He grabbed my hips and scooted me to the very edge of the desk. I sat up, wrapped my arms around his neck, and he nestled between my legs. He took off my glasses, folded them, and set them on the desk. Thank goodness I could still see somewhat without them.
“As much as I want this to last forever, pretty girl, I’m gonna fuck you hard and quick because I’m about ten seconds from coming all over you.”
I was happy with whatever he gave me.
Hard and fast.
Sweet and soft.
I would take it all and want more.
He pressed a hard kiss to my lips, and I reached down between us. I wrapped my fingers around his cock and squeezed. “I want whatever you will give me.”
I was desperate for him, and I wasn’t ashamed to admit it.
His fingers delved into my hair, and his hand gripped the back of my head. “Put my dick inside you,” he ordered.
I watched as I guided his dick inside me and gasped when his other hand grabbed my waist and held me there. He tugged my hair and tipped my head back ‘til my eyes connected with his.
“You feel that?’ he growled.
I mewled in response, unable to string two words together.
“That’s me, pretty girl. Ain’t no one ever gonna be here again except for me. You got that?”
I nodded stiffly. “Yes, Playboy.”
He had claimed me, and I loved it.
He wanted to own me? I was his to take. Nothing had ever felt more right.
Inch by sweet inch, he slowly pulled back then slammed back into me. “Who do you belong to?” he grunted.
He pulled back out and plunged back in before I could get the words out.
“Who do you belong to?” he demanded again. “Say it,” he growled.
“You,” I gasped. He pulled out and slammed back in. “I belong to you, Playboy.”
His lips crashed down on mine, and he claimed my mouth the same way he had claimed my pussy. His hips moved into me, and I arched up to meet his thrusts.
This was what I had wanted. The second I had met Playboy, I knew if I was lucky enough to be able to touch this man, I would never be the same.
My second orgasm built with each thrust, promising to be even better than the one his mouth had given me.
Playboy had been made for me, and I never wanted to give him up. Giving up this feeling was something I never would be able to do.
His hand at my hip grazed over my skin and found my clit. His thumb glided over the tight bud.
One flick.
Two flicks.
My orgasm crashed over me just as Playboy shouted my name and thrust one last time. He clutched me close, and I felt his dick throb inside me.
“Fucking best,” he gasped.
I closed my eyes and submerged myself in the feeling. Playboy held me close, and I buried my face in his chest.
We both panted, trying to catch our breaths.
His hands rubbed over my back, and my body slowly drifted down from pure ecstasy.
“Now that’s what I call a lunch break.” Playboy chuckled, and his body rumbled against me.
“If this is what happens when Leona calls in sick, I hope she never comes back,” I mumbled.
Playboy leaned back, and a satisfied smile played on his lips. “You get that open bar and Leona will be out of a job.”
I sighed and reached up. I traced a finger over his perfect lips. “I’m pretty sure if you took Leona’s job, nothing would ever get done and we would both get fired.”
He shrugged and pressed a quick kiss to my lips. “But what fun we would have before we got fired.”
The phone rang next to my ass, and I instinctively answered it without blinking. “Holmes and Gains Construction.” Yes, I had just answered the phone with Playboy’s dick still inside me.
Playboy smothered a laugh with the back of his hand, and I glared at him.
“Sure. I’m right by your desk. I’ll make sure it’s there.” I dropped the phone back on the cradle, fumbled to get my glasses back on, and leaned over to look at the papers on the floor.
“Who was that?” Playboy asked.
“Leona,” I mumbled. “She asked me to make sure the Trent file was on her desk.”
Playboy looked down. “Uh, is it somewhere down there?”
I shrugged. “Let’s hope so.” I looked up at him and smiled. “Also, this is Leona’s desk.”
Whoops.
*
Chapter Eleven
Playboy
Roll the tape…
“What are we going to do to help them?”
I shrugged and pulled out a cigarette. “We’ve got the money to help them.”
“You really think just giving the Devil’s Rebels the money they want is going to make them go away?” Tank asked. “They’ll find some bullshit reason to demand more six months from now. Once you fuck with the Devil’s Rebels, you might as well just accept the fact you’ll forever owe them.”
Tank was probably more than right.
“But it would keep them happy for a while,” Jet pointed out.
“So, we lend the Kings the money, but what are we really getting out of it?” Six-Gun asked.
We were gathered around the bar, and I was trying to persuade the guys to help the Kings of Vengeance. It was going as well as I had anticipated.
Not well.
“Interest on the loan,” I suggested.
Barracuda walked into the common room and pulled up a stool. “They want in on Skinz,” he stated.
Rebel scoffed. “Say what?”
Barracuda shrugged. “They want to buy into the franchise. We let them use the clout of the name and then take a skim off of their profits. We also charge interest on the thirty K loan.”
Skinz had over ten clubs along the west coast. It was a very profitable business because of the high standards we had when it came to the girls and the atmosphere of the club. The club just down the road from the clubhouse was the first one we had opened, and it was our most profitable. Deciding to expand the Skinz club with a different MC at the helm was risky, but it could also make us a lot of money.
“If we let them use the name, this could become something bigger. We could become a franchise that people could pay big bucks to buy into,” Monk pointed out.
Barracuda nodded. “It definitely has big potential if we do it right. I’m gonna run the idea through a couple of the other presidents of other Royal Bastards chapters, though. I need an outside perspective to see if it really is a good idea.”
The guys agreed if other chapters thought it was a good idea then it was something they wanted to move forward with.
“You two manage to go over the tapes from the club?” Barracuda asked Rebel and Tank.
Tank nodded. “Yeah. We figured out which guy Violet was talking about. He showed up at ten and stayed until close.”
“He was outside in his car when Billie Jean walked out.” Rebel grabbed a beer and popped the top.
“He grabbed her?” I asked.
Tank shook his head. “Nope. She walked right up to his car, got in, and then they drove off.”
“What the fuck?” Barracuda grumbled. “That doesn’t make any fucking sense. As far as we know, Billie Jean never saw the guy in her life before and she just drives off with him?”