Clubwhore (Devil's Renegade MC #1), page 6
I turn to face him. My intentions are to ask him if he wants music, even though we can still clearly hear the song playing in the front. But when I look at him, my words catch in my throat. His chest is a hairsbreadth away from mine. The scent of leather and whiskey wafts into my nostrils. I’m so close, I have to crane my neck to meet his eyes—those eyes—compelling and masterful.
“Hello, Love.” Son of a bitch. His deep tone is low—hungry.
“Hello,” I squeak out—sounding, feeling and probably looking like an amateur instead of the clubwhore veteran I am.
The back of his fingertips slide slowly up my arm. Goosebumps break out everywhere he touches, despite the heat I feel. He continues to drag them softly to my neck—his eyes never leaving mine. With the slightest amount of pressure, he grips my throat in his calloused hand.
I feel trapped—captured by not only his embrace but his promising glare. But I can’t decide what it is exactly that he’s promising. It doesn’t matter. I’ll take whatever he gives me. He walks, forcing me backwards until the back of my knees hit the bed.
He guides me down—his body covering mine as his hand moves from my throat to my waist. He lifts me further on the bed—climbing on top of me as his hands slide up my sides and push my shirt over my head. Dipping his mouth to my breast, he takes my nipple between his teeth. I moan when he tugs slightly—feeling a jolt of electricity shoot straight to my core.
My hands cup his face—forcing him to release my nipple and look at me. I don’t want the foreplay. I don’t need his mouth to tease me until I’m primed and ready for him. My pussy has ached for him since he walked through the door. My core is trembling in anticipation of his cock. I’m ready. The question is, is he?
“Fuck me,” I demand, leaning up to run my tongue across his lips. He crashes his mouth to mine—his kiss hard as his tongue sweeps into my mouth. I can taste the whiskey, the leather, the strong male scent of him…a concoction that screams danger.
This man is dangerous. I can see it in the eyes of his brothers when they look at him. I can feel the thickening of tension whenever he’s present. I can smell the fear of men who surround him. It’s the danger that draws me to this man—this nameless man who doesn’t ask, but takes what is his. In this moment I am his.
Hard, rough hands push my skirt up my thighs before sliding back down my naked legs and spreading my knees. He leans back, greedily drinking in the sight of my bare pussy that’s open for him. “I can smell you,” he growls, his green eyes darkening with lust.
My hands move to my breasts. They feel heavy, my nipples sensitive to their touch. His eyes follow the movement, his jaw clenching further at the sight. “Play with your pussy.” His words are deep and throaty—dirty and erotic.
I do as he says, finding my lips damp and hot with arousal. He watches me slide my finger between my folds—rubbing the length of my pussy before circling my clit that throbs for his touch.
Reaching behind him, he fists his hoodie in his hand before pulling it over his head. His movements are hurried, but precise. He pulls a condom from his pocket, ripping the wrapper with his teeth before opening his pants and releasing his massive cock. Sheathing it, his eyes drag up my stomach, stopping momentarily on my breasts before meeting mine.
“I wanna fuck you hard.” His accent thickens with the words. He’s asking my permission, without really asking at all. Regardless, I nod my head in agreement. I’m still nodding when he grips my hips and pulls me to him—lining his cock up with my slick entrance.
In one deep thrust, he impales me. My breath catches in my throat, but he doesn’t stop before pulling out and thrusting hard into me again. It’s almost painful—his onslaught brutal, unforgiving and the best fucking thing I’ve ever felt.
Pain quickly morphs into indescribable pleasure as he pumps in and out of me—pulling almost completely out before driving in again. My back arches. My moans become louder as I feel my climax building. I feel him everywhere when he’s inside me. His large cock reaches places I’ve never had the pleasure of feeling one before—deep inside me past the barrier that no man has ever touched.
I’m nearing my orgasm. My walls tighten around him. I’m ready to let myself go, but his voice momentarily paralyzes me. “Don’t come, Love. Don’t you dare fuckin’ come.”
But he’s too late. I’m too close and the need for release is too powerful. With a scream, my pussy contracts around him—squeezing him tightly. I hear a muffled “fuck” as his pace quickens. Moments later, he’s pulsating inside me. Deep, guttural moans fill the room and I’m not sure if they’re coming from me or him.
I clench my muscles tight—milking everything from him. It earns me a look I can’t quite decipher. His hips jerk, the tiny movement enough to send another wave of pleasure lapping at my core.
“You don’t listen very well, do you?”
I give him a lazy smile, my body sleepy and sated. “I tried. You’re just too good,” I whisper, unable to form a more audible tone.
His eyes roam appreciatively over my body, then his brow furrows with concern. “You look tired,” he says, pulling out of me. I wince, unsure if it’s at the emptiness or the tinge of pain I feel now that my body isn’t in orgasm overload.
“Long day. Long night.” As if to confirm it, I yawn.
He walks to the bathroom, and my eyes fight to stay open as I watch him. When he disappears behind the door, I promise to rest my eyes for only a moment. Then I’ll demand his name. But first, I just need a few minutes…
CHAPTER 7
I don’t wake until the sun is well above the horizon. I glance at my clock to find it’s after eight in the morning. I’m naked, tangled under the covers that I don’t remember climbing beneath. Thoughts of last night flood through me, and I clench my sex—still feeling where he was…how deep he was inside me. Sitting up, I take a moment to stretch before pulling a T-shirt over my head and padding quietly down the hall.
No one around here is crazy enough to be up at this hour after a party like last night, so I’m not expecting company when I walk into the main room. The first thing that gets my attention is the music. It’s classical, and not the dark, creepy kind. It’s soothing and peaceful. Almost like sleep music.
Who the hell played this?
Which brings me to the second thing that gets my attention—a huge man wearing a Devil’s Renegades’ cut, occupying a barstool. The difference between him and the guys from this chapter is his bottom rocker that reads Lake Charles. It’s…him.
Shit. I haven’t even brushed my hair. Or my teeth…
“Good mornin’.” The deep Cajun accent freezes me in my tracks. How the fuck did he know I was behind him? And why the hell do I feel hot all of a sudden just at the sound of his voice? “I heard your door open.” I take a minute to collect myself before going any closer. It doesn’t take long for my desperate need of coffee to have me moving forward. And the desire to finally put a name to his face is becoming desperate too.
I round the bar to find coffee already made. I pour a cup, keeping my back to him and hoping like hell there’s enough light for me to check out his features and his finger. He’d said he wasn’t married, but you can never be sure. Not that it mattered now…he’d had me twice already.
Slowly, I turn and come face to face with him. I thought I knew all the guys from Lake Charles. I’ve met every one of them, fucked most of them and half of their ol’ ladies. But suddenly I wonder if he’s the ghost I’d heard rumors about. No fucking way…
“Devil’s Renegades Sergeant at Arms Bryce, Lake Charles.” Yes fucking way. Extending his large hand in my direction, I drop my eyes to his other one before taking it. No ring. “We haven’t officially met.” His playful tone is mirrored in his warm green eyes.
“Delilah.” Did I just breathe my name? I did. But shit…his lips are full and curved into a small smile. He’s so sexy…dangerously sexy. Actually, I’d heard he was dangerous. The silent kind of dangerous that sneaks up on you and takes you out before you even realize what’s happening. The kind that can cut you and you won’t even feel it until you’re bleeding. The Ruthless Gentle Giant. That’s what they call him. It never made sense before, but now I get it. He’s soft spoken and kind on the outside, but pure evil on the inside. How do I know this? I swear I can see it in his eyes.
“Will you excuse me just one minute?” I offer him an apologetic smile before releasing his hand that’s still warm around mine. His smile widens slightly in amusement as I hurriedly head through the side door to the kitchen.
Turning on the tap, I splash my face with the freezing cold water that nearly takes my breath. I continue to cup my hands under the faucet and douse my face until I feel more like myself and less like whoever in the hell that girl was that walked in here.
Once I’m fully awake, my face is dry, and I’ve rinsed some of the disgusting from my mouth, I head back to where Bryce is still sitting.
I feel marginally more in control, but not as much as I wish. This guy’s doing something to me and I don’t like it. Needing him to prove to me he’s an asshole or say something that will make me like him less, I decide to strike up a conversation with Mr. Fuckingwithmyhead.
“I thought you were a ghost. Or a figment of everyone’s imagination,” I say, topping off my coffee and his. “I’ve been here two years and I’ve only seen you twice.” Fucked you twice…
“I can assure you I’m real.” No shit he’s real… My belly flips when I remember how thick and filling his cock felt inside me.
“So where’ve you been hiding?” I’m trying like hell not to flirt, and failing miserably.
“Around.”
“Evasive much?” I ask with a smile, which he returns.
“I like to keep to myself.” I nod in understanding. I know all too well about that. “And you?”
“And me what?”
“Why are you hiding?”
I let out a laugh, then remember I’d yet to brush my teeth. Taking a step back, I lean against the counter behind me—making sure there are at least a foot and the bar between us. “I’m not hiding. You see me, don’t you?”
“I see you.” There’s some underlying meaning to his answer that I refuse to overthink this early in the morning. “But why are you here?”
“Because this is my job.”
“Don’t you live here?”
“Yes.”
“Then wouldn’t this be your home? Not just your job?” The way his eyes narrow when they appraise me makes me feel like he’s trying to figure out the answer before I say it. And the soft, smooth sound of his voice seems to match perfectly with the music playing in the room. It makes me want to tell him everything.
“I don’t like the word home, and this isn’t a house. It’s a place which happens to be where I’m employed, therefore it’s just my job. I’m all work, all the time.”
“So do my brothers offer workman’s comp? Or did you sign a waiver?” At my confusion, his thick finger points in the direction of my face. Without makeup, the fading bruise near my hairline from last Sunday is still visible.
“This was personal.” He gives me an expectant look and it’s the first step in the direction of me liking him a little less. “Personal as in nobody’s business but mine.”
I see a flash of anger in his eyes before he dips them to his cup. I also notice the way his body stiffens and the veins in his neck seem to thicken. But when he meets my gaze again he’s relaxed and any trace of anger is gone—replaced with determination.
Threading his fingers together, he lays his arms on top of the bar and leans closer. “I’m making it my business.” The cold in his voice is seriously chilling. Like, I have goosebumps. I’ve never felt afraid or uncomfortable around any of these men. But this guy is starting to scare the shit out of me.
“I need to go,” I whisper, dropping my eyes and wrapping my other hand around my cup in an attempt to keep them from visibly shaking.
“Do I scare you, Delilah?” His tone is strong, rich and confident, but I can hear the hint of regret. Suddenly, the desire to reassure him that I’m okay and I’m now aware that he didn’t intend to scare me outweighs my desire to turn and run. What the fuck?
“No. I mean. Yes, but it’s okay.” Damn. I can’t even lie. This is bad…really, really bad.
“Why is that okay?” Regret gone. Control back. Did he do that intentionally?
“It’s not okay. I just…” I just what? Nothing because I feel stupid and I sound stupid and I don’t understand what in the hell is going on with me right now.
“Look at me, Delilah.” On their own accord, my eyes meet his. I think he put something in my coffee. I feel hypnotized. “It’s not okay to feel afraid in your own home. And this is your home, no matter what you choose to call it.”
I’m nodding, repeating his words in my head like a mantra. This is my home. This is my home. Why? Because he says it is and for some reason, I feel like he has that much control over me right now. I liked him better when he was fucking me and I didn’t have to think or feel anything but what he was doing to me.
“It’s not okay for a man to put their hands on a woman either. Not like that. I don’t care who they are.” The walls inside me shake a little. It’s like he’s an earthquake, and as long as I’m in his presence, he has the power to crumble something inside of me I thought was indestructible. But I can’t break away. I can’t run from him. Some magnetic force is emanating from him and holding me here. A part of me hates it, but a part of me wants to give in.
He’s so…different than the others. He seems educated, worldly and although his appearance suggests he’s the epitome of a bad-ass biker, the way he speaks and acts suggests something totally different—like Luke. He belongs, but in an unconventional kind of way.
“Nobody told me you were still around.” The sound of Linda’s voice has never been so welcome. Giving me a wink, Bryce turns on his barstool to face the woman whose arm is around his shoulders. The instant his back is to me, the trance breaks and I pull in a deep breath.
“Please tell me you haven’t staked your claim, Delilah.”
Now fully in control of myself, I set my cup down on the bar with a little more force than necessary—pissed at myself for letting someone else control me in the first place.
That’s not who you are anymore.
You don’t need to be controlled.
You have Sunday.
You have your brother.
At the reminder, my hand moves to my head, softly caressing the bruise there.
Linda clears her throat and shoots me a look, wanting an answer. But thankfully, Bryce keeps his back to me.
“No, ma’am. He’s all yours.”
She beams as I pass. I want to slap her. He’s not mine. What we had was sex. Hot, dirty, mind-blowing sex. Nothing more and nothing less. But even though I know these things, something sparks inside me—something infuriatingly unwelcome and completely maddening.
Jealousy.
CHAPTER 8
“Knock, knock.”
I look past my reflection in the mirror on my vanity to see Red and Dallas walk inside my room—like they fucking own the place. After my morning with Mr. Drivesmecrazy, and my afternoon of shitty TV, I’m not really in the mood for trespassers.
“You know,” I say, spinning in my chair to face them as they take a seat on my bed and get comfortable. “Saying ‘knock knock’ isn’t really considered asking for permission to come in. Especially when you don’t bother waiting for an invite.”
“You stole my car.”
“That doesn’t justify you being in here. Uninvited. And besides, that was weeks ago.”
“Well, your door was open.”
The more Red talks, the less I like her. But she’s like a fungus that won’t go away unless you treat it. In this case, the quickest way for her to leave is for me to listen to whatever it is she has to say. This time, it’s gonna cost her more than pumpkin pancakes I never got to eat.
“What do you want?” I ask, turning back to face myself in the mirror. This war paint isn’t gonna apply itself.
“We were hoping you could help us get something.” I raise my eyes to Dallas’ in the mirror. To be such a confident multi-millionaire who is the CEO of her own company, she sure does look uneasy from where I’m sitting.
“How much you want?” They glance at each other in question. Shaking my head, I grab my mascara and opt for the bathroom mirror. Climbing on the counter, I sit cross-legged and lean in close. I was hoping for a break from their watchful eyes, but of course they followed me.
“You don’t even know what we want.”
“Yes I do. You want pot.” No sooner are the words out of my mouth than they’re shhhing me and running to close the door. Idiots. I’m thankful every day that I’m not an ol’ lady—asking favors from clubwhores and keeping secrets from my husband. But I’m especially thankful right now. Damn, I hope I never look that desperate.
“We just need a couple blunts.” I can’t tell you who said it, both of them sound the same when they whisper.
“It’s cheaper if you buy it by the pound.” I nearly snort at my own words. I know what Dallas is going to say even before she says it.
“Money isn’t an issue.” Of course it isn’t. Must be nice…
I make them wait until I’ve finished coating my lashes in bat crap before I turn to face them. Swinging my legs over the side of the counter, I just sit and enjoy the moment. No matter what they think now, at one time they didn’t like me. Hell, they probably still don’t.
Even though it’s been confirmed that, in their eyes, I’m just the girl the club pays to suck cock, there’s no telling what other kind of shit they say about me behind my back. Yet, here they are, looking like a bunch of underage girls hiding from their parents and at my mercy. It makes me smile.
“You know it’s gonna cost you, right?” This isn’t the first time I’ve made some extra money off the very women that despise me—well, maybe not me in particular, but definitely what I’m about.
