I’ve heard most of my life that a man shouldn’t let his dick lead him. I don’t know who the fuck came up with that, but it sounds like a boring life. Leading with my dick has led me to some of the sweetest pussy a man could hope to touch and quite simply, I’m a man who likes to fuck. I’m also a man, not a boy. I’m almost thirty-six years old and I live my life exactly like I want. I don’t have bullshit that holds me back.

I take what I want.

Sanctimonious assholes can look down on me and how I choose to live my life. They won’t be the first and they probably won’t be the last. While they’re doing that I’m usually swimming with pussy in my bed. That’s my life and I make no apologies. The woman—or women—know the score before they climb in and join the party. They get what they want and I get what I want. It’s a beautiful bargain. The only loyalty I have is to my club.

Until her.

I used to look at bastards like my Vice President Crusher and just stop and wonder how one pussy could wind his dick so much that he’d be willing to give up other women. That kind of bullshit confused the hell out of me. The thought of just having one woman for the rest of my life terrified me and my dick.

Until her.

One look at her and it was like I was struck by lightning. Sounds like a fucking cliché, but it’s true all the same.

I’m standing in the pharmacy aisle at the local K-Mart stocking up on condoms. I might like sticking my cock in a lot of different holes, but I do that shit smart. One, I’m partial to my dick and I’m not sticking it in any snatch where it’s going to come out looking like it’s been stuck into a beehive. Women can look smoking hot on the outside, their pussy can smell like fucking lilacs in the spring—but inside it can be deadly. I will never be caught without a condom and that’s the fucking truth.

I usually order the damn things in bulk, but there’s been hurricanes everywhere and I’m not risking my dick because of a delayed shipment.

I wheel my cart around—only having a cart because I’m a lazy ass motherfucker who wants to lean on it, but also because the boss told me to pick up some beer and shit for the club. Other chapters have open bars and crap. Our group is smaller. There’s a room, there’s a fucking wall of refrigerators and a bar where the alcohol goes. There’s no bartender and we stock that shit ourselves. We’re trying to convince our Prez, Diesel, to get the prospects to do that shit. But the bastard has been dealing with people trying to steal his kid since day one almost, and he’s very picky about who he trusts. Prospects for the club have guarded access at best until they prove themselves, and there’s very few of those. I can’t say as I blame him.

My usual brand of condom is the “Legend.” I don’t mean to brag, but fuck, the name fits my cock. It’s made for big and wide, both of which—thank God—is me. If I was one of these poor bastards born with a pencil dick I probably would have swallowed a bullet by now. Some men can deal with that blow from Mother Nature—hell, maybe they even compensate by learning to use their tongues to bag their women, fuck if I know. I just know I’m not one of those men. I love my dick and it works out well the women do too.

They don’t sell Legends at K-Mart, and that sucks. I find the extra-large, ribbed for her pleasure and extra strength latex and grab those. I throw about ten boxes in the buggy and they slide down until they’re leaning against the three cartons of beer.

“Planning a party?” a soft voice asks me and that’s when it happens. The moment my dick gets so tangled up in a woman the bastard will never get free—which sucks, because my dick and I are attached.

She’s beautiful. A long, silky-haired brunette with eyes the shade of whiskey. Her skin is a golden tan and so smooth I ache to touch it just looking at her. She’s dressed in a white skirt that hugs her curves—and she’s got a lot of them—and falls just at the edge of the prettiest knees I’ve ever seen. Her legs don’t have stockings on, it’s just them, and they’re as golden as the rest of her. A woman who lays out in the sun and lets the rays worship her body. That’s the image that comes to mind and I fight down the urge to adjust myself—evidence my dick has the same image.

“I was, until I saw you. Do you like parties, Angel?”

Her eyes blink at my pet name. Her body stiffens, but that could be because my eyes are still glued to her ass and the way it stretches the material of her skirt. I finally drag my gaze back to her top, which is just as good. She’s wearing a soft pink top with a high collar that doesn’t give me a chance to see her cleavage—and that makes me damn sad. Still, it hugs her tits and those are nice and big. A man could bury his face in them if he felt the urge to go motor boating and he could bury his dick in them if he wanted to go face surfing.

The best of both worlds.

“I have a feeling I’m not really into your type of parties,” she says, her voice a mixture of laughter and sweetness. It’s a damn good voice, perfect, and goes with the rest of her.

Damn.

“What’s your name?”

“Does it matter?”

“My heart will wither up and die without it,” I answer, making her laugh, those beautiful pink-glossed lips of hers spreading into a smile.

I can’t stop myself from letting my eyes travel up and down her body one more time. She’s got these white shoes on with a wide heel, her toes peeking out of them.

I’ll fuck her while she’s wearing nothing but those shoes.

“I think you might be lying to me,” she murmurs.

“You ready to roll, man? Diesel will have our asses if we don’t get back,” Fury says, rounding the aisle that me and my dream woman are standing in.

“In a bit,” I tell him, not taking my eyes away from her.

She looks at Fury and I don’t like it. I frown because that’s the moment I know I’m in real trouble.

For the first time in my life I feel jealousy.

Fury has no trouble getting women. He doesn’t get as much pussy as I do, but only because he doesn’t try. Women tend to flock to him, digging the bad boy vibe mixed with the blond hair and blue eyes look that could have him mistaken for the boy next door.

She turns back to look at me, her eyes finding mine, and the look on her face is thoughtful.

“Enjoy your party, boys,” she says softly, and then starts to move around the corner. I reach out and grab her arm. I instantly love it, and curse myself for it.

Electricity and heat shoot through me like a bolt of lightning. That hasn’t happened before. I’ve never felt anything like it, but it’s there. I think she feels it too, because she jerks in my hold. Or fuck, maybe she’s just unnerved because a man she doesn’t know is putting hands on her. Couldn’t blame her for that. I’ve never done something like this in my life—but I don’t let her go.

“How about I let Fury take the shit back and I take you out for a drink instead?”

She swallows; I know because I’m watching her that closely. She rubs her lips together, spreading the gloss on them even more, and I feel the exact moment a shiver runs through her body. She’s not immune to me, or I’m freaking her out. That seems fair, since my reaction to her is doing the same to me.

“What about your party?”

“You and I can have our own party,” I tell her easily and I hear Fury mumble in the background, but I tune him out.

“I don’t think I’m the kind of girl who goes to your parties,” she laughs.

“Devil, come on. We got to get a move on,” Fury growls and swear to God I’m going to junk-punch his whiney ass for sounding like a harping girlfriend.

“Devil?” she asks, and I grin.

“That’s my road name, Angel.”

“Angel? Devil? That’s kind of lame, isn’t it?”

“I think it’s more like fate,” I answer, loving the way she’s relaxed into my hold.

“I’m not your angel. Trust me on that one,” she laughs.

“Are you ready, Sister?” Another woman comes around the corner, looking at my Angel.

“In a minute,” she says.

“Is there a problem, gentlemen?” the other girl says. I give her a glance. She’s passably pretty. She’s wearing a longer skirt, and a shirt that is buttoned up to the neck. Her hair is in a bun and she’s showing no skin except her face and hands. On some women you’d get the urge to undo the hair and see what’s she’s hiding under those clothes. This woman doesn’t give you that urge. This woman makes me feel like one look and she could cause my balls to go into permanent hiding. It’s unsettling, to say the least.

“No problem, I was just asking… your sister’s name.”

“And I wasn’t giving it,” she laughs, taking her arm out of my hold. I let her go, but I sure as hell don’t want to.

“I’m going to make it my mission to find out your name,” I warn her.

“My life is more complete, then,” she jokes.

“Mother Lisa will be waiting for us,” the other woman says.

Something is nudging into my brain—which is mostly fogged by the beautiful woman in front of me.

“Mother Lisa? Kind of a strange way to refer to your mom, isn’t it?” I question.

“It’s not when she’s the Superior.”

“The Superior?” I ask. Not quite getting it.

“As in Mother Superior,” she smiles, and that smile is a little too sweet.

“I—”

“Oh shit. You two are nuns?” Fury asks. My body stiffens and I jerk as if I’ve been punched in the gut—because I have.

“Told you I wasn’t the girl for your parties,” she says, and then turns back to her friend. “I’m ready. You gentlemen have a good evening. Nice meeting you… Devil,” she adds and then just like that, she leaves me standing with a cart full of condoms and without the first urge to use them tonight.

Damn it.