I may not be unscathed, but I’m alive, breathing. I’ve faced the devil and bought myself another day.
However, I’m a little terrified to see what tomorrow holds.
Our eyes deceive us . . . our minds can be corrupted . . . but our hearts are forever truthful.
MAVERICK
If I stay in here any longer, one of my brothers will come looking for me, probably Taz. He’ll take one look at me, the mess I’ve made, and know something besides a mountain of work is keeping me from joining the party.
I should get out there or get back to work and finish my overdue design. But I’ll be damned if I can think straight enough to put pencil to paper tonight. Most likely, I’ll fuck it up more than I’ll fix it.
Sitting up, I lift my head out of my hands. I slump in my chair, defeated.
In less than two hours, one girl has tilted my whole world on its axis and succeeded in stirring up a tornado of raw emotions inside me.
Betrayal. Guilt. And a whole hell of a lot of pain.
Maybe fate is fucking with me again. Setting me up at the most inopportune time, playing some sort of sick and twisted joke just to revel in my misery.
I gave Dozer my word, Doll, Pumpkin, whatever the fuck her name is, could stay. Although what I really need is her gone. Out of my life. Out of this motherfucking clubhouse so I can rebury my past. Lock it back in the vault inside me where it belongs.
I thought if I pushed her, scared her enough to make her run, she’d be halfway across the state by now. Back to her boyfriend. Back to her sweet little suburban life. But she surprised the hell out of me. With every test that I threw at her, she stood her ground, changed, adapted, and showed me she’s like a 3D puzzle showing different facets of herself every time you view her from a different angle.
Each time I pushed, she pushed back. She called my bluff, and blew my whole fucking plan to pieces.
She made me realize she’s not a docile rag doll after all; more like that smart-mouthed orphan. Or the tabby stray I called her out for at first glance.
She even has a pair of claws on her. Literally. The girl left fucking marks on my skin. And her mouth may be tempting as sin to look at, dainty even, but she has a tongue like a whip when she decides to use it and not bite back her words.
When I forced her against the wall, I expected her to break down. Freak out. Run out of here like the devil was on her heels.
But did she?
No.Not even when I searched her.
If anything, she’d been turned on.
Wet.
I sit back in my chair, groan, and rub my hands over my face trying to suppress the memory of her reaction, and the way her slickness felt on my fingers. Smooth. Like the softest of silks. The recollection causes my skin to tighten all over.
When I told her to suck me off, she didn’t back down and she didn’t cower. She didn’t tell me to fuck off and storm out of my office. No. She rose to the challenge, brought out her ChapStick, and taunted me with it before finally sinking down to her knees in front of me. Her cheeks were flushed and eyes dilated, which caused a surge of arousal to shoot straight to my cock, while a jolt of electricity flickered through each of my limbs. I’d been both fighting not to come like a pre-pubescent boy, and struggling not to unleash the madness and bitter hatred I harbor for Dana on her.
Because I knew if she touched me, I’d lose the battle and attack her. Fuck her or kill her. Both were possibilities.
It’s why for the last half of a decade I’ve only indulged in a very strict brand of fucking. I touched the girls around the club enough to thrust to completion. No eye contact. No mouths. No hands roaming where they shouldn’t. Just simple. Rough. Fucking.
That’s it.
No way am I letting another bitch worm her way into my life and my club. And I’ll be damned if I’m going to let another redheaded stray soften me up for the staking a second time.
My body’s response was merely my dick’s way of telling me it’s sick of the limited sexual diet it’s been on and needs more.
Preferably from her.
Jesus . . . now my brain’s throwing out traitorous thoughts.
Fuucck.