Walking away from Cleo again is harder than I thought it would be. She’s still fuckin’ gorgeous. She’s also angry. The way her anger flashed toward me, maybe she has changed. If she has, then it’s all my doing, and fuck, that means I fucking broke her. Granted, we didn’t spend a whole lotta time together when we were married; but even with the way I hurt her, I’ve never seen her so angry or hurt.
“Fuck,” I curse as I climb on my bike.
I start the engine and turn my motorcycle around, slinging gravel everywhere before I speed off and head toward the clubhouse. I’m pissed. Pissed at my fucking self and the fact that I stayed away for eleven years.
Fucking hell.
I want her again. All of her. I want to fix what I broke, and yeah, my dick wants back inside of her—but my heart, it’s pulling me toward her in a way that’s familiar. I know that there’s more to us. There’s a need to be with her. A need I’ve ignored. A need I drank and fucked away for far too many goddamn years.
I spend three hours inside my own head as I race back to Shasta. I need to blow off some steam. I need to drink, and smoke, and fuck. I don’t want to know what that says about me. Right now, I could give a fuck. I want her, but she’s not available, so as fucked up as it is, I need to find someone in which to lose myself.
I slide off my bike and make my way toward the clubhouse. The place has been a fuckin’ mess since MadDog, the president, was shot. Then his Old Lady, Mary-Anne, left him. I know Mary-Anne, known her since she was a kid livin’ in Idaho. We went to high school together. She was just some tall lanky thing back then, all knees and elbows, but she grew into a beautiful woman, and prez loves her.
He’s just bein’ a fuckin’ dick right now. Hard thing to do, swallow that pride that threatens to choke you, and that’s exactly what he needs to do. Though, ain’t I just some kind of special hypocrite? It’s easy to dish out advice, but I don’t take my own, or anybody else’s.
I walk into the clubhouse and see my prez, a bottle in his hand, which he shouldn’t have. He was shot, almost died, and it was only three weeks ago. The old fucker is strong—I’ll give him that much. I walk over to him and sit down at his table.
“It’s been three weeks,” I announce.
“You fix your shit here, yet?” he asks with a grunt.
“Workin’ on it,” I grunt back. Fuck, we sound like goddamn animals, the two of us. “You stood up to her brother, your brother; you claimed her, you knocked her up, and then you let her walk away. Not the kinda man I thought you were, Prez. That’s the kinda shit we pull when we’re still punk ass kids, not men,” I state before I stand up and walk away.
He needs a goddamn wake up call. Otherwise, he’ll be like me, wasting ten fuckin’ years for no goddamn reason other than being a broken pussy.
No good man like MadDog needs to do that shit. He’s got a good woman, a woman that fought for him and will always stand next to him. No, prez doesn’t need to be like me and let that kind of woman walk away from him without a fight, or worse—push her so fucking far away that there’s nothing left between you but pain and regret.
“C’mon, babe,” I say, lifting my chin to the pretty dark haired whore who approached me a few days ago.
She stands without another word, wrapping her hand around mine as I tug her toward my room. I don’t say a word to her. I don’t give a fuck if she’s even got a brain between her ears. She’s here with me for one reason and one reason only—the holes her body can provide me so that I can lose myself for a while. So that the pain I feel from my meeting with Cleo can vanish for a little while.
Once we’re in my room, I lock the door and watch as she quickly strips off the tiny shorts and bikini top she’s wearing. My eyes sweep down her body, and I grin as I take in her nakedness. She’s a skinny little thing, but her tits are perky and her legs long and lean. I’m thankful nothing of her body reminds me of the lush, curvy Cleo that I left a few hours ago.
“Lay down, legs spread, don’t move,” I instruct.
Her head jerks in a nod, and I watch as she does exactly as I’ve ordered. I grab a condom out of my back pocket and unzip my pants, shoving them and my boxer briefs down my hips before I slide the condom on. I spit in my palm, rubbing it on the head of my hard cock as I look at her pussy spread open for me.
“Got a pretty little pussy, honey. Anyone ever told you that?” I ask as I let my pants falls to the floor. I step out of them before I divest myself of my cut and t-shirt.
“No,” she whispers.
Dragging my fingers along the inside of her thigh before gliding them through her center, I bite my bottom lip and slide two fingers inside of her. I pump in and out of her cunt as she throws back her head with a moan, her pussy growing wetter with each thrust. I’m a dick, and I’m going to fuck her and kick her out in a few minutes, but I’m not into dry fucking. I’ll get her nice and wet first.
“Well, you do. It’s wet, too. You like the way I touch you?” I ask as I wrap my other hand around my cock.
“Feels good,” she groans, arching her back.
“Remember, no moving, no matter how good it feels. I want you still while I fuck you,” I grumble as I pull my fingers out of her soaked cunt.
I coat my dick with her wetness and then slowly sink inside of her, watching her thighs tremble as she fights to keep them spread wide open and frozen still. Once I’m fully seated inside of her, I slide my palm between her tits and wrap it around the front of her throat as I ease in and out of her center.
“Torch,” she gasps when I thrust harder with each pump of my hips.
“Quiet,” I bark.
I squeeze her throat as I focus on my dick, the way it disappears inside of her body. She’s tighter than I expected, and I’m glad for it. I need a release, and she’s going to give it to me. Her legs shake, trembling as I continue to fuck her, harder and harder with each drive from my hips.
It’s got to be difficult as shit to stay still while I continue to fill her over and over again, but she’s a trooper. I decide immediately that if she makes it until I come, I’ll reward her—something I typically don’t do with whores.
“Stay still, honey,” I murmur as I squeeze her throat a little harder.
I feel her pussy flutter around me, and it spurs me on. I fuck her harder and faster than I intended, until I plant myself deep inside of her and I come, spilling into the tip of the condom and squeezing her throat a little harder than I should. I feel her body tighten, but she doesn’t move, and I release my hold on her throat as I pull out of her cunt.
“Did you come?” I ask, knowing full well that the answer is no, even if she was close.
“No,” she admits truthfully.
“Do you want to?” I ask, arching a brow as I look down into her eyes.
“Please,” she whispers.
I grin and sink to my knees, wrapping my hands around the inside of her thighs and burying my face in her pussy. I don’t eat bitches out very often, but she deserves it. She did exactly what I told her to—no lip and no complaints.
“You can move, honey,” I whisper, lifting my head before I dive back down.
She moves, and it doesn’t take her long before she’s coming undone against my mouth. I remove myself from her and walk over to the trashcan to dispense of my condom, tying a knot in it before I dump it in the can.
I reach for a bottle of tequila and bring it to my lips, taking a pull before I turn to the little boneless brunette on my bed. My original plan of kicking her out is immediately thwarted, mainly because I’m not done with her. She was so good and followed directions so nicely.
“Let’s rest a bit, yeah?”
She sits up, resting on her elbows, and turns her head to look back at me, her eyes bright and her lips curving into a grin. That right there, that spells trouble, and it’s why I don’t keep them in my bed after I fuck them.
They get hopeful.
I ignore the longing eyes and crawl into bed, allowing her to curl up next to me. I’ll fuck her from behind next time, then kick her boney little ass out. I don’t need her getting comfortable.
“Cleo, I have a client coming in at nine-thirty. I need you to greet him first, then buzz me when he’s here,” my boss practically shouts into the phone.
I roll my eyes. I’ve been working here for years, and it’s not as if I don’t know how to greet clients. If I didn’t know how by now, I would think that he’d fire me.
“Yes, sir,” I mutter into the intercom before I turn back to my computer.
I’m trying so hard to stay focused on my work and not on Paxton and his surprise visit. I spent the majority of last night freaking out over the phone with Lisandro. It was so bad that Theo volunteered to come and get me. I forced myself to calm down enough so that he wouldn’t, and then once I was off of the phone, I worked myself right back up again.
I don’t know what kind of danger Paxton insinuated that I could be in, and I don’t care; seeing him is dangerous enough. I wanted to run to him, to hold him and kiss him, and it pissed me off. Then he acted like a dick, which was nice because it fizzled out any feelings I had for him. Unfortunately, that only lasted a few minutes, and then I was right back to wanting him again. He needs to stay away. For my own sanity, he needs to just go.
“I’m here to see Mr. Voight,” a man says, interrupting my thoughts.
I look up and see a rather dashing man, in his late fifties, standing right in front of my desk.
“Oh, I’m terribly sorry. Are you Mr. Garcia?” I ask as I smile up at him.
“Yes, miss, I am.”
I stand and hold out my hand, introducing myself and offering him a refreshment, which he kindly obliges to. Once I’m in the breakroom, making Mr. Garcia’s coffee, I call my boss and let him know that his client has arrived and is waiting for him.
“Good,” he grunts before he hangs up the phone.
I deliver Mr. Garcia’s coffee to him, and he smiles kindly at me. I don’t know why he’s here to see my boss, but I can’t imagine that this sweet, older gentleman has done a darn thing wrong. He asks me how long I’ve worked here and if I’m from California.
I find myself opening up to him in the few moments we have alone to chat. I tell him that I grew up here but moved away after my parents died; that I lived with my Gram in Texas until I was eighteen, and then moved back here after she, too, passed. He gazes at me with gentle eyes and comments with condolences for such great losses in my young age.
“Mr. Garcia, I’m sorry to have kept you waiting. I do hope my secretary was courteous,” my boss says in a booming voice. I fight against grinding my teeth and rolling my eyes simultaneously.
“Take care, girl,” Mr. Garcia says as he walks past me and wraps his fingers around my shoulder.
I spend the rest of the morning working. Luckily, I have so much to do that I don’t think of Paxton even once. Two hours after his arrival, Mr. Garcia leaves, without so much as a glance in my direction, which I find odd.
“Take your lunch early, Cleo,” my boss shouts from inside of his office.
“Would you like me to pick up anything for you on my way back, sir?” I ask.
“If I did, I would have told you,” he rumbles. I nod before turning and walking away.
My boss is a total prick, but he’s good at his job, and the pay is decent for a girl with zero education living in the city. Lisandro is right, though. He treats me like shit, and he used me. I should quit and go up to Redding, start fresh. Maybe in doing that, I can throw Paxton off and he won’t be able to find me again so easily.
Though, maybe I want to see him fight for me a little, even if I don’t want him. I think that I deserve a little more than him warning me about some kind of danger. I think I deserve a real conversation, and an apology.
Then I want a divorce.
I need to be free of him to completely move on with my life.
“How are you doing today?” Lis asks as his greeting.
“I’m fine,” I lie.
“You lie,” he hisses. It causes me to giggle.
“I’ll be okay.”
“Oh, I know you will, but you still lie. I want you to be more than just okay,” he says. It makes me break out in a huge smile.
I love that he wants that for me. He’s my best friend in the whole world, and he wants me to be happy, really happy, just as I’ve always wanted for him.
“I will be,” I say with a nod as I continue to walk toward the café that I frequent for a quick lunch. “I have to go. I only have thirty minutes for lunch.”
Lisandro grumbles that my boss is an asshole before he lets me go. I order a half a sandwich and a side salad before I make my way to an empty table outside and sit down to wait for my food. It’s a gorgeous fall day, and I’m going to soak up the rays before it becomes too cold and gloomy to do so.
I go over my conversation with Paxton, how he told me to watch out for anyone following me. I don’t know why that portion of the conversation slips to the forefront of my mind, but I find myself scanning the street for anything suspicious.
There is a fancy black sedan sitting across the street, the windows blacked out, but not necessarily suspicious in any way. There’s a delivery van set up in front of this little bakery that I sometimes go to, but the workers are loading up sweet treats, so that’s not out of the ordinary.
Then my food arrives, so I push Paxton’s warnings to the back of my mind. He’s crazy. I don’t know what his game is, why he’s suddenly back in my life, like he’s always known where to find me, but I want him gone again.
The pain he brings just by showing up, just by looking at me, is more than I can handle. It’s ridiculous, actually—completely ridiculous that I allow him to affect me in such a way.
Once I’m finished eating, I let out a sigh and make my way back to work. The rest of the day is long and tedious, but at least my boss has left and the quiet of my office and the amount of work I have helps me to relax and not think about him or Paxton. That is, until I go home.