“Jesus Christ,” Will groaned in pleasure as he continued to thrust. “You fuckin’ soaked me.”
He pulled out abruptly, and I could hear him snap off the condom as he dropped to his knees and pressed his tongue to my overly sensitive flesh. The quiet sounds of his fist sliding over his dick filled the room as I mewed quietly against my comforter, too exhausted to even try to move as his tongue swept over me softly.
He came with a curse against my skin and I grinned.
He sounded as wrecked as I felt.
“I just came all over my hand,” he grumbled, making me giggle deliriously. “Be right back.”
I crawled up the bed as soon as he’d left the room and flopped down against my pillow, my eyelids heavy.
What was I doing?
Could I really ignore the problems that were staring me in the face? I liked Will, but sometimes his comments made me wonder if I even really knew him. His dad was . . . ugh. I really didn’t like that guy. Sure, he’d been sweet to his wife, but that didn’t really mean anything, did it? There was still something about him that set me on edge, something just below the surface that I couldn’t quite pinpoint.
I knew he was part of the Aces and Eights Motorcycle Club, and that he worked at their garage as a mechanic, just like Will. But what else did he do? Did he drag Will into their illegal stuff? My stomach rolled at the thought.
“Here, sugar,” Will said softly as he came back into my room. “Let me clean you up.”
He sat on the edge of the bed and parted my legs, using a warm washcloth to wipe gently at my thighs and pussy. Then he was gone again, taking the washcloth back into the bathroom.
Will turned off the light and cracked open my bedroom door as he came back in the room, then crawled into bed beside me.
“Okay?” he asked, pulling me into his side.
“Okay,” I whispered back as he kissed my forehead.
All doubts left me as he tucked the comforter around my bare shoulder, making sure none of the cool air could seep in around it.
Chapter 8
Will
“I fuck up your luck with that girl?” my dad asked a week after Molly, Rebel and I’d had dinner at his house.
“Her name’s Molly,” I mumbled, following him in to the room behind the bar where the club held meetings. I wasn’t sure what was happening, but they’d woken me up at the ass crack of dawn and forced me out of Molly’s bed on her day off, so I wasn’t real excited about it.
Rebel had been waking Molly up like four times a night for the past week—for no reason. Her little ass would just wake up, bang on the side of her crib with her feet, and then fall back asleep after Molly sang to her. It was cute the first night, but after that, Molly had started looking more and more worn down every day. She was falling asleep most nights as soon as Reb did, and was barely able to get up for work the next morning.
“She didn’t seem to like me much,” Dad said with a chuckle.
“She’s fine,” I replied dismissively, grabbing my chair and settling in.
“You still seeing the suit’s daughter?” our president, Dragon, asked as he came in the room behind us. “Not gonna end well.”
“Not gonna end at all,” I shot back.
“We’ll see.”
I ground my teeth together and dug my fingers into my eye sockets. My eyes were fucking burning. I’d been spending my nights with Molly, which meant I’d been waking up every time she did—and it was catching up to me. It was probably time I slept in my own bed so I could get a solid night’s sleep, but even the thought of it made me feel like an asshole. It wasn’t like Reb would stay asleep if I wasn’t there. I’d be sleeping good while Molly was still waking up all night—that didn’t work for me.
As soon as everyone had found their places at the table, Dragon sat back in his chair and glanced around the room.
“Russians have been making some noise,” he announced, making the rest of us sit up straighter in our chairs. “Nothin’ definitive yet.”
“This about Rocky?”
“Of-fuckin’-course it is.”
“Jesus Christ.”
“Only good Russian is a dead one.”
Dragon raised his hand and the table grew silent.
“The suit’s been talkin’ with the DA in Boise, and they’re pretty sure that they can cut Rock a deal if he rolls on the Russians.”
“Oh, fuck no,” Cam said from across the table. “We don’t rat.”
“He’s not gonna talk, not about club business,” Dragon replied, leaning forward. “But Rock’s married to one of their daughters . . .”
About six months before, Rocky had gone to a meet with some Russians who were interested in creating a partnership with the Aces—our contacts for a cut of their sales. At first, we’d thought it was bullshit, so we’d sent in Rock, who already knew the assholes, to get the lay of the land.