I splashed water on my face to cool myself down. It wasn’t embarrassment that flooded me, but shame. I was Ripped’s old lady and what I had just done broke so many club rules. If Ripped ever found out, both Battle and I would probably end up dead. Ripped was protective of his property, and I was very much his property, whether I had agreed to wear his property patch or not.
I splashed my face again and stared up at my reflection. The haze of booze in my eyes and the flush of post-orgasm pink in my cheeks made me actually look attractive when I’d expected to look and see nothing but ugly. Ugly on the inside, ugly on the outside, right?
It hadn’t really been my fault though. Normally I would have pushed Ripped away, because the way he’d been treating me was as if I was one of the club sweetbutts, and I was most definitely not. Yet I’d seen Battle staring and hadn’t been able to stop him. The jealousy and lust burning in Battle’s eyes had set my skin on fire, his gaze scorching my skin as Ripped had brought me to orgasm.
I’d hated both men right then. Battle for having Candy in his lap but staring at me, and Ripped for taking advantage of me. He’d been trying to convince me to let one of his brothers watch us have sex for months, and I’d always said no. But it was his thing—the thing that turned him on more than anything else—and he hadn’t let it drop. So when he’d seen Battle staring at us, he’d buried his face in my lap before I could tell him to stop.
It had been the hottest and most awful thing ever, to come on Ripped’s tongue while looking into Battle’s eyes and wishing it were him.
I couldn’t quite believe it was happening. How could I meet the man of my dreams and find out that he not only knew my old man but was in a different club from him? A club which the Burning Eights did regular business with.
I must have seriously fucked up in my past life because it just wasn’t fair.
I had been wondering what to do about Ripped for weeks, since he’d asked me to be his official old lady and wear his cut. I loved him, I did, but over the past couple of months things between us had grown cold. All he talked about was getting me knocked up and spitting out sons for him to pass down the gavel to.
But the truth was, I didn’t want kids.
Not ever.
And definitely not with Ripped.
He was a good man, and any woman would be lucky to be his old lady. Just not me. There was something missing in our relationship, and up until that day I hadn’t known what. We’d had fun, lots of it, but just having fun with someone wasn’t enough. I wanted more.
I just hadn’t known what that more was until I’d met Battle.
Ripped was a dangerous man and I’d always been attracted to danger—that was why we had hit it off so well at the start. But the past few months had seen our relationship going cold. He wanted to take things to the next stage and I didn’t, and every time he pushed for it I pushed back harder, moving further away.
Until today. After meeting Battle and feeling that raw, unfathomable connection where my heart sped up, my palms sweated, and everything else faded away…
I was a slut. There was no question about it, especially after what had just happened, but I was powerless to stop it, just like I’d been powerless to stop myself from acting like a whore on the roof and practically throwing myself at Battle.
He’d said we couldn’t. We shouldn’t. And he’d turned me down. But his body had said something else completely. Battle was thinking of us both, I knew that, yet I couldn’t help but I wonder how strong his will was, because I knew mine would crumble if he laid a hand on me. Because where Battle was concerned, my body was already his.
I pulled my fingers through my knotty hair before fixing my bandana back in place. I took one last look at myself in the mirror.
“Whore,” I murmured to it shamefully before walking away.
Because cheating was bad, really bad. And letting Ripped bring me to orgasm while I stared at Battle and wished it were him was just as bad as cheating.
I pushed open the bathroom door, noting how dark the hallway was then, and how noisy the main clubhouse still was. It was after three a.m. and the party was still going. Ripped had gone back to the main party in search of more beer and whiskey, and I was more than ready to go to bed. The day had been crazy and fucked up and I just wanted to leave and go back home then.
I started along the hallway, heading back into the clubhouse in the hopes of convincing Ripped to let me go to bed. He hated me going to bed without him and normally made me wait up for him, but I was exhausted and ready to sleep.
I was lost in those thoughts when a hand wrapped around the top of my arm and dragged me backwards, another quickly covering my mouth and muffling my screams. I fought, kicking and hitting out at the hard wall of muscle and trying to scream as I was dragged backwards into a small storeroom.
The room was dark, darker still when the door slammed shut behind us, and I was shoved forward, my body pressed up against the racking. A man’s body came up behind me, pressing himself against my back and pushing me further forward, his hot breath on my neck as his earthy scent curled lazily around me.
“You can’t do that, Quinn,” Battle said, and I stopped fighting him immediately. “You can’t do that to a man and expect nothing to happen to you, you feel me?”
I nodded, instantly wet at having him so close to me. Like I said, my body was already his. His hand left my arm and reached down between us to lift up my dress, and I groaned with need and desperation, more than ready for his touch. I’d like to say it was fear that made me stop fighting him, that I was scared of him hurting me, but I’d be a liar as well as a whore if I did. The truth was, while Ripped had been finger-fucking me and bringing me to orgasm I’d been staring at Battle and wishing it was him. Imagining what his hands would feel like on my body. And while the sweetbutt had been swallowing his come, I’d been imagining that it was me, knowing that that come had been meant for me and not her. So I stopped fighting him, my body turning to putty beneath his touch.
I gasped as one of his hands reached over and wrapped around my throat and the other pushed my panties down my trembling legs while his hard body leaned against me. His hand stroked up my thigh, and there was no hiding the pool of wetness at my entrance as he rubbed his palm over me and then gently pinched my clit between his fingers. My knees buckled as pleasure and pain burst to life and I whimpered, wanting and needing more.
“I got you, babe,” he breathed into my ear before kissing my neck. “I’ve motherfucking got you, you feel me?”
And he did. He had me body, mind, and spirit, and I nodded in agreement.
He pinched me again and my legs trembled, pleasure sighing up and down my overworked body. He reached further down, separating my lips and pushing a thick finger inside of me like I’d imagined him doing all day. Like Ripped had done only twenty minutes before. I was already soaked for him, beyond wet, and he automatically pushed another finger inside, stretching me as I bucked against the intrusion, my body begging for more as I pushed my ass out, knowing it was wrong to want him so much but not able to stop myself from wanting him.
