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She smiled again once she realized he never told her what he came to say.
The whole reason he showed up at her apartment at midnight.
The whole reason he forced himself inside.
He left taking with him the perfect excuse to seek her out again.
She had no doubt he would use that excuse.
In fact, she looked forward to it.
Chapter Eleven
He was tired, but restless. He should go back to his room, but he doubted he’d be able to sleep yet. Why?
Because of that fucking bitch.
She was like a goddamn sickness. A virus attacking him from the inside out.
It had been weeks. Fucking weeks! And he still couldn’t scrape Jet from his mind.
He’d tried. Too many times. With many different methods.
He failed every damn time. And it was all that bitch’s fault.
If he didn’t think of her, he couldn’t get hard. Worse, he couldn’t finish. Not until he pictured her in the mirror naked as he railed her hard while she ate it the fuck up.
Loving every fucking second of it.
Fucking encouraging him instead of resisting. Encouraging him to bite her, to spank her perfect, bitable ass.
To squeeze her neck, to fuck her roughly.
While the look in her eyes spurred him on to make her come.
I always like a challenge.
She wasn’t the only one.
But now his challenge was to scrape her out of his fucking head. Out of his thoughts. Out of his dreams.
Out of his goddamn life.
For good.
No doubt, it had been a mistake.
He knew it the second he had pulled up to her place. The second he got out of the borrowed cage. The second he climbed down the back steps to the basement apartment of the house in town.
The second he pounded on the door.
The second she opened that door, wearing what she was wearing, looking how she looked. Tousled and sleepy-eyed, the outline of her hard nipples visible through the thin cotton. Her bare legs, her loose black hair begging to be pulled, those goddamn soul-sucking eyes.
Yeah, it had been a mistake.
Stupid fuck that he was, he’d done it anyway.
Every fucking time he’d been arrested, he knew he made a fucking mistake, too. But, of course, he’d done it anyway.
Because he couldn’t not do it.
Just like he couldn’t not fuck Jet.
So he did.
Look what all his bad decisions made him. An ex-con and a pig fucker.
He tilted the Jim Beam bottle to his lips and let the bite of the bourbon slide down his throat and the warmth pool in his gut.
He should take one of the sweet butts who remained back to his room and fuck her until he passed out.
That was what he should do.
The sweet butts had been busy ever since the club’s Christmas party officially ended. Unofficially, it still wasn’t over. Not until everyone had left or passed out.
He took another long swig, hoping the booze would at least dull the memory of Jet and the mistake he’d made. The mistake they’d done.
He glanced around The Barn. Music still loudly filled the large space and church was a fucking mess from when everyone partied earlier. The prospects would have their work cut out for them come Christmas morning when they had to clean everything the fuck up.
Which was one reason why it was such a damn mess. His brothers knew they weren’t the ones to have to do it. So, basically, the area was trashed. Typical after a really good party.
It started as a club-family get-together and, like normal, finished by turning into a night of depravity. Now only a few remained. The prospects, some of his brothers and the sweet butts who hadn’t disappeared with anyone yet. Or had finished with their first conquest and were on the prowl for their next.
Trip had bought all of the sweet butts cuts for Christmas. Black leather vests with rockers on the back. The top one claiming “Property of,” the bottom reading “Blood Fury MC,” with the large Fury insignia patch in the center. They were similar to the ol’ ladies’ cuts but without a specific brother’s name on the bottom rocker since the women belonged to the club as a whole. The sweet butts were available to anyone who wanted them. Whenever they wanted them. However they wanted them.
Their choice was either to be a sweet butt or not. After that their choices were limited.
Yeah.
Not long after the children left, those cuts were the only thing the sweet butts were wearing. It seemed once the clock struck a certain hour, all their damn clothes vanished.
Not that Rook was complaining. For the most part, their bodies rocked. Some were a little younger and thinner than he’d like, but still doable.
Now Jet’s body…
Fuck.
Slender but not skinny. In shape and tight as fuck. Sculpted muscles but nowhere near overdone or manly, not with those tits and that fuckable ass and all that long, straight black, fistable hair falling around her face. Those fucking blue eyes, too…
