Page 18 of Bull's Boy

Fuck, he was beautiful.

He jolted when big, male hands landed on Malcolm’s hips from behind, breaking the spell and lighting an instant fury in his gut. He was on his feet, intent on telling the asshole touching Malcolm to back off, preferably with his fists, but a strong grip on his elbow stopped him short.

Whipping his head around, his muscles were already bunching, ready to fight off whoever was preventing him from charging out there, but he stopped short at Houston’s wide grin. The flashing strobe light someone had turned on a while ago danced on his dark skin, highlighting his strong jaw and straight nose. And his amusement at Bull’s reaction.

Which had been… extreme.

“Easy, brother,” Houston said, releasing his hold on Bull’s elbow and gripping his shoulder instead. “You go over there on a rampage, you’re going to scare your little bunny rabbit.”

“He’s not… I wasn’t…” He stopped and took a breath, letting the air completely fill his lungs and then letting it out slowly. Once he felt like he had control of himself, he said, “It’s not like that. Malcolm’s straight. He won’t want some guy groping him.”

“Take another look,” Six said dryly, still sitting on the other end of the couch from Tomas. The club’s president didn’t seem to be paying attention, his hand between his sub’s legs and face buried behind his ear.

Frustrated and still jittery with adrenaline, he glanced back at where he’d last seen Malcolm, and the last of his possessive anger drained away. The random guy who’d grabbed his hips was gone, replaced by Ollie, who was keeping his hands to himself but stayed close to deter anyone else from moving into the space. In front of Malcolm was the club’s Sgt at Arms, Viper, and she was laughing at something, head thrown back. Bull had seen her dancing with another woman earlier, but there was no sign of the redhead now. Instead, she was helping Malcolm feel safe and was probably the one who’d scared off the asshole.

Clearing his throat, Bull slowly lowered himself back onto his armchair. “Good, uh, I’m glad he’s…”

The words dried on his tongue at Houston’s and Six’s knowing looks. Thankfully, neither one made a big deal about his overreaction. Houston sat back down as well, Kenneth smiling happily as he curled back up against him, then picked up the conversation they’d been having. “Even with us telling the moms to keep what we’re doing during certain events quiet, Ithink it’s safe to say the cat’s out of the bag. We need to make a plan for how to address the potential PR fallout.”

“It’s a private club, and everyone is of age. Fuck anyone who doesn’t like it,” Six growled.

Bull agreed but kept that to himself. It wasn’t his club, so it didn’t matter what he thought. Had he been surprised his mom had been right, that the Devil’s Hands were essentially having sex parties? Hell yeah. But he’d also been grateful she didn’t know that the gatherings were geared toward MC members interested in exploring BDSM and helping them find partners interested in the same.

He was a little upset Marv hadn’t at leasttoldhim, even if he wasn’t comfortable inviting his brother to the parties. But mostly, he understood it. Marv had always been private about his relationships, often not bringing the person around their family until he’d been seeing them for months. If at all. Bull had no idea if his brother was into any sort of BDSM dynamics—and honestly wasn’t sure he wanted to know—but the fact he hadn’t told Bull anything about them made him think Marv had at least checked them out.

But he wasn’t about to ask Houston or one of the others if Marv had attended one of the educational events or parties—again, he didn’t need to know if his brother liked to tie up his partners and whip them. Or get whipped himself. Or tickle them with a feather.

Really, the less he knew about his brother’s sex life the better.

He let the conversation about dealing with the club’s public image float around him as he sipped his beer. Tomas had tried to get Bull to join the MC several times, calling him a legacy andsaying the brotherhood was in his blood. But motorcycles had never been his thing, not like Marv. Their grandpa had been the club’s Road Captain for years, right up until he’d passed away from an unexpected heart attack about five years ago. Right after that, Marv had campaigned to be the new Road Captain, wanting to use all the knowledge he’d learned from their grandpa to make sure the club’s rides were safe.

Bull always said no to joining, but sometimes he wondered what it would be like to have built-in friends like the MC. Or, really, a second family. He knew some of the members didn’t have great biological families, and the club became theironlyfamily.

The urge to join was there sometimes, but the prospect of riding a motorcycle was terrifying.

Not that he was going to tell anyone from the MC that.

He’d never live it down. He’d never even told Marv that the idea of balancing his bulk on the back of a machine that could very easily tip over made his palms sweat. Instead, he just stayed on the fringes and focused on his moms, Marv, and making sure Bo’s stayed a sought-after dining location for locals and tourists.

Easy.

His eyes drifted back to the dance floor without his permission. Malcolm was learning some sort of dance move from Mason that seemed to mostly involve rolling his hips and touching his torso. Bull watched, transfixed, as Malcolm did it over and over, laughing occasionally but getting smoother with each attempt.

He was so screwed.

Just being friends with Malcolm was going to be a special kind of torture, but what was the alternative? Not talking to or seeinghim outside of what was necessary for work? Now that he’d had a taste of seeing Malcolm outside the diner, cutting loose, having fun, and radiating happiness, he didn’t see how he could go back without going crazy. He may not be the one out there showing Malcolm the moves, but he’d been the one to bring him. He’d put that smile on his face.

He couldn’t give that up.

Friends would have to be enough.

CHAPTER SIX

The echo of pounding music was still vibrating in Malcolm’s ears as he hummed along to the radio, his legs tired and dried sweat making his scalp itch.

He feltgood. Better than he had in ages.

Getting the chance to lose himself to the energy of the clubhouse, dancing and laughing and drinking a few beers, was exactly what he’d needed. Sure, none of his problems were gone, but they felt distant, like pesky annoyances instead of unbearable obstacles.

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