I woke up feeling like a jackhammer was beating away at the inside of my skull.
Good morning, motherfucker.
I tried shifting around in hopes it would miraculously ease the fucking torture in my head, but it only drew my attention to the fact that I was hard enough to break stone.
Morning wood wasn’t a rare thing. Hell, neither was the hangover. That didn’t mean waking up to that shit was any less irritating. It also wasn’t helping my mood that my mouth tasted like ass. Not being literal, since my mouth wasn’t getting near there if a chick was going to leave any kind of nasty taste behind. Contrary to popular belief, I had some fucking standards.
The hard-on from hell in particular pissed me off. I should have found some sweet thing last night to take care of that for me. Hung over or not, having a chick wrap her lips around my dick was a hell of a lot better than using my own hand.
Hell of a lot better than crashing in bed alone too.
Some guys might go the cold shower route. I wasn’t one of those assholes. I made a promise to my dick a long time ago that I’d never shut him down like that. He gave me all kinds of good, the least I could do was not give him the Gitmo treatment with a damn ice bath.
Wrapping my first around my not-so-little buddy, I gave him what he needed. For some inspiration, I called up the one thing I never thought I’d jack myself off to until a few months ago.
Work.
Yeah, fucking thinking about work got me off.
It bears saying my work was now managing a strip club.
For the most part, I was the consummate fucking gentleman as a boss. I might have been out to get my dick wet ninety percent of the time, but the girls who worked for me didn’t need that shit when they were just earning a living.
All that don’t-be-an-asshole preaching aside, there was one member of the staff I couldn’t help but want to get under me. She was too fucking hot for words. She was also the motivation behind every solo session I’d had for months. I could start feeling guilty about that now, or I could just accept I was a dick—something I’d done a long time ago, as had everyone around me—and get on with it.
Getting off was great, even by my own hand, but it always was. I knew what I liked. What wasn’t great was the headache that made itself known again after I wiped myself off and got up from the bed. Focused on that, I didn’t even think about the fact that I was buck ass naked when I walked into the hallway.
At least, I didn’t think about it until I heard the female voice squeak, “Oh my god.”
Shit, my life was going to suck today.
Instead of bolting from the situation, which wasn’t going to fix it at this point, I turned to see Quinn standing a few feet away with her hands over her eyes.
You’d think after half a year of her living in the house, I’d remember she was there and not walk around with my junk hanging out. Hell, most people would probably think the repeated threats of castration from the men who used to live here would break the habit. Clearly, I was meant to live alone.
I didn’t, though. I hadn’t in longer than I could remember.
Since I’d been sprung from prison after five years, I’d been living in the old farmhouse I called home. The house, like me, belonged to the Savage Disciples MC. The building and sixty acres of land it sat on had belonged to a brother ages ago. He left it to the club when he passed. At the time, it was the center of all Disciples shit. We’d moved away from that when we landed a foreclosed warehouse at a steal and converted it into the new clubhouse. Still, we kept this place because it was off the beaten path, and it gave brothers like myself a place to crash when we didn’t want to stay at the clubhouse.
For me, it was easier than trying to get a lease with a felony record. I knew damn well I was lucky to be part of the club and always had secure jobs through them, or I’d really have to experience how hard it was for guys with that shit in their background.
The stomping feet brought me back to the moment a second before one of my club brothers, Ace, followed the sound of his woman’s distress into the hall.
“Motherfucker,” he bit off before averting his eyes too. “Again with this shit? One of these days, I’m going to cut your fucking junk off. Keep your cock away from my girl.”
See? Castration threats. Always. Part of me wanted to criticize the lack of creativity there, but I was just smart enough to know that wasn’t in my best interest.
“Can’t a man free-ball in his own home?”
Quinn gave another squeak, probably recalling the eyeful of those balls in question, and Ace shot me a glare that repeated his threat without words.
“Hey, you got a problem with it, why don’t you put your woman up in a place of your own where you don’t have my special form of companionship?”
I was really, really tempted to make a quip about showing Quinn even more companionship, but she was a sweet girl. If it’d been Ember—another brother’s woman, as well as a brother’s daughter—I might have done it, even at the risk of Jager turning his years of underground fighting experience on me. She was able to take it and give back as good as she got. Quinn, though, was a little too shy for me to pull that shit with.
“One fucking month,” Ace snapped. “Just keep your fucking pants on until then.”
Without letting me get another word in, he herded his girl back into their room with her hands still blocking her likely shut eyes muttering about “fucking escrow.” Rather than sticking around to see if he would come back out and serve up retribution, I got my ass in the shower. Hopefully some hot water would wash away the whiskey cloud or I was in for a long fucking day.
The hangover was receding with the help of food and pounding back an energy drink by the time I got to the strip club.
Candy Shop was my baby. It was a club investment, but I’d been the one to buy it from my buddy Rick when he decided to get out of the business.
Okay, so Rick was my friend because I’d been his customer first. What the fuck ever.
Point was, I hadn’t just rallied to take over the place because I wanted to hit a strip club for free whenever the hell I felt like it. I’d brought the issue to my brothers because Rick ran a good club, a profitable one, but I knew I could do better.
I maneuvered my bike into the designated motorcycle parking—an addition I’d made, and one that seemed to be working better than having guys who came on their bikes taking up a whole parking spot each. As I made my way to the door, I checked my phone. Nothing to see there except the time glaringly pointing out I was late. I wasn’t big on schedules and meetings, but even I recognized the necessity of monthly sit-downs with my managers to cover the bases. Even though I communicated with them regularly, it was good to get everyone in one place with nothing else distracting them.
There was no point in trying to contain the shit-eating grin that crept onto my face. My being late was going to piss Avery off. It always did. Actually, it seemed like everything I did pissed her off. Particularly when I half begged her to let me take her home.
A nice guy would drop it and let her off the hook.
I wasn’t a nice guy.
I sauntered through the empty club to the table Avery and the bar manager, Roy, were sitting at. When I got close and pulled out a chair, I made no effort to contain the moan of satisfaction at the cupcakes on the table. I fell on those fuckers like they were the last scrap of food in twenty miles.
“Hello to you, too,” Avery sassed, but I kept my focus on the delicious little morsel in my hand before I took in the one seated across the table.
One feast at a time.
Today’s cupcakes were as good as ever. Chocolate with a hint of coffee. It didn’t even matter that I’d already scarfed down two eggs, hash browns, and pancakes on a less-than-steady stomach. I could eat a dozen of those sweet treats.
Once I’d gotten a taste, I let myself enjoy my other treat.
Avery was watching me with a mix of annoyance and amusement twisting those plump fucking lips of hers. Her skin was makeup free, showing off the freckles covering her cheeks and nose, and her long, red hair was pulled into a ponytail.
Christ, that hair.
It was the first thing I’d noticed about her—fuck, it was the first thing anyone noticed about her. The bright, coppery color wasn’t some bottled shit. She kept it long, so long it draped all the way to the small of her back. When she was on stage, she’d wear it down, curled a bit, and just messy enough to make you think all kinds of thoughts about how you could give her the same style without her sitting in front of a mirror, though a mirror would be a great addition.
All that hair on her sexy as fuck body was an image few men wouldn’t get sunk by, and she played that shit up. From the second she hit that stage to the moment she left, that hair was as much a part of the show as the clothes she took off.
Hell, even her stage name was Cherry Pie.
I leveled her with a stare that made most women squirm right off their seats and into my lap. Avery didn’t so much as shift.
“You finally gonna give me what I want today?”
Her expression was bored, but she couldn’t quite keep the flicker of heat from those hazel eyes. It was that little tell that kept me at her. If I genuinely thought she wasn’t interested, I’d have given up the ghost a long time ago. That wasn’t the case, though. Avery thought I was an asshole, but that didn’t mean she didn’t want a taste.
“Not a chance,” she shot me down.
Unaffected, since I knew that was what I was going to get, I took a shot at the other battle I’d been locked in with her for far too long. “How about you just finally tell me where you get these fuckin’ things?” I tried, lifting my half-demolished cupcake up a bit.
Her eyes darted to the side when Roy laughed. “You don’t know?”
“Know what?” I asked him.
“Nothing,” Avery clipped before he could respond. The fucker chuckled while she started sorting through the papers in front of her, all business as always. Then, like that exchange hadn’t even happened, she said, “I’ve got the schedules—”
“Wait. Just wait one fuckin’ minute,” I cut in. I kicked out a thumb to Roy, the smug bastard now reclining in his chair. “Why the fuck does he know where you get the sweets, but you won’t tell me?”
“She likes me,” Roy goaded.
Everyone liked Roy. That’s why he was good behind a bar. He was in his mid-forties, rough enough that drunk patrons weren’t likely to fuck with him, but still charming enough to keep the women who came in happy. Though, that charm was all an act. He had a woman at home he was gone for. They’d been together nearly twenty years. Sheila was an ER nurse. She worked nights, so Roy was happy to work the bar here so they could keep the same hours. Sheila also knew exactly what kind of injuries you could and couldn’t come back from, so if that charm ever stopped being an act, Roy would be in for a world of hurt.
“Can we focus, children?” Avery interjected.
“I don’t do the whole mommy play thing, but we could do some sort of school teacher bit if that’s what it takes.”
“You’re fucking sick,” Roy muttered, but it wasn’t like he didn’t experience this enough.
“Mommy play? Seriously?” There was no spark in her eyes that time, which I’d take. I’d be willing to do a lot to get her into bed with me, but playing at being a little boy really did not do it for me.
Though, I was going to get some mileage out of that teacher thing.
Or maybe a schoolgirl.
What I could do with Avery in a short plaid skirt. Maybe I’d get a ruler out. I wasn’t really into the pain thing, but a little spanking before I—
“Daz? You okay there, buddy?” Roy’s voice snapped me out of my thoughts.
Too bad. That shit was getting good.
“I’m straight,” I assured them. Just some minor blood flow issues making my pants snug.
It didn’t help that when I looked up, there was a fire blazing in Avery’s eyes. She knew exactly what she did to me, and she could play it coy all she wanted, but she enjoyed that shit. If she wanted to play games, I was right here to be her toy. I held her gaze from across the small table, not disguising for one second how badly I’d love to lay her out right there and devour her. I’d give her credit, she held out longer than any other woman I’d ever looked at that way. Usually, they either glanced away, acting—or actually being—shy, or threw themselves at me. Avery didn’t do either.
Like a door slamming shut right in my face, that burning heat disappeared from her eyes, and she calmly said, “Can we get to this now?”
She was good. A lesser man might not have seen the signs, or would have just given up anyway. I wasn’t that man, and she wasn’t getting me off her scent so easily. Not until I got a taste.
Snatching up another cupcake, I kicked back in my chair and got down to business.