“Alright. Your funeral, girly. Give me your wrist so I can put this shit on and get you out of my shop. I have plans tonight.”
I heaved out a breath of relief and slumped back into his chair, holding my arm up and ready so he could begin wrapping it with the Saniderm I lovedmore than anything. It hurt like a bitch to take off, regardless of how big the tattoo was, but I was just a little too fucked in the head to care.
As he placed it on my arm, completely ignoring my pouts, my mind wandered to the chaos that may ensue tonight. I sighed as my heart started to beat faster.
Echo was a really bad influence.
TWO
AUREO
Iwas surrounded by beautiful men and women. Nearly everyone was dressed in some variation of biker leather—all the way from the patrons, to the strippers—dancing their way onto men’s laps. If I were any other kind of guy, I would’ve probably been palming my dick right in front of everyone like every other male in here.
Instead, I really wanted a fucking nap. I was fucking exhausted.
It was pitiful, honestly. I never wouldhave believed myself to be more bored from the sight of naked men and women, and yet here I was, practicallydying. While I loved working with the fellow men in the beloved Stormed Souls, escaping a shitty marriage and moving here to rekindle with the man who had once saved my life—I think I much preferred riding than babysitting.
I learned that lesson very early when I had to babysit the beautiful, albeit bratty and shy, Phoebe Evans. Only to catch her over the lap of an older man who knewnothingabout how to properly make a woman tremble.
My dick twitched at the memory of her riding him—tits out of her lacy bralette, skirt thrown up for easy access. Her head was thrown back like she was in pleasure, and yet when she met my smirking face through the window, I knew it was an act right from the start.
Her pretty face could not have been more bored from the actions of thatkid.
But the panic that grew in them when she realized I was watching her?
Bliss.
Even more so when she began to ride him harder, her pouty lips dropping into arealmoan when I palmed myself as I watched the sho—Fuck.
No.
I had masturbated enough to the famous biker princess who pretended I didn’t exist, especially after that day. It was fucked up on so many levels, from her younger age to her being my best friend’s daughter—the best friend I practically owed my life to.
I had learned to quell all the urges regarding Ryker’s daughter. So the last thing I wanted was to get rock solid in this bar, of all places, and have one of Ryker’s girls grind against it.
A man only had so much control.
It would either end in a girl getting railed while I pictured Phoebe in her place, or a girl bruising her tailbone as I shoved her off of my lap for good.
I rolled my eyes and cringed at my thoughts. Most men in this club, fuck—in this town alone—knew the two W’s: whiskey and whores. Yet, here I sat, thinking about how badly I wanted to bury my cock into a girl who hated my very existence.
Don’t get me wrong; Iwaslike other guys. I would’ve loved to get my dick wet with one of the pretty girls here. It would’ve been so easy to charm them into my bed and fuck them until the sun came up, until we collapsed in a heap of exhaustion, only to kick them out without another glance.
I justcouldn’t. Not when Phoebe fucking Evans and the daydreams of her pretty lips around my dickentered my head. When the thoughts of her curves haunted my every wank. It felt like cheating, even though I’ve never had her in the first place.
Simply put, I was obsessed.
And I hated it.
Admittedly, I had stared appreciatively at quite a few corsets and other strappy tops tonight—I did have eyes, after all—but my dick continued to act like a sullen weeping willow or some shit. So, if I had it my way, I would have been getting shitfaced in my own apartment, where I could’ve eaten as many corn dogs as I wanted, and then rubbed one out on my own accord with raunchy, likely morally unacceptable, porn. The kind that porn that websites told me I was going to hell for searching up “illegal” activities.
It was the typical male’s dream.
But no. Instead, I had to park my ass on a fancy, red, leather couch, that had probably seen more semen than a fertility clinic, and watch other horny heathens in Crows Cavern nearly molest each other. And I swore to whatever God ruled over me—if someone started having sex right next to me, I would lose my ever-loving mind.
It was illegal for strippers to fuck the patrons, sure, but it wasn’t illegal for two consensual parties to fuck however they wanted to fuck, even if under theemployment of the meanest bastard in the state. Plus, they didn’t get paid for the fucking. Just for the near-orgasmic dances.
Everything always had a loophole.
