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MY OFFICE STILL smelled of Emily and sex. I breathed the scent in deeply and tried to calm down after her phone call. Who the hell had she been going to see that she didn’t want to tell me about? And more importantly, why the fuck was I so pissed off about it?
The shattered glass on my office floor reminded me why. I couldn’t seem to get her out of my mind. Couldn’t stop thinking about the way she’d felt in my arms.
Against my tongue.
Around my cock.
Her silky dark hair tangled around my fingers.
The sting of her ass against my hand.
She was every bit the fuck I’d expected her to be, and just the memory of her bent over my desk instantly stood my dick at attention. What the hell was she doing to me?
Determined to get my mind off her, I sought out a broom and swept up the broken glass, setting the old newspaper clippings aside. I should reframe them, but maybe it was finally time to redecorate. Maybe Emily would help me knock the rest of the frames off the wall.
That thought brought on a whole new series of fantasies. What better way to wreck an office than with wild animal sex? I needed to stop thinking about her before I exploded. We had church soon and I had no intention of standing in front of the club with a raging hard-on. Adjusting myself in my now uncomfortable jeans, I sat back down, opened my laptop, and tried to focus on the bar’s financial statements.
I worked for a while, and then Emily called again, demanding I pull Deryk off her due to the rain. The kid was a lot tougher than she was giving him credit for, but I didn’t tell her that. He could use the influence of someone like Emily in his life, and I’d much rather have him watching her from inside her house than across the street.
So, I told her his story.
Knowing Emily had a bleeding heart, it was a dickhead move, but I made it. And the second Deryk texted me asking if he could go inside, I knew I’d done the right thing. No regrets. Not one.
Yes,I replied.
Everything was going along as expected. He’d soon be able to keep an even closer eye on her. In her house. Talking to her. Joking with her. Flirting with her? Well, shit, I didn’t want that. No other man should be in Emily’s house. Ever. The very thought of it had my fingers flying across my phone.
Lay one finger on her, and I’ll cut your dick off and feed it to you, I typed out.
Shit, that got dark fast. My thumb hovered over the send button as I read over what I’d typed. Thankfully, some spark of intelligence kept me from pressing send. What the fuck was wrong with me? The kid didn’t need someone threatening him. He needed a sponsor who believed in him. If I didn’t trust him, I never should have let him follow her. Forcing down the bizarre jealousy raging inside me, I deleted the text and tried again.
Hands off the merchandise, Bull. She’ll be wearing my property patch soon.
My thumb hovered over the send button again.
Was I ready to lay claim to Emily? I chuckled, shaking my head, knowing full well I’d claimed her the second I made her walk out of my club wearing my T-shirt.
I was already fucked. So fucked. Against the wall. On my desk. Maybe we’d try an actual bed next. I’d fucked girls in my office before, but none of them had left an imprint like Emily.
Bull?he asked, interrupting my musings.
Ask Emily, I replied, setting my phone down.
Wasp poked his head into my doorway. “Everyone’s here and ready for church, Prez,” he said.
The club’s Friday night meetings were called church, because attendance was mandatory and what happened once we closed the doors was considered sacred. The meetings were so important we hired non-club employees to man the bar for two hours every week. We’d furnished the room with old wooden pews, and all that was missing was a pulpit. Friday night meetings was the closest our ragtag group of heathens ever got to spirituality.
I walked in to a rowdy bunch, talking, drinking, laughing, carrying on like old friends, which most of them were. Since the club now spanned two generations, there was a hodgepodge mix of old and new, but nobody sat alone. Not here. We all had our own demons to battle, but here, within the walls of the station, we fought them together. That was what made the Dead Presidents so important. We provided structure, discipline, responsibility, camaraderie, and a sense of belonging all while pushing individual freedoms and encouraging members and recruits to be the red-blooded American badasses whose very blood and sweat made our country so damn great.
Pops and a handful of other retired officers congregated at the back of the room, swapping stories about the good ole’ days while they sipped beers. I drifted over and showed my respects to the group.
“How you feelin’ old man?” I asked, sidling up to Pops.
He boxed me on the shoulder. “Still good enough to kick your ass, kid, so you best watch yourself.”
I believed it, too. The old man fought dirty and in all my thirty-four years, I’d never known him to lose a fight.
