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Carmelo grabbed a bottle of beer from the bar and turned around.
“Shame you aren’t wearing your uniform, pig, I’ve got an after-party planned that would be right up your alley.” He heard Rafe pipe up from around a beer bottle beside him.
Carmelo took a deep, long swig from the beer bottle. When he came up for air, he muttered, “I brought it in the car. Got my handcuffs in my pocket. I hate myself for it… but I can’t resist…”
Rafe threw him a crafty smile. Carmelo let the same conspiratorial smile creep onto his lips.
“You, me, a bunch of strippers, dress rehearsal for a new sex show we are going to put on at The Glasshouse.” Rafe ticked the elements off on his fingers like essential cake recipe ingredients.
Carmelo’s balls throbbed, he had to readjust his now hard cock. “I’ve never… with another guy…”
“We won’t be anywhere near each other, pig, there’ll be a sea full of hot pussy in between us-”
“Shit,” Carmelo said. He was sorely tempted. But he shouldn’t be doing this, he put his uniform in the car on a whim, a moment of sheer madness, on the off chance that maybe…
Carmelo let his head flop forward.
“Come on, brother, if you love it, own it. You like to fuck. You like to fuck a lot of women. At the same time. In kinky ways. Tough shit. No one cares. Do what makes you happy,” Rafe said.
Carmelo kept his head forward but blinked his eyes open, straight at Rafe. A devious, dark little smile crept onto his lips, and he winked at Rafe in response. Fine. Fuck his life but yes, he’d own it. This was who he was. Rafe saw and mirrored his smile.
Rafe then reached out a hand, grabbed Carmelo’s shirt and pulled.
Carmelo tipped his head back and laughed as buttons flew and he heard the unmistakable, jubilant sound of fabric ripping.
“Ladies!” Rafe shouted, and the strippers assembled behind him like the fucking Power Rangers. Rafe nodded to Carmelo. “Stand up and own it, pig, don’t let them drag you away this time-”
“Looks like I’ve broken the law again,” Carmelo said darkly, only too happy to take the lead.
“Wahoo, that time of night! Sergeant gets stripped!” someone yelled from the crowd. A few other people hollered, too.
“Fuck my life,” Carmelo muttered to himself, smiling. His handcuffs went on him and his cock responded like Pavlov’s salivating dogs. Conditioned to harden and weep. He saw Colt looking on and grinning with barely contained mischief.
“What? Our Sergeant, being a bad boy…”
“Well, we gotta show him, right?”
“Sure, honey, we gotta show him how bad he’s been.”
“When will he learn?”
Carmelo flashed Colt a brief, bright smile. Colt saw it, recognized it, and celebrated with him in it. Carmelo’s acceptance, Carmelo’s coming of age moment as he confidently led the gaggle of women out of the garden, Rafe amongst the group, too.
Colt raised his glass to Carmelo, toasting to him as he passed. “Here’s looking at you, pig.”
“Fuck!” Lyle felt the force like a thousand trucks slamming into his body. All over. All at once. His head exploded. His teeth hurt. Everything hurt. His heart raced, his body shook. He was breathless and burning.
“Oh yes! So good, Papa Bear, you are taking it so well!”
It could have been hot sex.
It was not.
The Sergeant at Arms of his MC, Ash, was giving him the beating of his life while Colt, his Prez, watched on, arms folded over his chest. Face impassive. Bored even.
“That’s for disappearing on us, Papa Bear!” Ash spat on his face. The spit was warm. Lyle would have been offended and disgusted but he wasn’t. He didn’t have the energy to care. He was dirt, he was nothing but a no-hope spittoon. He deserved it. He welcomed it.
“That’s for dragging our asses down here, to shitty, sweaty Vegas!” Ash did a perfect textbook aerial haymaker kick to Lyle’s head and the world slid sideways. He tasted the tarmac of the pavement. He was down. Good. Maybe Ash would end him and he’d never have to get up again.
