I should be getting in my truck and taking my sorry ass home, but my dick is doing the thinking for me. I take the dark-haired beauty to a room without bothering to ask for her name.
“Death?” She licks her teeth and takes her faux red leather jacket off. “What’s your real name?”
“You’ve not earned that privilege.”
“Oh yeah? And how do I earn it?”
“Get on your knees and we’ll see how you score.”
“I bet I’ll blow your mind.”
“Just concentrate on blowing my dick.”
The wannabe cut slut drops to the floor. I cup her jaw and pretend it’s Freya batting her lashes at me. Her fingers move to my zipper and my belt buckle. My pants hit the floor and my boxer briefs are yanked to my knees. Candy apple red lips wrap around the head of my cock painting me with her eager affection. I close my eyes as soft and wet embraces me. Thoughts of Freya and her sweet cunt fill my imagination. Fantasy gives way to pleasure, and I grip her hair, tugging and yanking, directing the pace as I fuck her mouth.
I glance down and the bitch is playing with her pussy under her denim miniskirt which is good for me because I don’t care if she gets off or not. This isn’t about her needs. Its about my selfish drive to rid myself of my best friend’s daughter. And yet the deeper and harder the whore sucks me the more I crave Freya and burn for her. Only her. Fuck do I ache to be buried inside her for eternity.
My cell vibrates from the pocket of my cut. I’m sure it’s Belinda wondering where I’m at. She can wait. My balls tighten and I thrust my hips, hitting the cunt in the back of the throat. She starts to gag and moan but the noises are all wrong. She may have dark hair like Freya and even darker eyes but she’s not the real thing. This past week without Freya in my life has been pure hell after having a taste of her. I need to work her out of my system. Rid myself off thoughts of someday claiming her and telling Crow to go fuck himself if he has anything to say about it. My head knows it can never happen. My dick and my heart however beg to differ. I’ve never been a begging man, but right now I’m ready to go to my knees and pray for God or the Devil to cut out my heart.
I grip the bitch by the back of neck, daring her to pull away as tears race down her cheeks and spit dribbles down her chin. I trick my mind into believing it’s her. Freya. I tell myself that all I need is to get off this one last time. That I won’t think of her ever again, but as I shoot my load down this knockoff’s throat, I know it’s a lie.
I want Freya more than I’ve wanted anything in my life.
I stroke the woman’s jaw once then pull out and tuck back into my jeans.
“I ‘preciate it, sweetheart.”
A murderous gleam shoots daggers at me. I know she didn’t get hers.
“Don’t worry. One of the other brothers will be in to finish you off. Gotta get home. The wife and kid are waiting.”
I walk back out to the bar and yell to the prospect, “All yours.”
Crow’s boys look pissed off but don’t open their mouths. Its what the pricks get for talking shit. Besides if they need me to gift pussy to them then they got bigger problems. The prospect earned it. He’s the one who had to clean up the mess from that Margo bitch.
I make the drive home without being completely consumed with guilt.
Shame for making my kid wait to see me. For thinking of Freya while my dick was in another woman’s mouth.
I park next to Belinda’s Lexus. I moved in full time after Bensen was born but this house has never felt like home. I still spend a few nights a week at my place. My marriage isn’t ideal. Most wouldn’t understand. I did what I had to for my club and for myself. I got a great kid out of the deal and a fuck ton of legal favors. Still as I shut off my truck and start inside, I picture what it’d be like to go home to Freya. My chest tightens at the image of her barefoot in my kitchen cooking, belly swollen with our baby.
A life I’ll never live. One I need to forget.
She’s meant for a better man but fuck I’d trade just about anything to make her mine.
I take a breath and open the front door.
My boy looks up from his spot on the couch where he’s playing his latest video game. His smile hits me at the same time as the scent of garlic bread.
“There you are,” Belinda calls out.
She’s not ugly. Far from it, but we never could make it work. Not that we’ve ever really tried. We’re good friends. Our arrangement has worked till now.
Till Freya.
I take my seat at the head of the table in the dining room in a house that I picked out nothing for staring at a woman I don’t love.
We need to talk.