Her gaze dips down. Her eyes widen impossibly larger when she sees the bulge of my cock fighting to get out of my jeans. And then her hands are scrabbling at my belt, but her fingers slip, so I push them away, and she tugs her shorts and panties down, jamming her fingers into her pussy while I shove my cock into her mouth.
“Oh, fuck,” I moan as she swallows me, taking me so deep her throat constricts around the head of my cock. I figured I must have exaggerated this in my memory, but she’s that good. “Good girl, good girl. Don’t stop.” If she stops, I swear I’ll cry.
She mewls. Oh, yeah. I don’t have to stand here, careful not to thrust, while she takes what she can handle. This is Nevaeh. She always wants more. I let my hips drive forward to meet her bobbing head, and she gags. I freeze. Shit. Maybe I’m not remembering right. Maybe things have changed with her. But then she reaches around and scores her short nails into my ass, urging me on.
Oh God. Yes. I thrust, fucking her mouth, watching my shiny, wet dick part those pink lips, a string of spit stretching between us each time I pull out. Her eyes are watering, and her fingers are working furiously between her legs.
“Give me that.” I reach down and grab her hand, bending to shove those slick fingers in my mouth, sucking the tangy pussy juices from them. She lets out an adorable, pissed off growl and snatches her hand back, so I plunge my cock into her mouth again, harder, knocking the back of her throat until she gags, jerks away, and then immediately comes back for more.
She’s moaning something, the sound muffled and interrupted by wet slurping and sucking, but I can’t make it out. She’s okay, though. I remember her noises vividly. She’s enjoying herself.
The base of my spine tingles and my balls draw up. It’s so fucking amazing. Her lips smack and my dick slides through her spit as she drools, and we’re a mess, and I’m feeling no pain, high as a goddamn kite.
“I’m gonna cum,” I manage to pant, and I’m expecting her to pull away, but her shoulders are shaking—she’s cumming already—and then so am I, shooting hot spurts down her throat, a huge load that goes on and on as this perfect sensation, like sun on bare skin, washes over my entire body.
She swallows, and another spurt jets from my cock. She swirls her magic tongue, licking me clean, and then she flops onto her butt, cranes her neck, and grins up at me. Her shorts are around her left ankle. Her cheeks are damp and flushed, her hair’s all over the place. Somehow one of her shoes came off. It’s halfway across the room, under my desk.
She’s a mess. The prettiest thing I’ve ever seen.
And a huge mistake.
I can’t turn my back on her. I can’t believe her. I can’t help her. She won’t tell me what’s going on with the Renellis, so I need to find out myself, but there’s no time for that. I need to coordinate a manhunt to find Rab Dougherty. And then I gotta find out who messed with her car, kill him, and bury him up on Half-Stack Mountain.
That perfect feeling drains away like water in a bathtub.
I tuck my dick away, zip my pants, and buckle my belt.
The corners of Nevaeh’s mouth slide down. “We used to snuggle after we made love.”
A sliver of guilt niggles at me, pissing me off. I don’t have time for this. I have my own problems, and now I’ve got hers. “That wasn’t making love.”
Her eyes darken. My chest aches. For a second, it looks like she’s gonna let me have it. Instead, she reaches down to pull up her shorts.
“My bad.” She hops to her feet, and starts hunting for her missing shoe.
“It’s under the desk.” I head for the door. I need to finish mapping out assignments. And I need to not be here. “Stay in this room. Don’t touch anything.” I reach out and pluck the phone from her back pocket and stick it in my own. Then I open the door.
She’s standing in the middle of the room, one shoe on, one shoe in her hand. A chunk of hair is sticking out from the side of her head, defying gravity. She’s trying to hide it, but hurt shines in her eyes.
Fuck.
“There’s a spare toothbrush in the medicine cabinet.”
I force myself to look away, head out and lock the door, make my way down to the main floor. My steps are slow. I’m listening, knowing if she calls out, I’m going to turn around.
But she’s quiet. So I go back to business.
The club is at war. I need to focus.
I pass Wash on my way to Heavy’s office. “Go stand by my door. She asks for food or anything, get it for her.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Don’t let her out.”
“No, sir.”
“She can pick locks.”
“Okay, sir.”
I straighten my shirt and rap twice on Heavy’s door. “And Wash? Don’t touch her. Anyone touches her, they die.”
6
NEVAEH
I twist the knob again and bang on the door until the flat of my palm stings. Forty locked me in. That heavy-handed, ungrateful asshole locked me in.
In high school, I always pictured him as a Wild West gunslinger, the dusty man of few words who rolls into town alone, saving the day. His clothes were frayed and faded, his truck was rusted, but what he had, he cared for. He didn’t say much, so when he did, you listened.
I guess when you hone that personality with years of military training, you get a cold-hearted asshole. Insert dick in pants. Engage zipper. Mission complete.
There’s a spare toothbrush in the medicine cabinet. Jerk.
Like I didn’t rock his world. He tried to be all above it at first, but then he let go, and he loved it. I did, too. I thought for a second that this would be it. We’d take it to the bed. He’d snuggle me under his arm like he used to, and we’d talk. I’d tell him everything, and he’d tell me it’s all okay.
Nope.
Robo-Forty took my phone and locked me in his creepily clean and orderly bachelor pad.
Don’t touch anything.
I think I’ll start in the bathroom. I kind of do want to brush my teeth.
I toe off my other shoe—if I’m gonna be here awhile, I’m gonna get comfortable—and I head for the en suite. These digs are pretty fancy for an MC clubhouse. He has a tub with jets and a separate shower. Natural stone tile. There’s Lava soap in the dish, though, and off-brand shampoo in the shower.
I open the medicine cabinet. There’s the toothbrush, still in the package. There’s a can of Barbasol, floss, and a nearly empty bottle of Drakkar Noir. Some things never change.
There are also several bottles of pills on the highest shelf. I have to haul myself up onto the sink to take a closer look. The names are unfamiliar. I could look them up if I had my phone. Lots of warning stickers. Do not take with alcohol. Do not operate heavy machinery. The bottles are almost full, and they’re old. Filled last year. Pain meds, I’m guessing. There are several tubes of prescription creams, too. He seems to be using them.
They must be for whatever happened to his arm. I haven’t seen the damage. Lou told me there was a helicopter accident. That would have freaked me out, but Lou didn’t mention it until months after it happened, and Forty was coming back to town.
Uneasiness swirls in my belly. Heavy threw it in my face that Forty was hurt overseas. It can’t be that bad. Forty doesn’t act hurt. But he wouldn’t, would he?