“Get with Brick to make sure the camera footage of you two ‘helping him to his car’is erased, and only shows him driving off under his own steam, just in case he’s stupid enough to go to the cops,” I instructed, keeping my voice equally low. It was doubtful that Mandy could hear us over the sound of the music coming from the stage area, but there was no sense announcing our activities.
Skid just grinned at my command. “It’s a damned shame when technology glitches like that, ain’t it?”
Mandy reappeared from the changing area then, wearing a tank top and a pair of blue jeans, coming to a stop next to me. She looked much younger with her heavy make-up removed, and with her short blonde hair instead of the long blonde wig she wore when she worked. “I’m heading home, brother, so I’ll walk her out. Call me if there’s any hint of blowback from tonight.”
Bodhi nodded in understanding and headed back out to the main bar area. I guided Mandy out through the same door we’d used with Paulson, and she directed me toward the older model Subaru parked in the corner of the lot. It beeped as she unlocked it, and I opened the driver’s door for her to slide behind the wheel.
“Thanks, King. We all appreciate you and the club looking out for us. As for the money, I –“ she stopped for a second to compose herself, then cleared her throat and continued. “Well, I just want you to know how much it means to me. It would have sucked to lose out on a night’s tips, especially because of that asshole.”
“No thanks needed, babe. You do good work for us. You deserve it. Drive safely, and we’ll see you Tuesday.”
She nodded and reached for her seatbelt as I closed the car door and took a step back. I waited until she had driven off before making my way over to my truck, which I’d left parked at the curb by the back door.
I turned around at the sound of my name, rolling my eyes as Star waltzed over toward me with a ridiculous pout on her face.
“Bodhi said I’m not needed anymore, but Ace said –“
“Ace must have assumed we’d be a little busier tonight. Our regular servers can handle it.”
She huffed but was smart enough not to argue. “Can you give me a ride back to the clubhouse then, so I don’t have to waste money getting an Uber?”
If I’d been on my bike, I would have called one of the prospects to pick her up in the club van but since I was in my truck, I agreed. I didn’t like the idea of any woman getting in a rideshare alone at night. It seemed like an especially bad idea if that woman was picked up at a strip club. Right or wrong, that gave some people the wrong impression.
“Go find some clothes to put on. I don’t want any of that body glitter shit in my truck.” I didn’t want her practically bare ass on my truck seats either, but I was feeling enough like a gentleman that I didn’t tell her that outright.
“Hurry your ass up, too. I’m not waiting around all night,” I called as an afterthought. She was back within a few minutes, clothed in a T-shirt and shorts, both at least one size too small. She was mostly covered though, so that was what mattered.
I turned off the A/C and rolled down the windows in the truck, partly so it would be difficult to carry on a conversation over the road noise, but mostly so I didn’t have to inhale the perfume she’d doused herself with. I found myself missing Ella’s scent, which was crazy since I had barely been around it.
I dropped her off at the clubhouse and didn’t bother stopping in myself before I headed home. I’d had enough of other people for the night. My stomach growled as I pulled out of the compound, making me curse when I realized I’d forgotten to grab the cookie tin from the counter before I’d left Ella’s place. I smiled as I remembered why I’d been distracted, and my cock started to chub up at the memory of her luscious lips. I reached down to adjust myself, wincing as my swollen knuckles grazed the steering wheel. I flexed my hand gingerly, satisfied that nothing was broken. I’d be sore for a few days though, yet one more reason to be pissed off at the filth that was Steven Paulson.
It didn’t take long for me to get to my house, the same three-bedroom ranch with a basement that I’d bought when the boys were toddlers. My ex-wife, Christy, had hated it, of course. It wasn’t fancy, but it served its purpose. I’d never seen the need to buy anything else and had briefly considered selling it at one point a few years ago, since I usually spent a few nights a week in my room at the clubhouse anyway. It had seemed kind of pointless to keep a house just for myself, but in the end, I’d decided I was too damned old to bunk at the clubhouse full time. I enjoyed having the time to myself, without being surrounded by the noise and the drama and the general hell-raising that went on there.
After removing my boots, then slipping out of my cut and hanging it on the hook by the back door, I thoroughly washed my hands at the kitchen sink, made myself a couple of sandwiches,then grabbed a beer along with an ice pack for my hand before flopping down on the couch.
The urge to talk to Ella hit me as I ate, and I cursed myself when I realized I hadn’t asked for her phone number. It hadn’t occurred to me, probably because I never, ever did that shit. I didn’t call or even text women. I met them at the bar, or at parties at the clubhouse, they either sucked me off or we fucked, and then went our separate ways. There was no cuddling afterward. There were no sleepovers. There were no promises to get together again. I never asked for their numbers. I rarely even asked for their names.
Yeah, it could be awkward when I approached a woman, only for her to mention us hooking up before. I’d learned to play it off, so they didn’t realize that I had absolutely zero recollection of even talking to them before, let alone fucking them. I’d also learned when to proceed with a second hook-up, and when to offer up an excuse for why I needed to cut the evening short and walk away. I’d developed a sixth sense for which women would turn into stage-five clingers, and which ones were fine with an occasional fuck with no expectations of anything more. It was a good skill to have.
What I didn’t do was ask for their phone numbers or sit in my own damned living room thinking about how good they tasted. My lips didn’t tingle as I replayed our kisses – hell, I rarely did much kissing once the sucking and fucking commenced. There didn’t seem to be much point in it once the clothes came off.
I tossed the remote down on the couch next to me, pissed at myself for sitting here mooning over a woman I barely knew like some weak-ass pussy. I cranked my neck from side to side, the resulting pop releasing a bit of the tension that had begun to build up. I glanced down at the growing bulge in my jeans. Fuckit, I needed to release a different kind of tension before I did permanent damage to myself.
I quickly turned off the TV and the lights, double checked that the doors were locked, and the security alarm was set, then hauled ass down the hall to my bathroom. I stripped off my clothes as I went, leaving a trail of cotton and denim on my bedroom floor. As I waited for the water to heat in the shower, I looked at myself in the mirror over the sink.
It was always a little bit of a mindfuck whenever I caught a glimpse of myself these days. It seemed like every damned time I looked there was a little more gray in my beard, a few more wrinkles around my eyes, and a few more lines on my forehead. I sure as hell didn’tfeelolder, but the proof was staring me in the face. Literally.
I flexed my muscles and turned this way and that, satisfied with the way my pecs and biceps bulged. The six-pack I’d had for most of my life wasn’t quite as well-defined as it used to be, and I’d grudgingly accepted the fact that I needed to go up one waist size in my jeans a couple of years ago. My stomach was still flat though, even though I was a little thicker around the middle now. Luckily, my hair was still thick and full, even if it was sprinkled with a little more salt than pepper these days. The hair on my chest still drove women wild, although I’d spotted a few grays mixed in there, too, not to mention the ones I’d sprouted a little further south.
I winced as I remembered the manscaping incident from a few years ago, when I’d noticed one single stark white hair mixed in with my pubes as I was taking care of a little grooming. After I’d recovered from the shock, I’d had the bright idea to pluck the damn thing, which was highly visible on my groin next to the base of my dick. Easy solution, or so I’d thought.
Never fucking again. I’d shave myself completely bald before I ever put a pair of tweezers anywhere near my junk. I didn’t care if I looked like Santa Claus in the middle of a winter wonderland down there. That shit was never fucking ever happening again.
It hadn’t helped that I’d pulled not only the white hair, but several of the dark hairs surrounding it, too. The resulting pain had nearly caused me to black out, and for one horrifying moment, I’d been afraid I’d somehow ripped a chunk of flesh out of my dick. I’d been sure I’d look down to the sight of blood everywhere, and my poor cock barely attached to my body. But no, the spot had barely even been red. It had just been that fucking painful. It had taken hours for my asshole to unclench, and I’d been afraid to try to use my dick for almost a week, in case I suffered a trauma-induced flashback, and it refused to work.
All in all though, I still looked pretty damned good, especially for a man my age, I thought as I stepped into the now-steaming shower. I stood for a moment, just letting the water pound against my back and shoulders. I started to imagine Ella in the shower with me, as I had that morning, and my softening cock perked up again. In no time, I was rock hard, ignoring the pain in my hand as I fisted my length, picturing Ella bent over in front of me. I thought of those flour-coated handprints I’d left on the seat of her pants and imagined them as reddened handprints on her bare skin. As the warm water sluiced over my skin, I swore I could still taste her sweet pussy, and imagined how good it would be to taste her juices straight from the source.
Remembering the sound of her moans, and the tight heat of her cunt as she clamped down on my fingers, I felt my balls drawing up, and the tell-tale tingling at the base of my spine. I pumped faster, bracing my left arm against the tiled showerwall. My head fell back, and I shouted Ella’s name as I came. My body trembled with aftershocks as I stood there, chest heaving, willing my heart rate to go down. As soon as I was sure my knees would support my weight, I turned the shower head so that the water washed away the white ropes of cum I’d shot all over the tiled wall.
I felt so relaxed, almost boneless, as I slipped bare-assed into my bed ten minutes later. My last conscious thought before sleep took me under was that I needed to get Ella’s number tomorrow morning.
