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“That pussy is for anyone who wants it,” Dagger pointed out just to be contrary.
“I know.” Jackson sighed heavily. “I’m going to tell him that he can’t let on to Race that he’s getting sucked off or he’ll be in deep shit. He’s not going to want to piss Race off.”
“I bet $50 he doesn’t last ten minutes,” Dagger pronounced, feeling feisty.
“Fuck that. He won’t last five,” Race chuckled. He’d enjoyed the pleasures of the woman’s warm mouth many times and every time was an exercise in not embarrassing himself by coming too fast.
“You’re on.” Dagger accepted the bet.
Jackson waved Tori over, whispered in her ear and watched her strut off to the bar. While Lance had his back to the bar, she slipped in and dropped to her knees so when he turned around she’d be in position.
Jackson reached for his phone and called Race’s phone. “Keep it on speaker so you can hear everything.” With that he and Trick moved to sit at the bar while Race, Dagger and Maverick moved to a closer table. He placed his phone on the table and turned up the volume.
It was comical to see Lance’s surprise. His eyes flew wide and his jaw dropped as he spotted Tori on her knees. He had a glass in one hand and a bottle of tequila in the other. He appeared frozen, unsure as to what he should do. According to what Jackson had told him, he wasn’t supposed to be participating with any of the women tonight. He had a very small window of time to either tell her to stop and go away or let the woman continue with what she was doing.
Race saw the minute Lance made his decision for better or worse. He could hear Lance’s breath hitch from where he was sitting and knew Tori had him in her mouth. Was that a squeak he heard? Race snickered as he watched Lance’s eyes close and he mouthed “fuck.” He could sympathize with the guy. What man in his right mind would pass up a blowjob under any circumstances?
“Hey, Lance,” Jackson yelled to be heard above the music. He placed his phone on the bar in front of him so Race and the others could hear. “I think I’ll have a Jack and Coke.”
Lance’s eyes hit Jackson’s knowing he’d been caught.
“Watcha doin’?” He looked over his shoulder and Race nodded he could hear loud and clear.
“Uhh,” Lance came up blank. He set the tequila and glass on the bar then using his hands he pointed them in a helpless manner toward the woman on her knees as if to say “what am I supposed to do?” He was at the mercy of Tori and her super suction mouth.
“I thought I told you pussy is for patch members only tonight.” Jackson leaned far enough to the side to allow Race and his table a clear view of what was going on.
“Yeah. The thing is I turned around and she was just there. She had my zipper down and my cock in her mouth before I knew what was going on. And technically it’s not her pussy my dick’s in.” His hand tightened in her hair and his eyes drifted closed. “Fuck.”
Race, Dagger and Maverick were leaned over the phone, choking on their laughter as they watched Lance struggle with what to do.
“If you don’t want Race finding out you went against his orders, you better keep serving drinks. I still want a Jack and Coke.”
“How?” Lance growled.
“Reach behind you for the Jack and open your damn eyes.”
Lance twisted at the waist, bending his back a bit and grabbed the first bottle he could get his hands on. He was breathing hard and beginning to sweat by the time he faced Jackson again. He poured a shot of whatever booze he’d grabbed in the glass and added Coke before sliding it across the bar to Jackson.
From where Race was sitting, he could clearly see Lance’s struggle to hide the fact someone was sucking him off behind the bar. He had both hands braced on the bar, his head dropped, his knuckles white.
“I’ll take a seven and seven,” Trick stepped up the pressure.
Lance scowled at Trick. “Seriously?” he gasped and jerked.
“Yeah. I’m thirsty. Get to it, prospect,” Trick pushed.
Lance was starting to breathe harder. He once again twisted at the waist and blindly grabbed another bottle.
Jackson took a drink from his glass and started choking. “What the fuck? This is vodka and Coke.”
“Sorry,” Lance apologized but showed no remorse as he went about fixing Trick’s drink. With a grimace on his face, he quickly mixed it together and passed it over.
Trick picked up his glass and sniffed. “Wow, prospect. This is rum and Coke not seven and seven.”
Lance had fisted his hand and was banging it against his forehead, mumbling, “Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.”
Race decided to turn up the heat. “Prospect! I need another beer,” he shouted from his table.
