Page 25 of Thug

I wanted to, but I needed to be in charge of such situations. “No.”

His look hardened. He lowered himself from the barstool and walked around the edge of the bar. In three steps he was behind me, reaching for the hem of my shirt.

I could have done a lot of things. Taken a step to the side and faced him with my arms crossed. Demanded that he return to the “customers’ side of the bar. Scream.

Dial 9-1-1.

Instead, I lifted my arms, making the task easier for him.

Standing behind me, he lifted my shirt over my head. It landed on the edge of the bar. He fumbled with the clasp of my bra, but only for an instant. His fingertips traced over my shoulders and along the sides of my arms, taking the straps of my bra with them.

Wearing nothing but sneakers and a pair of cut-off jean shorts, I felt naked and exposed.

His hands cupped by breasts.

I closed my eyes.

His warm breath bombarded the side of my neck. I twisted and turned my hips in response, aching for him to continue. He granted my wish by rolling my nipples between his thumbs and forefingers while eagerly caressing the flesh of my breasts with his palms.

His stiff cock grazed against my ass. He squeezed my breasts firmly and grinded himself against me. I welcomed the ache of the sexual agony, writhing in perfect timing to the movement of his hips.

Although there were countless reasons for me not to, I wanted him desperately. I ached for him since the night he first fucked me.

I could feel my heart beating between my legs. On the verge of a carnal meltdown, I lowered my hands and unbuttoned my shorts. I had to feel him inside me again. Have him pound his pain, his frustrations, and his confidence into me one inch at a time, until I collapsed at his feet.

He released my breasts and took a step back.

I drew a choppy breath, opened my eyes, and turned around.

Much to my surprise. Price McNealy was taking long strides toward the door.

“Where…” I swallowed heavily. “Where are you going?”

He paused and faced me. “There’s one person in charge here,” he said. “I’ve got news for you, Gray. It isn’t you.”

With aching nipples, a throbbing pussy, and a mind I doubted would ever stop desiring him, I watched as he disappeared through the front door and into the night.

8

Price

For several years, the club had less than ten members. I doubted that we’d ever grow large enough to become noticed in the world of one-percenters. Then, without an identifiable reason, we surged to more than thirty members and continued to grow at a record pace.

I’d never cared much for speaking to anyone, let alone large groups. Despite my shortcomings, I had to address the entire club once a week. If I failed to do so—and do it well—the men wouldn’t respect me.

I didn’t care if they liked me. For the club to succeed, however, they had to respect me.

While I finished my speech, Panzer was telling his prospect a story. I drew a breath of frustration and cleared my throat. “So,” I said, twice as loud as I needed to. “Lackey and I will be gone from Sunday until Thursday night, late. I think the plane gets in at eleven o’ clock.”

“11:12,” Lackey said.

“This ongoing tension with the Angels has been a thorn in our sides way too long,” I said. “Hopefully the Bandidos will back us if it becomes an issue. They’re about as fond of the red and white as we are.”

I scanned the crowd. Panzer was still talking. I glanced at my watch, taking enough of a pause that every man in attendance noticed what I was doing. I counted off five seconds and then looked up.

I shot Panzer a glare. “If you’re talking in that prospect’s ear while I’m trying to speak, how in the fuck is he supposed to hear what I’m saying?”

“I was just telling him about the Stallions,” Panzer said. “I’m done. Continue.”