I take a step closer to his thigh before I quietly say next to his ear, “Then I choose you and Fiasco…together. The question is…who would be the top?”
Quicker than a snake, Malcolm strikes, grabbing a handful of my hair and tugging on it hard when he pulls my head down to speak into my ear. “I don’t know what you’re playing at, little girl, but that mouth of yours is going to land you in a world of hurt if you don’t watch it.”
“Guess that answers my question,” I reply breathlessly.
“I should’ve fired you the first night,” Malcolm says as he pulls my hair tighter so that my face is only inches from his.
“Why didn’t you?” I ask.
“Hell if I know. Keep running your mouth and I’ll have to rethink my decision. Now get the fuck back to work.”
“Yes, sir,” I reply as he releases his hold on me. “Can I get you anything? Maybe a fifth of whiskey?”
“Jack Daniels,” he responds and starts to turn away before he adds, “And if Jack were still alive, he’d be the only one I’d ever consider fucking. You can bet your ass he’d be a bottom too.”
Despite all of his threats and attempts to scare me, I can’t help myself when a smile spreads across my face.
“Watch out, Jack,” I mutter before I reach over the bar to grab a bottle of the amber liquid, intentionally letting my skirt rise up the back of my thighs because I know Malcolm is looking.
Malcolm
Naomi’s fine ass is within slapping distance, begging for a palm to claim it as she reaches over the bar.
I know exactly what she’s doing, but it won’t work.
No matter how badly I want to fuck the mouthy blonde’s brains out, I won’t do it. I swear she’s been sent to earth to test me, to tempt me, because I’ve never had as much trouble keeping my dick down as I do around her. The damn thing has a mind of its own, standing up proud and ready to report for duty when I didn’t request his services.
Maybe Silas was right, I need to get off before I go fucking insane and kill someone. Each day that I abstain I get a little crankier, a little less stable and a helluva lot hornier. And there’s nothing stopping me from calling up one of my usual girls and taking care of business except for one smart-mouthed, too sexy for her own good, waitress. Without even trying, I know that Naomi’s face and ass and tits are the ones I’ll see when I’m inside any other woman. It’ll be her mouth wrapped around my dick, her mouth begging me for more. I may be an asshole of the highest order, but even I wouldn’t use another woman just to pretend she’s someone else.
This is not a problem I’ve ever had before. Women are women. They all have asses and tits and pussies that feel equally amazing. I’ve never even been all that picky, willing to screw the curviest girl in the room or the thinnest, the shortest or tallest. I don’t even care all that much about their faces as long as their bodies put in the work.
Until now.
The only reason I haven’t pulled Naomi on my lap and fucked her in front of everyone on the boat yet is because I know Fiasco’s been keeping his hands off of her.
Why am I so sure about that?
Because I’m barely able to let her out of my sight while she’s on the clock unless duty calls, and then, after hours, I’ve followed her home after we dock like some sort of creepy stalker.
She’s becoming an unhealthy obsession; one I can’t seem to shake.
And the worst part?
My gut says there’s something…off about her. Why would someone like her choose to be here, working on a dangerous boat with outlaws? It doesn’t make sense. I’ve ran a background check on her and even followed her home three different times to see if she has any ties to rival groups, or even worse, law enforcement.
So far? Nothing.
Every night after the boat docks, Naomi goes straight home to a white, two-story farmhouse, alone. Why am I so sure she lives there alone? There are no other cars in the driveway; and as soon as she walks inside, she flips on each and every light as she goes through the place and leaves them on, like she’s scared of the dark.
I’ve become so fixated on her that I even manhandled her right in the middle of the casino with everyone watching when she ran her mouth.
She was messing with me, trying to rile me up. And it fucking worked.
No one has ever had that kind of effect on my cool and calm demeanor. It’s…unsettling. Naomi unsettles the fuck out of me.
I need to put more distance between us and fast before this shit gets worse and I do something crazy like take her home with me, tie her to my bed, and pound inside of her body until I finally get my fill of her. Even if that takes hours or days...
“Fuck,” I mutter aloud, causing Naomi to startle as she was pouring my Jack into a glass.
“You okay?” she asks with her brow furrowing.
“Just give me the bottle so I can get back to work,” I snap at her, not because she’s done anything wrong other than not being restrained to my bed twenty-four seven like I want.
“Here you go,” she says as she hands over the bottle.
“Thanks,” I huff as I take a long swig and carry it in a death grip back to my office.
Chapter Seven
Malcolm
It’s been two weeks since Naomi started working on the boat, which is a week longer than I predicted. I’m not usually wrong about these things. My intuition is always dead-on, so what the fuck am I missing with this girl?
Lately, I’ve made myself stop gawking at her from the bar, which just means that now I do it from my office with my feet up on my desk, smoking a cigarette and watching her on the surveillance camera app on my phone when I should be working on the books. I’ve convinced myself that I’m keeping an eye on her for the good of the MC when really I just can’t seem to take my eyes off of her for more than a few seconds, worried one of the guys will try and feel her up; and if so, I’ll have to break their hands.
And it’s a damn good thing I’m keeping a close eye on Naomi too, or I may have missed the sleight of hand when someone orders a drink and she stuffs the cash down the front of her tight black dress. At first, I don’t think anything of it. But then I zoom in on her and watch her do it over and over again instead of putting the money in the register at the bar.
I try and convince myself that at the end of the night, she’ll settle up for the drinks, but she doesn’t when we dock. She simply leaves…
“I fucking knew it!” I say aloud as I jump to my feet.
And goddamn, I really hate that I was right about her. I wanted her to be different, even though I have no clue why.
I’m so fucking enraged by her betrayal that I want to break something. The closest thing in my reach is my desk; so, with one sweep of my arm, I send everything on it flying. Ashtrays, paperwork, a money drawer, all of it ends up hitting the opposite wall and crashing to the floor.
Once everything is wiped clear, I hunch over the desk feeling absolutely defeated, my palms spread and head hanging so low the ends of my long hair nearly brush the desktop.
Nothing feels worse than betrayal. It’s nearly impossible to trust anyone nowadays, which is why I don’t usually fall for anyone’s bullshit.