2
Charley Hughes
It had beenthe shittiest week on record. Monday night Scar had lost his damned mind and was going to let me fuck him. Only something had gone wrong. I kept blaming myself, going back over those seconds when I’d thought I would finally get to sink myself into his body and come. Did I go too fast? Did I not use enough lube? Not stretch him enough? I had no clue which action had led to disaster, and it wasn’t like I had experience with other men to back me up.
And the jackass would not talk to me about it.At all.How would I ever know?
I’d realized he wasn’t acting right at the time, but I’d wanted to feel what it was like to be in his ass. Against my better judgement, I’d redlined toward the finish line and gone ahead with things. I’d had three heartbeats of bliss followed by fuckingdaysof hell.
Tuesday after work he’d stayed at the clubhouse until almost four in the morning. I’d gone over there to try to get him to come home. Barber had laughed at me like a fuck and called me a housewife, but Colton was passed out stone-cold drunk on one of the couches. I couldn’t move him.
Wednesday, after his day at the garage, he’d pulled a small job for King, or at least that was what he’d told me, and when he came home went straight to bed, claiming he was “too tired to talk.”
Thursday he went out riding all day with King. I wanted to be pissed about not being invited, but I was back to work nearly full time in the clubs, and they’d been short-staffed at Sinful.
Friday my fucking Harley started smoking when I throttled her, because she’s old and cantankerous, so I needed to tear her engine down to see which seal or valve was leaking. I spent all day going over parts, and when I got frustrated, it was Undertaker who wandered into the shed we sometimes used as a garage at the clubhouse to help me finish the job.
Scar didn’t evenofferto help.
Said he was “too busy” doing who-the-fuck-knew-what for King.
Saturday he went to the clubhouse before I fucking woke up, and I didn’t bother trying to track him down. I was pissed off, and… yeah, my feelings were hurt. They weren’t at first, because I knew how Scar could be, but now? I was fucking mad. It was not normal for him to go this long without pinning me to a surface and fucking me.
And I knew goddamned well this was because I’d had my dick in him. I understood Colton on a lot of levels—the man hated talking about anything with more depth than his favorite pizza toppings—but I was beginning to lose my patience.
Today was Sunday, and I was tired because I’d been out until almost three o’clock in the morning with work. Black Out was losing security men like flies in a windstorm because it was one of the few clubs in town where people needed actual training to do the work, and half the guys who wanted to be bouncers just wanted to glare at troublemakers, not take courses on bartending and de-escalation tactics. With the kink club upstairs, King had upped the requirements for his staff. We couldn’t afford problems there, especially since the club was downtown. I kept my eyes shut and listened to Colton move around the bedroom. Drawers rattled. Clothes rustled. Judging by the light hitting my closed eyelids, it was probably about noon, maybe a little earlier.
He hadn’t come to check on me last night, which before the fiasco on Monday was typical for him. I was security, but he didn’t necessarily like it. He thought of me as someone who needed his protection, even out here in the real world. And normally I loved that. I liked looking up and seeing him with a drink at the bar. I liked kissing him with the music pounding in our ears.
But this week had sucked so bad, and I’d been lonely for the first time since his last stint in prison.
He didn’t kiss me before he left.
My hurt doubled, tripled, then soured to bitterness. I waited until I heard the front door open and sneakily close, then opened my eyes. The parts of me that weren’t mad as hell felt guilty because I’d caused this. I couldn’t even remember whose idea me fucking him had been. I grabbed my phone off the nightstand.
Charley:If you don’t want me anymore, there’s a guy who comes into Black Out and always hits on me. Might say yes next time.
I hit Send with an evil little smile. My fingers hurt because I gripped the phone so hard while I waited. I didn’t like this type of thing—playing dirty. There was no “guy at Black Out,” and even if there had been, I would have just told him I had a boyfriend.
But I knew Colton.
So, I waited.
My phone screen lit up with his number, and I lay there, ignoring the ringing. No, we would have a fucking conversation face-to-face or else. He wouldn’t even stay in a room with me while I was awake, and I was fucking over this bullshit. I showered, dressed, and was buckling my belt when the front door thumped open. Colton stomped into the bedroom looking dangerous in his riding gear—black leather pants, big black shit-kicking boots, a black T-shirt, and his Kings cut. At his temples a bit of silver gleamed, more than was there when we’d started dating. The stubble on his jaw made me want to run my fingers over it. He looked like a fucking predator. My heart pounded harder. A snarl curled his lips.
“You’re gonna go? You’re not fucking leaving.” He stomped over and grabbed me by both shoulders, slamming my back against the wall beside the dresser. The move took my breath away but didn’t hurt. I struggled, and he put pressure on me. He leaned down and brushed his lips to mine, and I moaned. I’d missed this, missed him.
But then I remembered what anepic shithe’d been all week and shoved him with all my might. He stumbled away a few steps and glared, but then dropped his gaze to the floor between us.
“You won’t even fucking look me in the eye. Why? Because I touched your precious asshole? You fuck me all the time. What do you think of me? Not much, huh? That it?” I clenched my fists and fire blazed under my skin. My face scorched and even the tips of my ears burned.
“What?” Colton glanced up and his brow furrowed. The only thing that kept me from fucking clocking him was the fact he looked as confused as I was angry. “Goddamn it. You know I love you,” he shouted in my face.
I went to move around him, and he shoved me back, so I pushed him harder, and he let me go. I snagged my phone from the nightstand, and on the way to the front door I grabbed my keys and wallet from the counter. I hated how long it took me to lace up my riding boots, but I put them on as fast as I could.
“Where are you going?” Colton’s voice sounded small, and that made me even madder.
“Fuck you, that’s where,” I snapped. “Like you told me what you were up to all week. You have a lot of fuckin’ nerve.”
