Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 79338 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 397(@200wpm)___ 317(@250wpm)___ 264(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79338 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 397(@200wpm)___ 317(@250wpm)___ 264(@300wpm)
I blink. “Your nipples.”
His smile widens. “You like? I’ll let you play with mine if you let me play with yours.”
Both of his nipples have small silver rings hanging from them. I’ve never seen pierced nipples before in person, and now all I want to do is reach out and flick one to see what happens. I have to drag my eyes up over the hard planes of his pecs to find his blue-green eyes twinkling. I went to Mexico for a long weekend once, and they're the exact same color as the water was. I could drown in those.
“Um…”
Mack laughs. “Don’t fucking scare her off before we even get her inside.”
“You’re not scared, are you, baby?”
“No! Of course not. Well…” I hold up my hand with my fingers a tiny bit apart. “Maybe just a little.”
Mack puts his hand on the small of my back, his calloused fingers hot against my bare skin. “C'mon. Let’s go find Reaper. Inside is where the real party happens.”
I glance around as we head up the metal stairs that lead into the clubhouse. Off to the side a woman is straddling a guy’s lap. His tongue is down her throat, and there’s another guy behind her, sliding his hands up her shirt. “This isn't the real party?”
Scrapper and Mack just laugh. “Fuck, you ain’t seen nothin' yet.”
4
SCRAPPER
Our little intruder is fucking cute. Wide eyed and bushy tailed, is that what they say? Probably not, but I’m eager to get a closer look at both her bush and her tail.
It’s hot as shit out, so yeah, I peeled off my shirt, but Mila’s reaction to my piercings was a nice bonus. She looks like she doesn’t know if she should play with them or run away.
Music blasts through the door when Mack opens it, followed by mostly cool air. The AC’s fighting to keep up with the heat of all the people jammed in here, but it’s not entirely winning.
“This way.” I keep one hand on her back, both wanting to reassure Mila, and to make it clear that she’s with me. With us.
There’s more than enough assholes here that’ll see a new pair of tits and be eager to show her a good time. Possession is nine tenths of the law, and I fully intend that asshole to be me.
The common room is packed. With more and more families inside the compound, the Roost took over as the primary party location, but until it reopens, this feels like old times. Chef and Badass are manning the bar while Jewel—Chef’s old lady—shoots the shit with one of the club sluts.
Mila slows down and I follow her gaze.
There’s a topless chick dancing between two of our brothers, grinding her ass against the one behind her and basically riding the leg of the guy in front. On a couch in the way back, I can’t see who it is, but someone’s getting sucked off by two chicks at a time. And they’re both getting fucked from behind. And a few feet away, people are playing pool like nothing’s going on.
Bet that’s making an impression on a sheltered college student.
“Holy crap,” Mila whispers.
Mack grins. “Like what you see?”
She shakes her head, not like she’s denying it, but like she can’t quite believe it. “It’s definitely something.”
Mack laughs, just as Reaper makes his way through the crowd to join us.
“Damn, she showed.” He pulls out his wallet and makes a show of slapping a twenty in each of our hands.
“Disappointed?” Mila asks. I like that she’s out of her depth, but still rolling with the punches.
“Fuck no. Worth every penny.”
She cocks her head and smirks at him. “So what do I get?”
Reaper leans in, watching her like a hawk. “Baby, you get whatever you fucking want, but let’s start with a drink.”
We get her a beer and pull her into the crowd. It’s less of a dance floor and more of an open grinding pit. The heavy music is loud, slow and churning, and the lights turned down low enough to make it feel a little private. She gets a few looks, but trapped in the center of the three of us, Mila is as safe as it gets.
At least from everyone else. From us, though?
“Who’s that?” she asks, gesturing to a couple that stand out because everyone is giving them plenty of room.
“That’s our president Eagle-eye and his old lady,” Mack answers with a nod in their direction.
Miriam’s arms are around Eagle Eye’s neck, and he’s leaning down, kissing her like the meaning of fucking life is in her throat somewhere. She’s wearing a tight leather skirt that comes almost down to her knees, and a flowy black top, with her dark hair loose around her shoulders. Even after the years they’ve been together, the look of being a politician’s wife clings to her, and it’s strange seeing her in her hot secretary outfit with a grizzled old biker like Prez. It proves that you never know just by looking at someone, because she gave him a fucking son less than a year ago, and loves every inch of that old bastard in spite of all the blood on his hands.