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“I’m okay,” I say, scooping ice cream into my mouth, and this time, when I say the words, I actually mean them.
I don’t know if it’s the ice cream, the heavily tattooed giant seated next to me on this porch, or a combination of the two, but I feel better already.
I break my gaze from Priest and look at my surroundings. I couldn’t make out much when we arrived last night, but now, I take in the sights around me. There’s a long, gated driveway that runs past the porch where I’m sitting before branching off to a few outbuildings. The area around the house and buildings is clear and well maintained, but the property itself is surrounded by dense woods. The house is massive, at least three stories. It has blue vinyl siding and a wraparound porch with several rocking chairs and a swing. The gardens look well-tended, and everything is surprisingly clean. It is nothing like what I would expect from a motorcycle club.
As I waited for my ice cream, Priest had explained that the house serves as the club’s main hub, the clubhouse. Everyone in the club is free to come and go as they please. Patched-in members have the right to live in one of the house’s many bedrooms, which are assigned based on seniority. As the club president, Priest has the master suite.
Those members with families, and whoever else chooses to, live in their own homes, leaving only the single and newest members living in the clubhouse for the most part. Prospects are required to live in the clubhouse for a full year and are responsible for maintaining the property.
On Wednesdays, all fifteen senior members of the club living in the area are required to attend Church, a meeting to discuss club business. Afterward, the entire club and their families, sometimes a hundred people or more, is invited to gather behind the clubhouse for a cookout, weather permitting.
Priest also explained to me that he has his own house where he lived with his younger sister. But since she left for college, he has been staying in his suite at the clubhouse, preferring to be in the center of things.
The outbuildings are bathed in sunlight, their vibrant red color standing out against the blue sky. As I look around, I notice security features here and there, like cameras and keypad locks, and it all blows my mind.
Perhaps I was expecting them to live in a rundown trailer park with grease-covered men walking around the space like I’ve seen in the movies, but this place is organized and efficient. There’s something welcoming and homey about it too.
From a distance, I catch the sound of engines revving, and that sends a thrill rocking through my body. Before last night, I’d never been on a motorcycle, and now, I wonder if Priest will let me ride with him again if I tell him I want to.
“How far from the city are we?” I ask instead.
“Half an hour.”
“Hmm,” I hum, closing my eyes to soak in the morning sun. “I wonder if they’ll still let me register for classes without my admission letter and ID. The cop from yesterday probably never even filed the report about the kids who robbed me.”
Priest is silent for a long time, and I force my eyes open to look at him. I am shocked to find his eyes hard and jaw clenched, as if he’s moments away from a fight, but that’s not what has me sitting up straight.
No, it’s the way my body reacts to this look on him.
His eyes are dark and cold, they have no business sending a tremble down to my knees or the wet heat pooling in my core.
Christ, since when do I like big scary men?
“What did you say?” he growls dangerously, and my nipples pucker. I gasp, mortified at my body’s reaction to his rough voice.
“W-what?”
My eyes drop to his clenched fists, and I swallow deeply at the memory of those same calloused hands strumming my body with such expertise . . . I want them on me again.
I’d called him Daddy as he buried that firm mouth between my thighs and took me to a whole different universe. Would he want to do that again? Christ, I am trembling just thinking about it.
Snap out of it, Sky!
“You just said you got robbed. I want you to tell me what happened.”
Wetness spreads between my legs, staining my inner thighs, and I fiddle with the hem of my borrowed T-shirt—the second one I’ve had to take from Priest since he destroyed the first last night—and fight the onslaught of senses on my body. I force my thighs together and stare wide-eyed at Priest, trying to make sense of what he’s telling me.
He wants . . . something.
“Uh . . . I . . .” My mind goes blank. I have no idea what we’re talking about.
I can see his mouth moving, heck, I can even hear the words, but my lust-addled brain can’t think past his deep rumbly voice and the effects it has on me.
Focus!
Christ, I want to. I’m trying, but ever since Priest touched me, he seems to have aroused something in me, and all I can think about is his hands on me. Especially when he watches me the way he is.
“Sky, are you okay?” Priest asks, closing the distance between us and placing his massive palm over my forehead, and a tremble rocks my body from the simple touch.
