head. So sexy.
“What’d you think?” he asks, smirking down at me.
“I t-think I w-want to go again,” I stammer—following up my admission with a laugh.
Taking my hand, he leads me inside. I’m surprised to find Dallas, Red and Maddie already seated at a table. Although they’re not at all surprised to see me. I stay behind Bryce as he makes his way toward the bar—stopping several times to shake hands with some men, hug others and even a few women.
“Two buttery nipples and two double Jack’s.” He orders our drinks, then slides down the bar a little and tips his chin to the space beside him. I’m stepping forward, but am forced to stop when a brunette sidles up next to him.
Jealousy crashes through me. I hate this woman—this…Lady Riders Hattiesburg, MS…whatever in the hell that means.
Bryce turns sideways, so that he’s leaning against the bar—his body facing her. But he looks at me—his eye closing on a wink while a smile tugs at his lips. The woman notices, and spins slowly around.
She smiles as she leans back on her elbows, and drags her eyes lazily down my body. Through the dim lighting and smoky haze of the room, I notice her face is quite pretty—prettier than mine.
“Well, hello, Pocahontas.” Remember when I thought that was a compliment? Yeah… I’m not so sure about that now.
But I smile anyway. “It’s Delilah.”
She holds her hand out. “Lady Riders Bic, Hattiesburg. Nice to meet you, Delilah.” She’s so pretty…and nice…and something else I can’t quite put my finger on.
“Bic is the president of our one and only female support club,” Bryce says, motioning to the bartender to add another round to our order. Bic nods in agreement, but continues to smile at me.
Then it hits me. She’s a lesbian. A very sexy lesbian, that seems quite interested in having me for dinner. I’m game if her and Bryce are down for a threesome. But something tells me she’s not into men—at all. Bummer.
Bryce passes me a shot, then hands one to her. He wordlessly offers it up, and we drink. The thick, sweet liquid warms me instantly. I lick my lips—partly from the deliciousness, but mostly because I know Bic is watching. Her eyes widen when they drop to my tongue. It’s good to know I still got it.
She sets down her empty glass and straightens to full height. She’s just as tall as me, but her stance holds a little more authority than mine. Good thing I’ve gotten used to the submissive role, or else I might be intimidated.
She leans toward me, and I inhale the citrus scent of her hair as she presses her lips dangerously close to my ear. “See you around, Delilah,” she whispers, tucking something inside my hand before walking away. I shove the piece of paper I’m sure contains her number in my back pocket and meet Bryce’s eyes.
He’s smiling back at me, amusement evident in his stare as he shakes his head. “What?” I ask on a shrug.
“Nothing.” He holds his hands up in defense, passing me my drink. The crowd gathers around us. I give my attention to the men, hugging them all—laughing and joking with them. They act as if I haven’t been gone for three days, and I wonder if any of them are aware of where I’ve been.
I start to ask Bryce, but he speaks first. “Go hang with the women. I’ll catch up with you later.” He turns—joining his brothers as they disappear out the back door. I really don’t want to hang with the ol’ ladies. Even before I look, I know their eyes are on me.
I take a sip of my drink, thankful for the liquid encouragement. Spinning on my heel, I find exactly what I’d expected. All of them looking at me with curious stares. I smile as I stride to the table in the center of the room they’re all seated around.
“Okay,” Red starts, before I can take a seat. “Is it weird that I missed you? Because I have.”
“Did you miss me, or the pot?” I quip, crossing my legs under the table and leaning back in my chair.
She shakes her head. “No, we got the pot. We broke in your room and found it. Nice lingerie collection, by the way.”
I roll my eyes. I should’ve known they’d be snooping while I was away. Come to think of it, the shirt Red’s wearing looks familiar…
“So? Did y’all finish?” My brows draw in confusion at Dallas’ question. She dismisses the look with a wave of her hand. “Luke said you went to Lake Charles to pack up Bryce’s house. I always wondered what he lived in. Wait.” She straightens in her seat. “I bet it was like a medieval cave, wasn’t it?”
“Ooh!” I turn to Red. “I bet he has a Rottweiler. Or a Doberman. A junkyard dog that he feeds the souls of small children to.”
I laugh--mostly in relief at their ignorance, but also at their absurd perspective of who Bryce really is. “Actually, he lives in an older house that is surprisingly charming and very remote.” I inwardly sigh at the memory of all that he’d done to me in that house. How he’d fucked me…spanked me…held me…how I fell in love with him.
“You suck at this,” Dallas murmurs, the disappointment evident on her pretty face. “Nobody wants him to be normal, Delilah. The bad stuff is easier to believe, even if it’s not true.”
“Well,” I start, leaning forward, not wanting to be a buzzkill. All three lean in with me—hungry for information about the infamous Bryce. Even Maddie who’d been silent the entire time. “There was this one room that had these chains in the ceiling. He claimed it was for punching bags, but who needs two punching bags?” Their eyes widen at my story.
“I knew it,” Maddie whispers, shaking her head. “I told y’all that motherfucker kills people.” She makes sure only we can hear her, but I look around anyway to see if anyone is listening. They’re not.
“Maddie, I’ve killed a guy. Doesn’t mean shit.” I’d heard of Dallas killing a man, but to hear it from her own lips puts a whole new perspective on the information.
“No,” Maddie argues, her tone so hushed our heads nearly touch as we lean in to hear. “I mean, he’s killed lots of people. He’s like a hit man or some shit.”
“The club don’t have hit men!” Dallas snaps, her whisper laced in annoyance.
“They did.”
“No, they didn’t.”
“Well, they could have.”
“Well, they don’t.”
“Whatever.”
“Whatever yourself.”
I feel like I have whiplash by the time their argument is finished.
“I think he’s a dominant,” I say, just to see if they already knew that. They’re silent for a moment, tossing the idea around in their heads. After a minute, Dallas shrugs.
“Wouldn’t surprise me. All these guys have a dominant nature. You know,” she says, turning to me, her whisper dropping even lower. “Luke’s a dominant.”
“What? No!” I guess my fake surprise worked, because she’s nodding her head to reassure me.
“He is. I mean, he doesn’t like make me do submissive stuff or nothing, but he has spanked me before.” Now she has my attention.
“Really?”
“Yeah. One time we”—she motions with her finger at the three of them—“flew to Texas on this mob guy’s plane to his house. Somehow, Luke found out and drove six hours one way, walked in my office, took his belt off and whipped my ass.”
My nipples harden at the vision of Dallas getting spanked by Luke. Then my cheeks flush at the reminder of my own “belt whipping” encounters. I shake the thought from my head. “Damn. That’s a little extreme, ain’t it?”
“Not really. In this lifestyle, it’s not unusual for men to enforce their women’s behavior. I’m lucky my man punished me in a way that was deserving, but kinda arousing too. If Luke were any less of a man, I wouldn’t have all my teeth.” She beams at me and I smirk.
“Luke’s a really great guy. You’re lucky to have him, but he’s a lucky man too.” My admission is genuine. Dallas is a great person. Luke is a great man. Despite the demons of their past, they make it work. I’m glad they have each other.
“You know,” Dallas drawls, her eyes slowly dropping to my chest. “I’ve always wanted to do it with a girl.”
Her admission startles me. And turns me on. I quickly stand, nearly tripping over my own feet. “So!” I announce on a nervous smile. “Who’s ready for another drink?” Sex with Dallas will never happen. I couldn’t fuck an ol’ lady. No way…
My thighs tingle as I make my way to the bar—Dallas’ words playing on a loop in my head. Bic’s number simultaneously burning a hole in the back pocket of my jeans. But the desire I feel isn’t really for either of these women. Green eyes, strong hands and a thunderous cock are what fuel my hunger. And they belong to the man who just walked through the back door.
His lips quirk and his brow furrows in curiosity. He looks happy. Sexy. Tasty. I’m hungry…fucking starving for his hands on me. I want him right now. In this bar. He can take me on the pool table…against the wall…in the bathroom…
His mouth widens into a full-on smile. He tilts his head toward the door, and I nod. The bartender calls to me—asking me what I want. I ignore her. My feet move on their own accord—drawn to the promising look in Bryce’s eyes.
I follow him out. The back patio of the bar is swarming with people. The thick scent of marijuana hangs in the air. I breathe deep, trying to absorb the calming power of its aroma. But my body is too amped to feel its effect.
A streetlamp illuminates the back of the building except for one small section that’s shaded by the shadow of the dumpster sitting several feet away. Bryce steps into the darkness, pulling me with him. He presses my back against the cold bricks, and boxes me in—his body looming large in front of mine.
Anyone with an imagination could squint through the darkness, and make out our forms. But the chatter doesn’t die and no one seems to notice us.
Placing a finger over my lip, he whispers, “If you’re not quiet, my brothers are going to know we’re here. And they’re going to watch me fuck you.” I whimper, and he presses his finger harder against my lips. “This ain’t the clubhouse, Love. My brothers aren’t the only people out here.”
My eyes roam the crowd, noticing the unfamiliar faces and lack of cuts on the majority of the people for the first time. I shrink back—searching for more darkness, but there isn’t any. I’m not modest in front of the club or their affiliates. But just like at the river, there’s something dirty about this--fucking in front of complete strangers, most of which are average citizens out to have a good time.
I look up at Bryce who seems to delight in my uneasiness. A twinkle of mischief sparkles in his eyes and that wolfish grin bares his pretty teeth to me—making them appear even whiter and more perfect in the darkness.
“When I start, I’m not going to stop until I’m ready. I don’t give a fuck who’s watching.”
You know what? Come to think of it, I don’t really give a fuck who watches either. I want this. I want him. My carnal craving is worth the slight tinge of humiliation that’s quickly dissolving.
“Fuck me,” I pant, and the air between us shifts at my words. His mouth covers mine—our tongues meeting in the most erotic dance. My fingers move to his waist, unbuckling his chaps and then his belt. Seconds later, he springs free—his cock hot and hard in my hand. The flesh sears my fingers as I slide them along the soft skin—gliding over the bulging veins that swell further at my touch.
His hands are on my hips, tightening and relaxing in time with his groans that I silence with my mouth. He breaks the kiss and spins me around. My hands slap hard against the brick. The cold impact stinging my palms. Quick fingers unzip my jeans and push them down my thighs—taking my leggings and panties with them.
Cold air tickles across my naked ass, and I bite my knuckles to suppress a moan. He pulls my hips back to him, one hand pressing on the center of my back urging me lower.
“This is going to be quick, Love,” he whispers in the darkness. His hand smoothes across the soft flesh of my ass before dipping between my folds—finding me wet and ready for him. He lets out a low growl and presses the head of his cock inside me before stilling.
Wrapping my hair around his fist, he gently tugs. My chin lifts and my head falls back. His lips come to my ear—the movement forcing his cock to slide a few inches deeper inside me. “Don’t come until I do.” It’s his last words before he jerks his hips. The impalement makes me cry out, but his hand in my hair tugs, cutting off the sound.
He stills again. “Shhh…quiet, Love. I don’t like an audience.” My mind drifts back to the first time he fucked me. He’d stolen me from the group of men and kept me all to himself. “Your room. Where is it?” were his exact words.
The slick sound of my arousal mixed with our harsh breathing fills the air. My pussy is tender from the brutal sex we had earlier, but the feeling is delicious—making me even more aware of having him inside me. His pace quickens, and I bite my knuckle hard enough to break the skin in an attempt to contain my whimper of pleasure.
Our perverse act in front of a crowd, whose unawareness could change any moment, has my walls clenching tighter around him. I fight against the orgasm that threatens, centering my mind on how much greater it will feel when we come together. I’m afraid I won’t last much longer. To add to the pressure of trying to hold back, his hand moves to my clit—his finger rubbing circles on the swollen bundle of nerves.
“Bryce…” I hiss, knowing he’s well aware of what he’s doing to me.
“You ready to come for me, Love?” I mewl. “Let it go. I want to feel that sweet pussy come around my cock.” I release at the same moment he pulses inside me—flooding me with his heat. His hand slips from my hair, and covers my mouth—stifling the screams I’m incapable of holding back.
White light flashes behind my lids as I give myself over to the sensations. Every beat of my heart sends another jolt of pleasure surging through me. It feels so good. Too good. I don’t care that my pants are at my knees, or that I’m pressed against a building and stuffed with cock. It doesn’t matter that people stand merely feet from us while we’re hidden in the shadows of a dumpster.
That’s Bryce’s way—stripping me away from reality and escaping with me to a little place I can only describe as nirvana. This man will be the death of me. And my raw, swollen pussy dampens further at just the feel of him sliding out of me—already begging for him to take me again.
He pats my ass to get my attention. “Come on, Love. Get dressed.”
“Ugh,” I grunt. He must’ve anticipated my slow return from paradise, because he’s already assisting in pulling my panties up my legs. I’m being lazy and I know it, but I stand with my cheek pressed against the bricks while he clothes me, one layer at a time.
