“Shit,” he curses, pulling out slowly, like he's trying to torture us both. “Shit, shit, shit.”
I stand up, warm wet heat between my legs, and try to fix my pants with trembling hands. I can't even look at him. I don't want to look at him right now.
“Maybe we should reschedule our meeting for another time?”
“You fucking think?” he asks me, the flicking sound of a lighter preceding the scent of cigarette smoke. I turn around and glare at him, at his tense jaw and clenched teeth. I think his hands are shaking, too.
“Don't talk to me like that. I didn't do anything wrong.”
“Nothing except violate the sanctity of the club's chapel,” he says, turning those dark brown eyes on me. I can't tell if he's joking or not. He better be.
“Are you taking the piss with me?” I ask, hoping I'm using the slang right. If not, oh well, he can deal with it.
“I might be.” Royal's face relaxes, some of the anger leaking out of his expression. I think he almost smiles. But something about what just happened between us is bothering him. “But I still think you should go.”
“What about our meeting?”
“Take my truck and I'll come see you tomorrow.” He moves over next to me, reaching past me and ashing his cigarette in a tray. We're so close, I can feel the heat radiating off his body. I don't even know him, but I wish with all my heart in that moment that he'd wrap his arms around me and hold me.
Royal pauses, his body going suddenly still, like he can read my thoughts.
“Royal,” I start to say his name, but he pulls away, taking a step back to put some space between us. Good. This is for the best. Back to business. “What time should I be expecting you?” I say cooly, my pussy still throbbing, wetness teasing the insides of my legs, a fervent reminder that he was just there, that we were just together in the most intimate way possible. “Sometime around ten?”
“Sure thing, love,” he says, moving back over to his chair and pulling it out. I watch as he scoots a stack of papers in front of him and pretends to be engrossed in reading them. His eyes don't even move from their fixed spot. If that's not a cue to get lost then I don't know what is.
“Fine. Ten o'clock,” I snap, my voice colored with emotion that even I don't quite understand. Royal's head snaps up at that, but I'm already turning away, my boots loud against the wood floors of the chapel.
I lean back in my chair, watching Lyric storm out of the room like her ass is on fire. I don't fucking blame her. I know I'm being a dick right now. A royal fucking dick. Literally the first woman I've ever wanted like this, and I can't have her.
Life's a bitch.
My cock stirs in my jeans, reacting to the slick wetness that still clings to my skin, making me run my hand over the bulge with a groan. The hell did I just do? I banged the girl without a rubber. That's a huge no in my world. But I did it anyway. Couldn't help myself.
I run a hand over my face, fingers scraping against the stubble on my chin and cheeks. I blame Landon for my sudden lack of self-control, for the bottomless pit of anger and frustration and want that I've become in the last few days.
Landon knew, fucking knew, that Brent was dirty, that he was trading favors with Clayton Moore. That was Glacier's news, a big heaping pile of shite to dump on me when I came in this morning. The revelation erased any sort of joy I might've had at catching FBI Douche with his fingers in the cookie jar.
The hell were you thinking, brother?
No self-respecting MC would take a snitch into their ranks, welcome on a man who turns his back on his own brothers. I close my eyes and think back to his last day, to that frantic motorcycle chase that ended with Landon's blood on my hands. He didn't give me any choice, no room to maneuver or bargain or deal. Instead, he attacked me with a vengeance I'll never understand, would've killed me, too, if he had the chance. I could see the ugly truth of it written into every line of his face.
So why?
“Boss?” It's Smoky, standing at the front of the room and staring at me like he knows what I'm thinking about. I'm not the only one hurting from Landon's death. But I'm sure I'm the only one who wants to take a pint-size little mayor's daughter into my arms and hold her tight, bury my chin in her hair, put a jacket on her shoulders with a patch that says property of.
My mouth almost twitches into a smile.
She'd never wear it.
That makes me want her even more.
“What is it?” I ask, looking up at him, at the almost blank expression on his face.
Fuck.
“What in the bloody hell is it now?” I ask, standing up from my chair and shoving the pile of papers down the table.
“There's a man from the mayor's office here to see you.”