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CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
*Lace*
Bellies full and nervous systems hijacked by illegal substances, the immorality begins. Knowing my first task is to take care of Zane tonight, I fall onto the couch next to him and melt against his side…
…even if Chaz is staring ravenously at me from across the room. The upper portion of his motorcycle suit is now unzipped and bunched around his hips as he reclines back in a stage chair, waiting for a show from me.
Despite having just eaten, I guess he is ready for something sweet.
Sign me up. Someone direct me toward a dessert buffet, cock full — I mean chock full — of tasty treats.
Having gone a handful of months drug-free has somewhat of a dual effect. On one hand, I survived this long without peaking yet because of a built tolerance. On the other hand, now distraction free, my sensitivity is exacerbated like this is my first time experiencing an amazing high.
The peak is rapidly approaching thanks to that second pill Stoney forced on me, and it promises to be a doozy.
Even through the material of my borrowed jacket, my arm buzzes at the point where it touches Zane, and the flashing strobes flare extra bright, leaving behind trails of vivid light for me to stare at.
Those trails lead my fickle focus around the room, first to Vee and Bae who are deep in quiet conversation at the bar while they work together to break down and throw away empty pizza boxes. Vee is holding a collection of discarded crusts, one hanging out of his mouth like a cigar. Last I saw him smoking was when he took a joint into that meeting. My guess is he likely still has a couple hours to go before his peak wanes.
The lights flash again, this time near one of the side stages, and my focus adjusts accordingly. On one side of the stage, Kal and Kio are engaged in quiet conversation. On the opposite side of the stage, nothing more than a silhouette and glinting eyes can be seen in that dark corner of the room.
A small chill dashes up my legs from ankle to thigh. I meet the predatory glare, but then another flash of light steals the moment again, drawing my attention to the turntable.
Brodi took over playing the tunes, hooking up his phone to the system, unsurprisingly. We all have our fallbacks from real life shit, and Brodi always turns to music, riding, cocaine, or fucking.
If I had to rank these men purely in order of insanity, Brodi would likely take the trophy. The difference between him and the other bat-shit crazy members is that he actively seeks out ways to remedy the chaos in his mind. Those fallbacks are his cure, not his instigators.
Hard to believe it’s only been about six months ago during the spring rally that Brodi went from prospect to patched member.
He picks up the bulky DJ headphones and puts them on, head bobbing to the beat. Even halfway across the room his small lightning bolt tattoo is visible on his wrist.
Kal decided his club members wouldn’t be required to get the Hell for Leather emblem permanently inked on their bodies, something to do with “turning a new leaf” where one-percenters are concerned. For that reason, only a few of these men have tattoos — all by choice, and none having anything to do with their club loyalties.
Well, except for Kal; he has an unsightly Rolling Stones tattoo across his chest. Just like his father, of course.
“Do you have any tattoos?” I whip my attention back to Zane, hand inadvertently curling toward the inside of his thigh. His muscles tense, and I give him a gentle squeeze.
Unnerved by my touch, he only shakes his head in response.
The absolute worst part of this shitstorm tonight is that I am high on a love drug and apparently have my choice of one of the best lineups a girl could ask for. But for the first time in the history of forever, my vagina is confused.
What I want is to tempt Zane until he gives in. But I will combust in the process, I just know it. Perhaps I could handle the tease sober. Alas, that is not the case. Simply touching his thigh has my pussy clenching, wishing it was squeezing around something, anything, anyone.
The more I sit here and think about every tingle in my body, the worse those sensations get. The E has fully settled, and now I am suffering from the worst of it. All I can think about is satiating my needs for touch and to be filled.
Tipping over the edge of control, unable to handle not taking any action, I stand and readjust to straddle Zane. He swallows hard, and my fingers twitch to trace a line down the constricting column of his throat. Instead, my hand lifts to fondle his cute corkscrew curls.
His fawny eyes are watchful, darting everywhere all at once, trying to understand me. Puzzle out what my intentions are. Decide where his gaze should settle.
As practiced as I am, virgins are not on my extensive list of skills. Especially nervous, jumpy virgins. If my assessment is correct, Zane fits into that category.
Someone sits beside us, and a honeyed voice speaks. “Chaplain, you have no idea how goddamn lucky you are right now. I’d let Kio cut off my left nutsack just to have her look at me like that again.” I know the goofy, vulgar statement came from Chaz even without checking. “She’s got every single one of us by the balls with that look alone. The way she really fucking pays attention. Studies you. Cares. Lace is writing your beautiful eulogy with her thoughts right now, and your hands are like limp logs at your sides.”
“Cash.” His street name passes my lips with a tremulous exhale as I circle my hips into a single grind against Zane.
Chaz brushes the curtain of hair away from my face and over my shoulder. “Right here, baby,” he responds, words slowed and serious.
I want to lift my hands and press them against my eyes, take the high away.
