The Wolf Page 3

  Watching my cum slip down the drain from yet another self-help job, I wish I could get laid. God knows I’ve tried, again and again, but I just can’t seem to make my dick work for anyone other than her. My cock won’t get hard for any other woman except Amber and quite frankly, after five years, I’m starting to get pissed off. I really want to stop jerking off by myself, in the shower, to the same goddamned memory over and over.

  Once I get out of the shower, I dry off, get dressed, and head over to Dusk. The drive over clears my head. Being on a motorcycle always does that for me. The open road and the fresh air always do wonders to improve my shitty mood. Parking in front of Dusk in the spot I always use, I can see the guys are already there and seem to be waiting on me. Moving closer to my brothers, we enter the club together.

  The room is smoky and there’s a smell I can’t describe. It’s neither sex nor desperation but rather a mixture of the two. Large black leather booths take up both sides of the room with a large stage in the center. In the back is a full-length mahogany bar tended by two men. There are some waitresses in heels and various stages of undress moving between the tables, and four bouncers mill around.

  Someone on the far side of the bar makes a squealing sound and already I’m irritated at being here. The women all want a piece of one of us and no matter how many times Sparrow and I decline, there’s always one dumb cunt who thinks she has the golden pussy that will get us to cave tonight. We have many single members in our club and even some married members that don’t mind having a piece on the side. I just want to be left alone and I can’t seem to get the message across to them.

  I watch as Storm saunters from the front of the club to meet us, and she greets Pope with their customary cheek kiss. It bothers me more than it should, but I can see the looks they give each other and although I’ve lost my happiness and am destined to never find another, I want my brothers to find theirs.

  We move over to a corner booth so everyone can sit and have their backs covered and I can watch the door. Force of habit, I guess, but we always get a corner booth facing the door no matter where we are. We order a round of beers and watch the girls dance and just shoot the shit. No club business, no politics, just guys being guys.

  Shortly after arriving, Cherry sidles up to our table in a wave of perfume strong enough to burn my nostrils and make my eyes tear up. She leans in against my arm and presses her firm, plastic breasts against me. Glaring up at her, I wait for her to back up and give me some goddamned space.

  “Hi Wolf,” she says in what I think is supposed to be a seductive purr.

  I don’t reply, just nod and look over her shoulder, watching Viking talk to a girl I’ve never seen at Dusk before. Not that I find it surprising since I haven’t been here in more than a month and Maurice always keeps the new talent flowing. As Viking makes his way to us, a flash of blue catches my eye. I try to follow it through the room but lose sight. Apparently, I’ve also lost all ability to follow a conversation as Cherry was yapping away. When I don’t answer her, she huffs and stomps away.

  The guys are all laughing, and I join in. I continue scanning the room for the flash of blue from earlier. As soon as I am able to fix my sights on it, I track the woman with my eyes. The blue streaks in her hair are what caught my attention. Trying to brush off my fascination with this woman, I return to my beer and the conversation between my brothers. The problem is my damn attention keeps going back to her. Knowing that Viking has a claim on her—I mean, anyone with eyes could see how she smiled at him earlier—I try to look away. Clearly, there’s something going on between them. Curiosity wins out and I stare at her, not caring who sees me.

  The woman attached to the streak of blue is beautiful. She’s about five-two in the heels she’s currently rocking, with black skinny jeans hugging a well-rounded ass. Her hair looks to be blonde but not the kind that comes out of a bottle and even from where I’m sitting, I can see she has nice perky breasts. Not too large but not so small.

  After downing my beer, I make my way to the bar as I track her doing the same. I hear one of the guys behind me say something but I don’t care and don’t turn around for clarification. There’s an overwhelming, irrational need burning in me to see her up close. Feeling someone follow me, I glance over my shoulder to see Sparrow with a frown on his face. Ignoring him, I continue on my way to the bar.

  She has one foot lifted to the footrest beneath the bar and it makes those jeans even fucking tighter. Moving closer, I stand beside her but at least a foot away. As I order another beer from the bartender, I turn to examine her and find her eyes already on me. Starting my way from the bottom, I allow my gaze to leisurely caress its way up her form. From her painted toenails, to her flat stomach and full lips, I take my time enjoying the view. During my perusal of her, her body has turned fully toward me. Clearly, she wants me to be able to see her completely.

  The second time I scan her body, I take in all the parts I missed the first time. Her peep-toe heels are blood red and I swear her ass is so plump and juicy all I can think of is taking a bite out of it. She has a toned, flat stomach and a name or a word is tattooed on her right wrist. The urge to grab her wrist and inspect the tattoo almost overwhelms me.

  My gaze moves up further and I don’t know how I missed it the first time, but this girl isn’t wearing a bra. No bra in a titty bar and her goddamned nipples are hard as rocks. I’m half-surprised they don’t poke a hole through the damn fitted t-shirt Maurice got her to wear.

  Instantly, I have this insane, jealous urge to pick her up and carry her away. Lock her in my room at the clubhouse so no other man can see that firm ass or those pebbled nipples. With that thought comes a startling realization.

  I’m hard.

  For the first time in five years, I have a hard-on for something other than a fucking memory, and I feel like a bastard. How can I just push Amber aside for this woman I have never met? Jesus, I truly am a fuckup. Shaking my head to clear away the worst of the lust, I turn to Sparrow.

  “Gotta get out of here, brother. These bitches are grating on my nerves.”

  He glances over my shoulder at something and smiles. He nods to me and moves back to the table where the guys are seated. Walking across the club floor, I weave between tables and half-naked women until I reach the door and leave. I don’t look back. There’s no purpose to turning and seeing. I can’t have her, and that’s final.

  ****

  Four hours later, I’m lying alone in bed, awake, staring at the ceiling. Sleep is impossible. Every time I close my eyes, all I can see are red stilettos and blue-streaked hair. Feeling like a bastard, I decide to take matters into my own hands.

  After slipping my boxers down my hips and over an already semi-painful erection, I wrap my hand around the length. Pre-cum beads at the tip with the memory of the woman from Dusk. Closing my eyes, I conjure her in my mind but not as I saw her in the club.

  She’s spread on my bed, wearing nothing but the red stilettos. Her milky skin on display for me. Her nipples are dusky pink and hard under my view. Opening her legs, I can see her perfect cunt, dripping wet for me.

  The hand on my cock starts moving fast, my breathing getting rough simply from the thought of her.

  Her hand moves over her breast, tweaking a nipple before caressing down her stomach to land between her thighs. A single finger moves between her wet folds as hooded eyes stare back at me. A moan escapes from her as she pushed that finger inside her cunt…

  Cum splatters on my abs as I explode. Nothing more than the mere idea of this woman has me coming like a fucking fourteen-year-old boy. I know nothing of her, not her name or what her voice sounds like, but she still has the capacity to drive me fucking crazy. After moving from my bed to the bathroom, I clean myself up and return to my bed for another round of self-loathing.

  The problem is I wanted to move on from Amber, wanted to be able to get my dick wet—and not in the shower—and now, now I feel like a punk for doing just that. Not to mention
that I have a brother with a prior claim on her. Viking just might rip me apart if he knew I was thinking about his new piece of ass.

  A ping from my cell phone alerts me to a text message. Instead of leaving it for tomorrow like I usually would, I grab it and open the message.

  The picture Sparrow sent me has me out of bed and moving to get dressed. Knowing this is a colossal mistake and nothing good can come from it, I hop on my bike and head over to the clubhouse.

  At my clubhouse, in my favorite chair, sits a woman wearing red stilettos with blue streaks in her hair, drinking my favorite fucking bourbon.

  Chapter Five

  Hadley

  Walking into the Gypsy Bastard clubhouse is a terrifying experience for me. Having grown up and spent most of my time around the Iron Disciples has definitely shaped some preconceived notions in my mind.

  Expecting a dirty, dingy place has my jaw falling slack when I walk in. The Gypsy Bastards clubhouse is extraordinary by biker standards. From the outside, it looks like an old warehouse, the only sign of inhabitants the bikes standing outside. There are large, double sliding doors with red paint that is peeling in places and a bare concrete slab out front that the guys use for parking. A door to the side of the building painted in the same faded and peeling red is where we enter.

  The warehouse has a large open floor plan with what I’m assuming was previously used as a board room and a downstairs office. They have a humungous bar built against one wall with a door behind it that I assume leads to either a kitchen or some type of storage. The bar is made of wood that has been stained to a dark, rich color with a couple of leather stools placed in front of it.

  The lighting is bright but not so much that it breaks the atmosphere or hurts my eyes upon entry. Rock music plays loudly in the background.

  Against the wall on the opposite side of the bar are a ton of framed photos. My feet carry me forward until I can make out some of the people in them. Kids, women, group photos, prospects, and what seem to be family gatherings, are all over the wall. This is definitely not what I was expecting.

  “Got you a beer, pretty girl.”

  Viking interrupts my ogling. Turning to take the beer from him, I can see a thirty-something, bleached-blonde behind the bar staring daggers at me.

  “First time in a clubhouse?” Viking queries.

  “No.” The temptation to lie almost overtakes me but I’m putting down roots and decide to lie as little as possible from this moment forth. “This is probably just the nicest and cleanest.”

  A belly laugh escapes Viking as he grabs my hand and pulls me toward the bar. “Got to introduce you to everyone.”

  From that moment, my night turns into a whirlwind of names and faces, accompanied by many shots. Viking pulls me from one person to the next, introducing me like a proud father showing everyone his new baby, and I find it endearing.

  Meeting Pope is interesting. He speaks to me and asks all the questions one would expect of a club president but his eyes never stray from Storm for longer than a moment. His Irish accent flows over me and calms the last of my nerves.

  Mad Dog is up next and although he is punching shots of tequila like there’s no tomorrow, you can instantly see the military in him. Buzz-cut hair, bright brown eyes, and an impeccable posture. For a while, we get lost in conversation regarding his tattoos. Some he tells me the meaning about and some he simply smiles about.

  “So you’re the tattoo artist Storm has been hiding? Been trying to get your number but she wasn’t giving it up.”

  “Do you need work done?” Already my mind is running a mile a minute with ideas. Adding on to his existing ink is going to be a dream job.

  “We all do. Let me know when you’re available and we can get together.”

  With a promise to call him and his number saved in my phone, I’m pulled away by Viking again.

  He proceeds to show me around the entire clubhouse. From the bedrooms to the bathrooms and even the garage they use for any repairs a member might need, all the while introducing me to members, prospects, and even a couple of the club girls. By the time we make it back to the bar, I just want to rest my aching feet. There’s a pretty decent amount of alcohol swimming through my veins but that doesn’t stop me from drinking.

  Lastly, Viking introduces me to the blonde behind the bar, saying her name is Jessie.

  “What will you be having?” she questions in an unfriendly tone.

  “Bourbon,” I sass back at her. “But just give me the bottle and save us both the hassle.”

  The alcohol makes it easier to speak my mind, to do what I want. Jessie is being a fucking bitch and after all the hassle I get from Cherry at work, I’ve reached my limit. No more being friendly in the face of people who are blatantly rude to me. Viking laughs loudly at our exchange and leans over to whisper in my ear. “She’s club ass. Probably just worried you’re here to fill her position.”

  Scrunching my nose at him, I take the bottle from the bar where Jessie sat it down—a little too hard if I might add—and move away. Falling down into a green recliner, I lift the bottle to my lips and take a swig while watching some of the guys play pool.

  “Chica,” Sparrow calls to me as he leisurely strolls over toward me. “You’re sitting in my brother’s chair and he’s very territorial about that ugly chair.”

  “Gorriõn, I don’t see anyone sitting here.” Calling him sparrow in Spanish catches him off guard if the size of his eyes is anything to go by.

  “She speaks Spanish.”

  “Only enough to get myself in trouble. Either way, the rule stands, move your feet and you lose your seat.”

  Sparrow laughs, snapping a picture of me with his cell phone before making his way over to the pool table.

  ****

  The guys come and go. Some just talking shit, some drinking with me, and at least a couple try to charm their way into my pants. But it’s all in good fun. Very aware of the fact that I’m more than a little tipsy, I make my way through the bar, searching for Storm. A familiar song starts to play through the speakers, and Storm moves toward me. She smiles at me and before anyone is aware of what’s going on or can attempt to stop us, we’re up on the bar dancing. I’m sure for some it would seem like a childish thing to do, but it’s always been our thing. Being in the middle of an MC clubhouse simply makes it more acceptable than doing it at a local bar.

  Dancing and laughing and shaking our asses on top of the bar to the guys’ hoots and hollers has me smiling so hard my face starts to hurt. As the song comes to an end and we’re about to climb off the bar, I slip on a wet spot and go crashing toward the floor.

  Chapter Six

  Wolf

  As soon as I shut down my ride and the rumbling from the pipes ceases, I can clearly hear the guys hooting and hollering inside the clubhouse. Making my way around to the side door, I decide that Storm and her friend—whom I now refer to as Blue—must have already taken off. There’s no way in hell that Pope would allow the guys a strip show, assuming that’s what the ruckus is about, if Storm was still in the clubhouse.

  As I walk into the clubhouse, all the air is ripped from my lungs. Again, irrational anger courses through my veins like fire, but this time it’s followed by a severe case of jealousy. Up on the bar, in the middle of my clubhouse, are Storm and Blue dancing. At their feet, smiling like the bunch of idiots they are, are all my brothers, which explains all the noise they have been making. Both girls are clearly enjoying themselves and the smile spread across Blue’s face is enough to cause my chest to ache. That smile only makes her more beautiful.

  For a moment, I simply watch them enjoy themselves before making my way closer to where all the other guys are standing. Watching Blue dance has my semi-hard cock throbbing to life behind the zipper of my jeans. Her hips shift from side to side before doing a roll I have only seen women do in music videos. Her braless breasts jiggle and softly sway as she moves to the rhythm of the music. Looking at the men around me, I can see their t
houghts clearly plastered on their faces, and although I want to gouge their eyes out, I have no claim on the woman who’s driving me crazy.

  Turning back to her, I continue to watch her as she mesmerizes and entices me with her body. From the corner of my eye, I see Jessie with a glass of what I am assuming is water, which she proceeds to pour on the bar top near the girls’ feet. Before a word of warning can leave my mouth, Blue steps back, her stiletto slips, and she goes tumbling to the ground. Fortunately, I am standing against the bar and catch her easily, cradling her to my chest.

  Her eyes pop open and she stares at me for a minute. Her gaze is like a caress running over my face, but when she looks into my eyes, I feel bared to her. Like she’s looking directly into my soul, seeing every sin and fear that I usually hide from the outside world. Feeling completely exposed, I blink slowly as I lower her to her feet, keeping her steady with my hold on her hips. Her body is plastered against mine and I feel her hard nipples through both our shirts.

  Her hand drifts to my cheek and I close my eyes at the contact.

  “Gracias, chico bonito.”

  Shock fills me as she moves past me, not having expected her to speak Spanish. From behind me, Sparrow laughs loudly. Turning toward him, I raise a brow as I wait for clarification.

  Sparrow struggles to get the words out through the laughter. “She called you a pretty boy.”

  My jaw almost hits the floor as I watch her saunter away. This woman is under my skin and she thinks I’m a fucking boy? Striding toward her, I watch her stumble over her own feet before she veers off to the left. She’s clearly drunk off her ass. A protectiveness I feel for very few people in my life overtakes the need to throttle her pretty little neck.

  Scooping her up in my arms, once again cradling her body to my chest, I make my way up the stairs. Hazel eyes stare up at me.

  “Where are you taking me?” Her words are slightly slurred.

  “To bed. You are clearly drunk.”