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Own me.
The solid edge I’m riding gets closer and closer, my stomach clenching in absolute desire as they stalk over to me, hands whispering over my heated skin. Prez keeps his gaze solely on my eyes, forcing me to look at the ghost of him as I cusp my orgasm. I need him to touch me, fuck me.
“Please, Prez–”
“Leather, can you– Oh shit!” My eyes slam open, the vibrator fumbling onto the bed with a loud buzz. One of the men from my imagination decided now was the time to come see me?
“Fuck, Prez!” I shriek, grabbing the blanket to cover myself. The high vibrations on the blue piece sputter mutedly on the sheets. Embarrassment and irritation continue to bite at me as I reach for the vibrator, only for it to be snatched away just as my fingers brush it. My mouth gawks open in surprise. “Hey! Give it back!”
“You were just…getting off by yourself?” He asks, letting the vibrations sound through the room. A hungry gaze stays on the wand, almost like he’s envious of the thing.
“Turn the damn thing off, at least,” I grumble, holding out my hand. “You’re going to drain the battery.”
“Isn’t that what you were just doing?” He teases, turning it off. “I don’t see porn pulled up or anything,” he muses, walking closer while holding the damn thing captive. Scowling, I keep myself covered.
“Did you need something?” I sneer. “I was in the middle of something.” He tosses the wand onto the bed before sitting on the end.
“I did come in with a job, but I think that can wait.” He slowly crawls up my body, forcing me to lay back.
“What are you doing?” I gasp, my body shuddering with need. I have wanted to screw this man for as long as I can remember, even before he became Prez of the MC.
What I don’t understand, is why the fuck he’s in my room, watching me like he wants to eat me for breakfast, lunch, and dinner.
Chapter Three
Prez
Banging my fist on the table, I push out of my chair. The cheap plastic topples effortlessly behind me, flying out of the way as I stand. “I don’t care what you have to say. We’re going to figure out a way to fucking remove them from society. Do you understand me?” I seethe through my teeth and into the small phone, barely holding onto my temper as I white-knuckle grip the desk. My red-hot anger won’t cool.
As calmly as I can muster, I reach down into the drawer and grab a glass. It’s not chilled, but there’s worse ways to drink whiskey. The crystal decanter opens with a pop, the sound soothing my soul for a few moments. It gives me a moment to direct my brain onto something other than the worst type of people getting closer and closer to our territory. Again. The worst part is that we’ve been struggling to track them down. If we think we have a lead, then they derail us by going to a totally different area. Leather’s been extremely lucky in finding the few that she has, but finding them in groups? Nearly impossible, even if clubs are considered like packs.
“Boss, I can’t find any traces,” the prospect meekly defends, obviously too much of a pussy for his own good. Groaning, I stab my fingers through my hair. It’s getting too fucking long. Yanking on the strands, I exhale sharply, reminding myself over and over again that he’s just a prospect. They don’t know the shit we do.
“I’m telling you, Bear,” I stress, picking up my phone and taking it off speaker. “Leather just de-patched a guy off Seventh Ave. They are here, you’re just not looking close enough.”
“They have no traces though,” he argues, obviously starting to get flustered himself. Growling, I take those deep breaths Knuckles always tells me about.
“Ya know what? I will just send Leather to do it. It’s her job anyway.” Cutting off the kid, I end the damn call. Running a hand down my face, I scratch the scruff on my neck. This shit needs to be trimmed too.
“You still need something?” Jacket picker Janet asks, squeezing herself between myself and my desk. Her ass bumps against the wood and forces it away with a harsh shriek. Pushing away from the desk, my hands firmly plant themselves on the arms of the chair.
As the Prez, jacket pickers are unavoidable. In club life, they make the world go round. If the men aren’t killing, their fucking. Jacket pickers grab hold of anyone with a cut, sucking them dry before moving onto the next man. That, or they end up becoming an ol’ lady. Which is exactly what Janet is trying to do, and I’m very much not interested.
“Nah, that dumbass killed my boner,” I huff, raising the glass and swigging back the liquid in one foul swoop. The harsh burn soothes me, subduing the aching anger buried deep in my soul.
“I could try to cheer you up,” she purrs, rubbing her hands along my shoulders. Her nails drag along with leather material while she sucks on her bottom lip like she hasn’t eaten dinner in a couple days. She’s generally a good fuck, her pussy is wet enough to flood the place, but she’s too damn loud. She’s always willing to tell everyone that we fucked, another time to spread her legs for the leading man. Normally I don’t care, let it roll off my back. Right now, though? I’m just not feeling it.
Talking about kids being hurt tends to stop sexual advances in their tracks, perhaps that’s just me. Either way, I’m not about to go thinking of them in the same sentence, let alone the same thought process.
Pushing her hands off, I shake my head. “Nah, I got some shit I need to do. I need to chat with Leather.” She visibly bristles when I mention my female lead. Leather tends to…rub people the wrong way. She’s fucking boner popping hot but isn’t the nicest person to be around. She’s got issues.
Just like the rest of us.
Janet grabs her fake leather jacket off the back of the couch and shrugs it on angrily then storms out. I’m half tempted to ask her why she’s willing to ruin her jacket over being mad, but I realize it’s pleather and only about sixty bucks at the local store. She’s waiting for a leather cut for being an old lady. One thing that she mentions almost every single time we’re together. When I told her that it’d never happen, I meant it. It’s something she will never get. That ship sailed when a two-faced bitch decided to tear my heart in two all those years ago.
Locking the office behind me, I go to the bar, which is one of the three places she would be. Moans and groans of pleasure echo around the club as I move. It definitely sounds like home. If it were quiet, I would ask if another case of herpes was going around in the club. It happened once when I was a prospect, but I love to bring it up to this day. They are never going to live it down, and I have no intentions of keeping it to myself.
Glancing down the bar both ways, her wild auburn mane doesn’t pop out. The waitress of the night steps over, ready to serve with her tits pushed high and her smile fake as fuck.
