I brush my thumb over her plump lips, and she sucks it in her mouth, giving me a sample of what she wants to do with my cock.
I lace the fingers of my other hand in her hair, grabbing a handful at the base of her neck and yanking her head back.
The guy behind her reaches around to play with her clit, but I snap, “She doesn’t get to come until she gets me off.”
He drops his hand, and then smacks her ass. “You heard the man. Suck his dick.”
I take it in my hand and guide it to her eager mouth. I slip it over her lips and she takes me deep, moaning around my thick cock. I grab her hair and guide her up and down my slick swollen cock. “Take it all. Take it deep. That a girl.”
Meanwhile Tom is back there, slamming into her, pushing her further onto my dick with every thrust. We soon work out a rhythm, he yanks her back, his hands locked on her hips, and I pull her forward, my hands fisting her hair.
She moans, her tits swaying with every thrust.
“Play with her,” I order Tom, taking charge of the scene.
He complies, dipping his fingers between her spread legs. “That made you wet, didn’t it, baby?”
She moans, her eyes closing.
“Eyes on mine,” I remind her, reaching down to pinch one nipple.
“Oh, she liked that. She clamped down on me real good.”
I don’t need Tom telling me what this girl likes; I can see it in her glazed eyes. I increase my thrusts, feeling my balls start to tingle. She reaches up and plays with them, then finds that trigger spot behind them and presses.
I hiss in a breath. “You want a pearl necklace?”
She bobs her head, and two strokes later I pull out and jerk her up by her hair so I can come all over those magnificent heaving breasts. I coat her with rope after rope of white-hot ejaculate.
A moment later, Tom ramps up his finger work. I hold her head up, with her hair tight in my fist, keeping her eyes locked on mine.
“Come for me, baby doll,” I order.
Her eyes slide closed, and she explodes in orgasm.
Tom shouts and pounds into her, skin slapping skin until he roars out his own orgasm. I release her, and they both fall to the bed in a heaping pile of sweaty skin, panting for breath.
I tuck myself back in, then bend to press a kiss to her forehead. “Beautiful.”
“Cut.”
Sly starts clapping loudly as I walk toward him, staggering a bit from the orgasm.
He slaps my back. “Not bad, kid. Now lets get the fuck outta here. We got collections to make.”
I sling my shirt and cut back on, and we tromp down the stairs and out to our waiting bikes.
“I hope that was a one-time thing,” I say.
Sly looks over at me as he buckles his helmet under his chin. “You were damn good in there, Saint. Got my dick hard watching the three of you. But no, if you’re not into it, club’s not gonna make you do it again, kid.”
“Thank fuck.”
He chuckles. “What, she wasn’t good enough for you? You don’t want to be our newest Porn King?”
He taunts me with the name of the porn business.
“No thanks.”
“Just as well. I need you to learn to make the pickups. Club’s gonna be goin’ out of town next month for a national meet, and I need you ready, in case you have to do ‘em alone.”
“No problem.” I throw my leg over my bike and sit, lifting it off the kickstand. We both fire our bikes up, but before my sponsor leads us out, he looks over at me and shouts above the roar.
“I’d watch out for that chick.” He jerks his head back toward the house. “Asia’s lookin’ to land a patch. Word is she wants to be an ol’ lady.”
“Well, I ain’t lookin’ for one of those.”
He grins back at me. “Good thing. There’s no time for dealin’ with one when you’re a prospect. Club needs all your time right now. Understand?”
“Yes, sir.”
With that, he drops his bike in gear and roars away. I hit my throttle and follow.
By 1 a.m. when the liquor laws shut down all sales, we’re making the last stop at Centerfolds, collecting the night’s take. I follow Sly inside the quiet place. A few stragglers are being hustled out by the bouncers, but the shows are over. Some of the waitresses stand counting their tips out on the bar. We head down a long hall, and I glance inside the dancers’ open dressing room door as we pass. They’re gathering their things and getting ready to head home.
We continue down the hall to the office. It’s tiny, so I wait in the doorway while Sly talks with the manager, a pretty woman I know to be the ol’ lady of the King’s enforcer, North.
“Hey, Aspen, how was your night?” Sly greets her.
She’s counting up the cash on her desk, and then fills out the bank deposit slip adding the cash amount to the credit card totals for the night. Tapping the piles of different denominations into neat stacks, she shoves it all in the night drop bag and zips it up.
“Wednesdays are getting to be real good business for us. Had two bachelor parties and a few players from the Atlanta team here to celebrate that no-hitter last night.”
“Really?”
“Mm hmm.”
“Any problems?”
“Nothin’ I couldn’t handle. Here you go, honey.” She passes him tonight’s take.
“Thanks, doll.” Sly winks at her, and we head out again.
When we get back out to the bikes, my cell goes off with a text.
I read it, and look up at Sly. “Can you give me a second to answer this?
“Sure.”
I step away and deal with it, then return.
“Everything okay, prospect?”
“My mom fell. She has a bad hip. She lives alone, and she can’t get up. I called a family friend who offered to go check on her. Ma hates asking for help.”
“You need to go?”
“She’s almost five hours away.”
Sly runs a hand down his jaw, and I know his sharp gaze doesn’t miss the tightness in my mouth or the worry in my eyes. “Look, kid. We’re done here. I just need to drop this at the bank.” He lifts his chin. “Take off and go check on her. Just be back by Saturday night for the open house we’re having.”
“You sure?”
“Normally, Kings always come first, understand? I mean you gotta know what’s important. But…” he stares at the horizon then back at me. “Go on. Before I change my mind. You’ve been bustin’ your butt all month. Take Friday and go deal with your ma.”
“Thank you. I appreciate it.”
“Five hours, huh?” He straps his helmet on, throws his leg over his seat and lifts his bike off its kickstand. He grins at me, slipping his yellow nighttime riding glasses on. “You leave now, you just might make it by breakfast.”
I grin as he fires up his bike and pulls off. Then I strap my helmet on, knowing I need to stop back by my place, shower and change clothes before I haul ass to Savannah.
CHAPTER TWO
Saint—
The sun is just climbing above the tree line when I pull up to my mother’s house on the edge of Bingville, a small, lower income neighborhood on the south side of Savannah. The meticulously kept white house with green trim and matching green and white striped metal awnings over the front windows stands out in a sea of dingy, rundown homes. My parents, and now my widowed mother, have always kept the place up, especially the landscaping. It’s the house I grew up in, the one we moved to when I was six.