Page 8 of Striker

I shove all the birthday stuff aside with one arm and lift her onto the table, all while never taking my lips off hers. I step between her knees as one of my hands trails up her bare leg and slides under her pretty miniskirt. I grab her thin panties on one side and firmly give them a tug.

“You sure about this, darlin’?” I ask with my lips against her throat.

She takes my face in both her hands and makes me look at her. “Babe, if ever I don’t like what you’re doing, trust me, I’ll speak up.”

“Got it, darlin’. You don’t have to tell me twice.”

Then I pull her into position at the edge of her high-top table and push into her sweet heat with our foreheads pressed together. Being this close, we’re breathing the same air and can feel each other’s body heat. She wraps her legs around me, encouraging me to move. Right now, I’m not able to think of anything except giving the woman I’m quickly falling in love with the kind of pleasure she deserves.

I feel her wet heat stroking every inch of my cock, softly teasing out an orgasm I don’t want to come too soon. My personal rule is the woman always comes first. It’s a rule I’ve never broken in my life, and I won’t let Beth down for anything. The pleasure flying back and forth between us is intense. Our bodies make a dirty squelching noise as we move together. I get a twisted kick from hearing it, from the thick smell of sex that eventually surrounds us.

When Beth’s claws sink into my chest and she comes screaming my name, it’s like being reborn into a world of pleasure with a bite of pain. And that’s enough to send me flying over the edge as well.

I stand there with Beth slumped against my chest, her soft breasts rubbing against me, making me want her all over again. This is the one, I think. This is the woman who really cares about me. I finally found her and that makes everything right in my world.

Chapter 4

Striker

Present Day

Iwake up at four, unable to sleep as usual. Since there’s no point lying in bed and not sleeping, I roll out of bed and get dressed before creeping upstairs to my office. The Sons of Rage patched in a new brother last night and his patching party was one for the books. I have to step over beer cans, liquor bottles, and naked bodies to reach my little IT office. At least someone had a good night, I tell myself. Minutes later my ass lands in my desk chair and I open my laptop. Work is what I have these days instead of a personal life, and I’ve got nobody to blame but myself.

Signing into my custom-designed security interface, I scroll through the overnight logs. A motion alert at the salvage yard turns out to be a raccoon. The clubhouse, pharmacy, bar, coffee shop, and all the other businesses I secure are fine. The whole town is sleeping safely, and I’m awake at four in the morning like a night watchman.

I roll through all of my security cameras one by one. This town belongs to me in the wee hours of the morning. This is my little kingdom. It’s been three years since I lost the one thing I truly loved.

I glance up at the coffee machine. It’s sitting right on a corner table, a gleaming reminder that someone once loved me enough to want me to have the very best. All these years I’ve kept the coffee machine Beth bought me for my birthday spotless. I descale it every single week and wipe it down daily. I’ve replaced the gasket twice, the grouphead seal once, and I keep spare portafilter baskets in a drawer. I refuse to take a chance on anything happening to the one glorious gift that Beth gave me. It is, without a doubt, the best-maintained piece of equipment I own. And it rewards me with a perfect cup of coffee, every single time. I get up, walk over to the machine and run my hand along the edge before making myself a fresh cup of coffee. I still drink my coffee strong and black. Yeah, the bitter part that Beth never knew is that I don’t add any extras to my coffee, because I don’t deserve anything extra.

I count the scoops without meaning to. Six. I always count them. It’s a compulsion and I know it’s a compulsion and I do it anyway, and I’m doing it when the door opens behind me.

“Fuck, it’s cold up here,” Jinx’s voice drifts from the doorway. “Do you not believe in heat, or are you still punishing yourself?”

I glance over my shoulder to see Jinx strolling into my office. He looks like death warmed over this morning. It’s from being a new dad, not from partying. I can tell because he’s got a dribble of baby spit-up on the shoulder of his cut and he looks like a man who hasn’t had a single night of solid sleep in weeks.

“I’m too cold-blooded to need heat, brother. You should know that by now,” I deadpan back. “Did the baby wake you up?”

“You know that she did. Nora calls her our little princess, but she’s got the fuckin’ lungs of a warrior.” He crosses over to the table in the corner and leans down to look in my mini fridge. “Still no energy drinks, I see.”

“Astute observation, Jinx. That’s clearly why they made you the club’s sergeant-at-arms.”

He grins and flings himself back into the only other chair in my office. “They made me sergeant-at-arms because I hit hard and I show up when needed. Bein’ astute has nothin’ to do with it.”

“Well, you can always have a coffee, like me,” I remind him for the umpteenth time.

“Fine. Make me one of your fancy coffees. I’ve been up all night, and I need to wake the fuck up before church.”

I make him a cup and throw in some sugar and powdered creamer, which I keep around just for him. My best friend watches me make it. Like always, he’s mostly quiet. Then he leans forward, resting his arms on his legs. “You look more worn out than usual, brother. Is there somethin’ goin’ on that I should know about?”

“I’m just havin’ a bad night. It’s nothing to worry about.”

“You’ve been havin’ a lot of those lately.”

“Everybody does from time to time,” I say, handing him a big mug of steaming coffee.

“Striker.” He says it flatly. Jinx has been my best friend for a decade. And he’s the only man in this club who helped me look for her. The nature of our relationship gives him the right to push, a right that others don’t have. “Any new clues we can follow up on?”

“No. Nothing new,” I tell him blandly.