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Little did they know his desire for a single companion arose from something more profound and darker.
Primal.
He likened himself to an animal searching for its bonded mate. He wanted to damn near own his woman. To possess her in every way. To become part of her on a cellular level and have her become part of him.
He wanted the type of relationship where he couldn’t bear to let his partner walk out the door in the morning without a good, hard fuck because he needed a taste of her to survive his day. And he wanted her to crave him and his touch just as much.
Sometimes, most of the time, he wondered if such a relationship existed.
He hoped it did. The universe had a way of fucking him, and recently it’d done him in the ass without so much as a drop of lube which meant he was probably doomed never to find what he wanted almost as much as he wanted his next breath.
“So, what? Do you want me to pretend to be Lock’s girlfriend? His captive sex doll? What are we talking about here?”
Christ, if the conversation continued along these lines, he’d have to leave the damn room. Imagining Brenna tied up in his bed, at his mercy, had him sweating bullets.
Curly chuckled. “Maybe somewhere in between?”
Not helping, Prez.
Lock shook his head and stepped forward. “You’ll stay with me here and be seen out with me and at the clubhouse. Wherever you go, I go, and if I can’t because of work or Caleb, one of our prospects will accompany you.”
Frowning, Brenna ran her finger over a scratch on his table. “Because you want it to look like I’m not allowed to go anywhere alone.” She lifted her gaze to meet his, and the gut punch caught him by surprise.
Fuck, she was gorgeous. Exactly his type—innocent and sweet with a hint of dark curiosity. Lock may have preferred monogamy over sleeping around, at least when sober, but that didn’t mean he wished for vanilla sex. He was down for anything, anywhere, any place, and the dirtier, the better.
His poor dick.
“Yes,” he managed to say, though there wasn’t much blood left to power his brain. “We want it to look to the outside world, especially Oliver, like we own you. Like I own you.”
Was it his imagination, or was that a flare of heat in her eyes?
If so, it vanished in a flash.
“And you think this will bring Oliver to you.”
She didn’t phrase it as a question. She knew and only wanted them to agree.
Spec jumped in. “Yes. That’s exactly what we think will happen. He’ll keep his distance until he no longer worries there will be repercussions for shorting us. Once he realizes we accepted his… gift,” Brenna and Liv winced, “… we’re anticipating he’ll come sniffing around to borrow more money.”
That had Brenna frowning again. “Why did he need money in the first place? He’s an estate attorney who makes a great living. What the hell did he need fifty thousand dollars for? Is he doing drugs or something?” Her attention bounced between the three men as she asked the question.
“It seems our friend Ollie has a bit of a gambling problem,” Spec said with a sideways glance at Lock, whose skin suddenly felt too tight. Brenna’s question about drugs hit a little too close to home.
He could barely swallow as an invisible hand squeezed his throat.
Oblivious to anything besides Liv’s necklaces, Caleb let out a happy shriek.
Focus on your son. You’re not that man anymore.
“No way. I was with him for almost two years. I mean, he goes to a poker night once a month, but wouldn’t I have noticed if it had gotten out of control?”
“Probably not.” Spec shrugged. “I’m sure he’s a master at hiding it. But that’s not all, unfortunately. Ollie also—”
Brenna snorted. “He hates that name.”
“Good.” Spec winked, making her chuckle.
The slight hint of comic relief helped loosen the fist crushing Lock’s throat.
