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He walks around me, ready to leave, but then he stops while I am still frozen in the doorway. I watch as he puts a hand in the pocket of his jeans and pulls out a hundred-dollar bill.
I jump when he reaches forward, unsure of what to expect. With slow movements, he pulls on the thong and shoves the bill right in between my legs, making sure it is safely secured in between my lips. For a second, I think he is about to push it inside of me, but then he pulls his hand back.
He juts his chin forward, pointing toward the room behind me. “For the two minutes we were in there.”
Now, he is truly leaving while I remain immobile in the doorway. My hands are sweaty, and my breathing is labored.
I tried to play with him.
I lost.
THREE
Hawk
Winger guns it for me as soon as I walk into the clubhouse.
“Did you fuck her?”
I ignore him and lift my chin at the prospect serving as a bartender to pour me a shot. He wastes no time getting it for me, and I down it with no hesitation. As soon as I slam the glass back on the counter, he refills it.
“Whoa, she must’ve been fucking good then,” Winger snickers. “I wish I’d volunteered for this mission. She is quite the piece of ass.”
I grab the shot glass and empty it once again. The adrenaline is making the blood rush through me at a faster rate than one would consider normal. My dick is hard enough to pound nails with it. I about took it out and gave myself relief as soon as I got to my bike, but I couldn’t show that kind of weakness.
Riding all the way to the club with the massive hard-on about put me out of commission. At some point, I hit a pothole from hell and saw stars.
“Seriously though.”
He elbows me once I relax against the bar, with my forearms resting on its surface.
“Did you get any intel?”
I resist the urge to roll my eyes.
“I laid out the foundation,” I say instead.
Winger seems taken aback by that, albeit amused.
“Foundation for fucking? You’re so romantic, Hawk,” he teases. “I had no idea.”
I am saved from his sarcastic remarks when I notice our president waving me over. Without a backward glance at Winger, I walk away and head toward our church room where the president disappeared to.
“Prez,” I nod at him when I enter. He is seated at the head of the long table, no sign of amusement on his face. It is the total opposite of Winger’s attitude tonight.
“How did it go?”
I stretch my legs in front of me and rest my hands over my stomach.
“Too easy,” I tell him. “She wanted to fuck, so that won’t be a problem going forward. But I don’t know yet what she knows, if anything.”
With his eyes boring into mine, he just nods in understanding as he mulls things over.
“Devereaux is on my ass hard,” he explains. “We need to get this done for him, and it needs to be fast.”
I take a deep breath in, wondering how I should tell my president that I think we’re being played.
“Don’t you find it odd that Devereaux wants to blow up the Lizards? I thought he and Bricks go way back.”
