Clubwhore (Devil's Renegade MC #1)(52)

“You missed this cock, didn’t you?” I moan at his question that’s said just above a whisper, yet makes me shake harder than if he’d have yelled it.

I did miss him. Damn, I missed him. Not just the sex but him—all of him. His whiskey-scented breath, massive cock, dirty mouth and big hands that seem to hold me tenderly and roughly all at the same time.

I’m on my knees, my face pressed into the mattress and my ass high in the air. The taste of him still lingers on my lips. The scent of him invades my senses. The feel of him can be felt in places deep within my belly as he drives into me over and over. It’s too much and not enough, and only he can make my body feel this good.

We come together—one big explosion of orgasm powerful enough to keep us both sated and satisfied for years to come. I hope it’s always like this. I hope we never become a stalemate with each other. I want every time to be as intense as this time.

“I missed you,” I admit, when I’m curled to his chest. His breathing is even, letting me know he’s near sleep. Part of me hopes he didn’t hear my admission, but of course he did.

“I missed you too. A fuck of a lot more than I should.” I try to sit up so I can look at him, but he holds me in place. “Go to sleep.”

“But I’m not tired,” I pout, wanting him inside me again.

“It wasn’t an option, babe.” His voice is a little thicker, and I know he’s tired. So I give in. Not because I’m sleepy, but because he is. And he missed me…

A fuck of a lot more than he should…





CHAPTER 26



Every night for the rest of the week, I’m aware of his eyes always on me as I work—watching me, following my every move. None of the men approach me—warned off by his deadly gaze. He doesn’t verbally announce that I’m spoken for, but the silence of his stare speaks volumes. So I spend my evenings behind the bar serving drinks, or in the kitchen making pizzas and crockpot dinners for our guests.

I don’t miss the attention of the men. Bryce more than makes up for my lack of companions. He’s spent every night in my bed. Sometimes he fucks me. Other times, he just holds me. I’m not sure if he realizes what he’s doing to me—which is making my biggest fear become reality.

I’m in love with him.

Not just the idea of it.

Real love.

The kind of love that makes my stomach flip and my heart stop when he walks through the door after he’s been at work all day. The kind of love that makes my world right whenever he’s in it, and lonely and meaningless when he’s not. My life is filled with distractions, but they’re never enough to give my mind a moment’s rest from him. He consumes me.

“What you thinkin’ so hard about?”

I smile and turn my head to where he’s sitting across the room. It’s late—nearly three in the morning. He has to be up in a few hours, and I wonder why he hasn’t forced me to abandon my bartending duties and come with him to bed like he has several nights this week.

“About us.” My honest answer wasn’t one I’d anticipated. But due to my sleepy state, it’s not a big surprise either.

“Us?” He smirks, pulling his big body from the couch and walking toward me. “What about us?”

I watch him until he’s leaning on his elbows on the bar, motioning for me to hand him a beer. When my back is to him, I ask the question that’s been weighing heavy on my heart. “What are we doing, Bryce?”

When I don’t get a response, I know he’s waiting for me to face him. After a deep breath of encouragement, I do. He regards me cautiously—narrowing his eyes as if it might help him read deeper into my mind and the reason behind my question.

“I feel like this is something. Is it?” I take a pull from his beer, then pass it to him as I reach for my cigarettes. Instead of answering, he grabs the smoke from between my lips and puts it in his mouth—lighting it and taking a deep drag.

“Hey, gorgeous, can I get a drink?” Crash asks, slicing through the thick tension with his sweet charm and playfulness. His smile is infectious, and I offer one in return.

“Of course.”

“You get the message from Luke?” Crash’s voice is low behind me as he speaks to Bryce. I know I shouldn’t, but I eavesdrop on the conversation—taking my time making his drink.

“Didn’t know there was a message,” Bryce mutters, and out of the corner of my eye, I see him reach inside his cut for his phone. They speak again, but I can’t make out the words. When I hand Crash his drink, Bryce is talking, but his eyes are on me.

Crash nods, then takes his drink. “Thanks, babe.” He takes a sip. “Ahh,” he says on a wink, and I know his signature line will soon follow. “Always tastes better when you fix it.” With one final glance in Bryce’s direction, he turns and walks back to the pool table surrounded by half naked women. They’d been playing strip eight ball—a game I’m a master at, but wasn’t invited to participate in.

“Did you tell them not to touch me?” I ask Bryce, watching Reese shake her fake tits in Crash’s face.

“When I’m here, you’re mine,” he answers simply, following my gaze to the ridiculous game happening on the other side of the room. “I never did know how to share.” He’s attempting a joke, but this is serious to me.

“So you told them that?”

“I didn’t have to.”

I look at him then. His expression is guarded. “What does that mean, Bryce? If you’ve staked some claim on me, don’t I have a right to know?”

“I haven’t staked any claim on you, babe. But when I’m here, I like to have you to myself. My club respects that.”

“And when you’re not here?”

His eyes darken, and his jaw ticks. Either he hasn’t thought about this, or he assumes I’ll stay monogamous even in his absence. And I will. But this is my job. So if that’s what he expects of me, then I, in turn, expect to hear him say it—that way, there’s no question that my body is off limits. And job or not, I want to hear him say it. I long for him to tell me I belong only to him.

Silence stretches on, and I’m reading between the lines. My gut tells me as bad as he wants to say it, he can’t. Not without it feeling like some kind of commitment. I’m not asking for a ring, or a patch, I just want honesty. And maybe for him to confess that deep down, he has feelings for me too.

The door swings open, and I jump as it collides with a loud boom against the wall. “Church. Now,” Luke snaps, scanning the clubhouse and the several members who are still awake. His eyes roam over me and he nods. “Delilah.”

I swallow hard at the fierce look on his face. Whatever is going on must be pretty damn serious. The men disappear behind the door of the chapel. Over the next half hour, more arrive. Despite the late hour, none of them look tired. They all wear that same fierce look as Luke.

“We’re going to bed, Delilah,” Reese tells me, her and another girl already heading in the direction of Crash’s room. She stops at the door and turns to face me. “You staying up?”

I nod. “For a little while. Good night.” My head swims with thoughts as I busy myself around the room. What’s going on? Is something wrong? Will Bryce finally admit he doesn’t want me with other men no matter if he’s here or not? How will I feel if he tells me he doesn’t care what I do?

“Um, Ma’am?” I roll my eyes at Cook, Prospect for the Devil’s Renegades.

“Why do you call me ma’am? I sucked your dick, Cook. I think you can skip the gentleman routine.” He glances nervously over his shoulder and I follow his gaze to where Bryce is staring at us from inside the open door of the chapel.

His body is tight with tension. The look on his face mean and hard. I’m not sure if his reaction is because he heard what I said, or if it’s from the conversation happening around the table. I hope like hell it’s the latter. But a part of me rejoices in the thought of him getting angry over images of me being with someone that isn’t him.

I turn my attention back to Cook. “What you need, honey?” I ask, feeling guilty for his embarrassment. Prospecting is hard enough. He didn’t need the added drama of me and Bryce.

“Coffee.”

“You make the coffee, Prospect.” Bryce’s voice booms across the room. “Delilah, go to bed.”

I frown at his demand. “But I can—”

“I said, go to bed,” he snaps, leaving no room for argument. But this is my job. I want to help. That’s what the club pays me for.

“Really, I don’t mind.”

“Now, Delilah!” This time, it’s Luke’s voice I hear from inside the room. Feeling much like the Prospect, I hang my head in humiliation, and quickly disappear down the hall.

In an attempt to relax, I run a hot bath—dumping nearly an entire bottle of soothing lavender bubble bath in the water. Why didn’t I think to grab a bottle of wine on my way out? It’s possibly the only thing that could make this better.

No.

There is one thing that’s better.

In the very back corner of my closet is Red and Dallas’ stash of weed. I open the baggie containing several tightly rolled blunts, and pull one out. Hell, they won’t miss it. I grab my iPod, lock my bedroom door and escape into my bathroom—locking that door as well.