Under the warm stream of the shower is where it hits me that tomorrow night, I’m going head to head in an actual three round fight with my own MC brother, a man who has a significant height and weight advantage on me, all for a thief. A thief who happens to be sexy as fuck and that I can’t seem to resist no matter how hard I try. To top it off, tomorrow I’ve volunteered to be punched, kicked, and most likely beaten bloody for her.
Since it’s too late to change my mind now, I slick my wet hair back from my face, wring out as much water as I can, and then grab a towel from the rack to start drying off.
I know it was a dick move to leave Naomi restrained to my bed while I showered, but she deserves a little retribution for turning me into a possessive caveman for the first time in my life, one who has started making incredibly bad decisions.
As soon as there are no longer droplets of water dripping down my body, I toss the towel into the hamper and go back to the bedroom to let my captive go.
I was expecting to be met with the glare of Naomi’s angry, blue eyes for leaving her restrained. Instead, her head is flopped to one side, a few blonde strands of hair hanging in front of her closed eyes. Her pink lips are parted as she sleeps soundly with her arms still stretched above her head.
She looks like a goddamn fallen angel I lucked up and captured by accident. I knew from day one that she didn’t belong in my world. The proof that I shouldn’t trust her was a slap in the face just a few days ago, and still I brought her home with me, the only woman I’ve ever brought back to my home.
I always prefer to handle my dick’s business at a hookup’s house because I don’t want them knowing where I live, showing up whenever they want, asking me for shit. I deal with enough needy bitches at the bar and on the boat. I don’t want to deal with it at home. Not that I’m here very often, no more than a few hours to sleep most days, before getting back to work at the clubhouse.
From out of nowhere, it hits me that, if I had Naomi waiting for me in my bed every night, I sure as shit would make more time to be home.
Retrieving the tiny metal key from the same drawer I keep the handcuffs in, I crawl up on the bed and get to work on undoing them. The movements cause Naomi’s eyes to blink open and look up at me as I work.
“Mmm. About time,” she mumbles. “Thought you were gonna leave me like this all night.”
“Thought about it,” I tease her. “But my dick has to rest some time.”
“Ha-ha,” she retorts softly as I release her wrists and lower her arms. She immediately rolls to her side, curling up in a ball like she’s cold. Probably is, since there’s not a stitch of fabric on her and my air conditioning runs full blast in the summer. I cover her up with the comforter and then pull my jeans back on to head out back for a smoke.
The sounds of the waves crashing just a few feet away in the dark night are just as calming and relaxing as usual. It’s one of the reasons I refuse to sell this place for something bigger. In a world that’s usually chaotic, this is my peace.
And for whatever reason, knowing Naomi is here, waiting for me in my bed makes it feel even more like paradise.
Naomi
* * *
I can count on one hand how many times I’ve woken up next to a sleeping man. Usually the first emotion I feel is regret.
Not this morning.
I wake up in the comfiest bed, with the softest linens, with a bearded and inked muscular man sleeping naked beside me. I’m not sure it gets any better than this. Again, it makes me think that I’m getting a much better deal here than Malcolm.
I don’t regret stealing from Malcolm, and I sure as shit don’t regret agreeing to this deal with him, having the best sex of my life while being done with Harry. Or at least Malcolm claims he’ll take care of my debt…
Currently, the man in charge of my body for the next two weeks is lying sound asleep on his back, covers thrown off all but one of his thick legs. A single tattooed arm is thrown above his head, the other is resting on his bare pelvis, his fingers incredibly close to the base of his dick that’s long, hard and proud, raring to go before its master even opens his eyes.
Unable to resist, I reach over and wrap my fingers around his veiny girth and give it a stroke. Malcolm said the next time he comes he wants it to be in my mouth. And, at the moment, I can’t think of a better way to start the morning since my body is still humming from the orgasms he gave me last night.
On the second rough stroke, Malcolm makes a throaty rumbling sound like a dangerous, wild beast…right before he grabs my hand and peels it from his cock.
“Not now, honey,” he says with annoyance in his voice, as if I’m trying to floss his teeth while he sleeps rather than give him what was going to be a very enjoyable blowjob.
“I think your dick disagrees,” I tell him when the appendage twitches and grows impossibly longer.
Malcolm’s deep green eyes are barely open, just narrowed slits that are watching me. “Can’t come again until after tonight. Gotta save up my load before the fight.”
“A fight? Seriously?” He must be joking.
“Seriously.”
“What does coming have to do with a fight?” I ask in confusion.
“Getting off too much makes men lazy, way too complacent. Need the testosterone and hunger.”
When he doesn’t elaborate, I ask, “Is this fight of yours going to take place on the playground after dark?”
“No.” Malcolm stretches both of his arms above his head, then grips the headboard behind him, making it shake and his biceps bulge. “It’ll be in the cage out behind the bar.”
I think he’s actually telling the truth. This crazy man is going to have a bare fisted brawl with someone, which blows my mind. “And who will you be fighting in this cage behind the bar?”
“Fiasco.”
“Fiasco?” I repeat in surprise. “Why are you fighting Fiasco?”
With an exasperated sigh, Malcolm rolls out of bed and grabs a pair of clean jeans from a drawer, then pulls them up his legs. After tucking his erection down into them and zipping up, he finally props his hands on his hips to answer me. “Fiasco wanted me to share you with him for the next two weeks. I said no, and he wasn’t going to just let it go. So, we’re gonna fight to see who gets to have you.”
“Excuse me?” I ask, sitting up straight in bed.
The infuriating man doesn’t immediately respond. He’s too busy fetching a lighter and a pack of smokes from his dresser and then opening the bedroom window.
“Malcolm!” I shout at him, but it doesn’t do any good.
He doesn’t speak again until the cigarette is lit and he’s taken his first deep pull from it. Once he blows the smoke out, he finally says, “If I win, Fiasco will get the fuck over you. But if I lose…”
“What? If you lose, what?” I demand.
Speaking around the smoke between his lips, he says, “Then you’re his for the next two weeks.”
I’m his. I’m his?
Oh hell no!
“Malcolm! You can’t be serious!” When he doesn’t respond, I scoff indignantly and then jump out of bed to start putting my clothes on before I remember I don’t have any clothes at his house. He shredded my dress, and I didn’t even have a change of underwear with me! “How-how dare you offer me up like I’m your property!” I yell as I find and pull up his boxer briefs I wore last night for about two minutes before he tore them off me. “I agreed to be your whore, not his!”