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Fuck. Just sitting at The Barn’s bar thinking about her, his dick began to chub up. Fucking traitor.
He reached for the brass pipe sitting on the bar top in front of him, put it to his lips and lit it. He’d probably need to smoke a pound of pot and then drown himself in a barrel of whiskey to rid that woman from his system.
Of course, that pissed him the fuck off.
He’d never focused on any female for more than the time she was underneath him. That was it. A few minutes after he tucked away his dick, she was forgotten. Even if the sex was scorching hot. Even if the woman was into crazy shit.
No one stuck with him like that bitch Jet.
Fucking goddamn motherfucker.
He flicked the lighter again, lifted it to the bowl and took another long drag.
What did he need to do to get rid of her? Inject bleach into his veins to clean her out of his blood?
He needed to keep his mind busy on something else. Like the action that was happening at the end of the bar just a couple of feet away from him.
Ozzy had Lizzy’s bare ass planted on the edge. He stood between her spread legs fucking her, while Angel, also on top of the bar, straddled Lizzy’s face, both only wearing their new cuts. Ozzy’s hand was squeezing Lizzy’s tit, his other Angel’s, and he wore a wide grin as he lazily pumped his hips and watched the two women do their thing.
The man loved his threesomes. He didn’t give a shit if it was with two women or one where he double-teamed the female with one of their brothers. He also wasn’t close to being shy.
None of them were.
Or at least his single brothers weren’t. And the ones who had done time and learned quickly that privacy was a commodity. But once someone claimed their ol’ lady, they tended to take it behind closed doors.
Except for Stella and Trip. While they didn’t fuck out in the open, they also didn’t hide it when they were about to jump each other’s bones. Like tonight…
Trip and Stella were the last couple to remain. There was a reason for that. It wasn’t the first time they’d hung around for a while afterward, once the kids were gone and things began to loosen up. Things like clothes and morals.
Trip was leaning back against the wall with Stella facing away from him but pulled to his chest. His one hand gripped the crotch of her jeans and his other arm was like a bar across her stomach holding her tightly against him. His mouth was to her ear as they watched. Rook could only imagine what the president said to his ol’ lady.
What they were observing was Whip, sitting on one of the old green bus benches along the side wall, his jeans pushed halfway down his hairless thighs and his knees spread wide to make room for Crystal. He had one bent arm hooked behind his head and a fist in her hair. The young sweet butt was on her feet, leaning over with her bare ass in the air, her head bobbing up and down in his lap at a rapid pace. Rev stood behind Crystal, his jeans also halfway down his thighs, ramming her as hard as he could.
If he was Whip, Rook would be worried about getting his dick bitten off with as rough as Rev was slamming her.
This kind of open display of sex was one reason Sig and Red normally disappeared early. Avoiding it helped keep the demons at bay for both of them. Though, the deep-seated darkness that haunted them stemmed from two different reasons.
Reese and Deacon had stayed long enough to watch some of the adult action before Reese tugged the club treasurer upstairs to his apartment. Deke had left with a couple chin lifts to his fellow brothers, a big grin and eyes only for his woman. No doubt sporting a raging hard-on, too.
Cage and Jemma’s house mouse, Tessa, had taken baby Dyna home hours ago. Once the sweet butts began shedding their clothes, Jemma also left, letting Cage decide for himself whether to stay or follow. Rook shook his head as his younger brother tagged after his ol’ lady like a damn puppy. But then, Judge’s younger sister was hot as fuck, so he really didn’t blame Cage for going to get some of that.
The last time Rook saw Dutch was when his old man was banging some chick Rook didn’t know—he assumed she was a hang-around someone invited tonight—in one of the empty bunkhouse rooms. With the door open, of course, and certainly not being quiet about it. Both Dutch’s grunts and growled words, along with the maybe twenty-year-old’s vocal responses, echoed down the hallway.
