Fallen Gliders MC, 3
Copyright © 2018
I leaned down, eyeing the ball and lining up my cue. “Fourteen into the six, into the corner.” Shutting out the eighties music overhead that Jonny insisted on playing in the club, I focused on my finger bridge and the balanced grip of my right hand. A gentle slide forward sent the cue ball right where I’d said, sinking the six into the corner pocket.
“Bastard,” Hawk grumbled around his toothpick, and Janie laughed. She was on one of her manic highs where she infused everything and everybody with life. I’d seen her lows—Mother Mary bless the girl and Hawk for his dedication to her.
She’d started their relationship on lies, but turned her back on her own father to prove her loyalty to Hawk—and our club. Draped against Hawk’s side, she snuggled against his much taller frame, her eyes sparkling and full of love as she gazed up at him. What a pair they made, always touching in some way, both looking at each other as though the whole world existed in the other’s eyes.
Got my poetic side going every damn time I hung out with them. Also brought on the beginnings of depression.
To find a love like that…
I turned back toward the table and lined up my next shot, breathing easy, focused like a laser even though my stomach twisted with longing for what they shared. I wasn’t about to find it with any of the club whores. I’d had them all, dozens of times and ways, but never felt anything more than the satisfaction of blowing my load and releasing tension for a while. Besides, I was a hideous motherfucker and found everyone and everything new suspicious.
Ball sunk, I meandered around the table, eying the few remaining. Only one clear shot, a combination that a novice would scratch on. Once more, I leaned down.
A shiver slid down my spine, standing the hairs of my neck on end. Brow furrowed, I called my shot and slid the stick forward.
I fucking scratched.
“Capone!” Hawk called, and I glanced over my shoulder with a scowl.
Capone, another of our Fallen Glider brothers, sauntered into the club, a woman tucked under his shoulder.
Long, pale hair like moonlight hung to her waist. Curves to kill for with just enough extra a huge man like myself wouldn’t have to worry about splitting her in half while fucking his way to Elysium. My cock swelled in my jeans as I stared at her.
Pretty boy Capone led her to the bar and pulled her down sideways onto his lap as he sat. He whispered in her ear, bringing a blush to her cheeks and a smile to her generous lips.
Lucky fucking bastard.
I jerked my head around toward Hawk.
He smirked, and Janie laughed again. “Your shot,” he said, glancing past me toward where I’d been staring.
Jaw clenched, I focused on the game—or tried to. Lining up my next shot put Capone and his woman directly in my line of sight. I glanced up from the cue ball. She turned, and our gazes collided. Hazel eyes, bright like the stars…
I missed the ball completely.
Hawk chuckled. “The fuck, Digger?”
Face heating, I shrugged and moved back, cue wrapped in both of my hands, the butt resting on the floor. Unable to help myself, I turned my attention back on the woman, fighting to not run my hand over my disfigurement. She continued to watch me as Capone talked to Jonny, our president, on the stool beside him.
I wished I remembered how to smile, but the scar down the side of my face to the left corner of my mouth made me look like the Joker. An ugly brute, built like a fucking bull was how my brothers described me.
Wasn’t far from the truth. At six-foot-six and over two-hundred and seventy pounds of solid muscle, tatts covering my entire upper body, and that fucking scar my blond beard couldn’t hide… I only got laid because women wanted my cock. Just shy of a foot long and girth enough to fill any woman’s eyes with fear. No matter how wet or willing, most women couldn’t handle it all, and I longed to find someone who could take me balls deep—and enjoy it.
My dick ached, and I shifted my stance as Hawk pocketed a couple.
One side of the woman’s lips quirked, and she slid her gaze down over me. Took her damn time, too. My pecs jumped as though on their own. Quads flexed. At least I kept my hips still as the bulge in my jeans snagged her attention. She fucking licked her lips.
I groaned although my mind said she must need glasses.
“You playing?” Janie asked while hip-bumping me. She bounced back a ways, and I didn’t budge. The little butterfly of Hawk’s couldn’t weigh more than one-twenty soaking wet, and like the moon-haired woman, hadn’t given my scar a second glance when I’d first met her in Sturgis the summer before.
“Yeah.” I cleared my throat and struggled to find my groove. I’d run the first table, but fuck if I could concentrate for shit.
“Capone!” Hawk hollered across the club. “That kid you got in the kitchen covering your ass can’t caramelize onions worth a shit!”
A few of our other brothers laughed and yelled out their agreement.
“Can’t be in that damn kitchen every night,” Capone shot back with a grin, tightening his arms around the beauty on his lap.
Thursday night, and although the club wasn’t packed, enough brothers and whores had come in for the burgers Capone had made famous. A few more busted his balls before dropping the ribbing and going back to whatever the fuck they’d been doing before he’d come in.
Hawk finished the game for me, and rather than play a third, he and Janie headed out, hands groping each other. Going home to fuck, most likely.
I grabbed a beer and sat in a corner where I could keep an eye on things. On Capone’s woman of the night, really. For a half hour, I watched her, sipping my beer while imagining all the things I’d do to her if given the chance.
Capone and I had shared women before, but only on invite—never because of self-inclusion. Fuck, did I wish he’d give me the look, the tip of his head indicating he was in the mood for a threesome.
She glanced my way enough to make me think she’d be game, but when Capone whispered in her ear again, stood, and led her upstairs to the third-floor rooms, I got left behind.
I took off a few minutes later, driving through the freezing rain to the house I’d bought a couple months earlier where no one waited for me. Nothing but a cold shower and wide palm to ease the ache in my balls Capone’s woman had caused.
For the first time, I wished I had a woman to bring home with me—one to stay rather than leave after being tied to my bed. My fucking defenses towered over my brain like an unscalable wall, though, so even if a woman truly gave me the time of day beyond wanting my cock, trust issues that festered inside of me would keep them locked out.
Fucking sucked ass, my shit for luck.
Couldn’t catch a fucking break. Saturday night, the moon-haired girl hung on Capone’s arm. Although she was hot as fuck with an ass made for pounding, I studied her actions. Where her gaze lingered when not on Capone or me.
When I’d shown up at the club earlier, a dark sedan sat two blocks down. Darkness had fallen so I couldn’t make out more than two people sitting in the car, but that fact kept me alert, walking the edge of violence my mind often fell into. Hawk had taken over as Sergeant at Arms earlier that year, but my personality fit the mold better than his. I let him deal with the talking since I sucked with communication, but if an altercation came to blows or knives, I took over.
Capone’s girl seemed innocent enough, and for Jonny to give him the go-ahead to bring her to the club, she must have checked out all right. Coincidence, I told myself that the sedan with the tinted windows and the moon-haired girl showed up at the same time.
As with Thursday night, I sat nursing a beer in the dark corner furthest from the door, keeping an eye on things, all too aware of the near stranger in the club. My attention lingered on Capone’s woman more often than not, her smile and lone dimple. The soft curve of her cheek. The deep cleavage between breasts hugged by a tight t-shirt.
Capone wrapped his hand in her hair, and I stared as he kissed her, my cock swelling. A whisper against her lips, a nod of her head, and they disappeared upstairs.
I glanced around the club, noting a woman fawning over an uninterested Jonny, and the other whores already spoken for. The stairwell drew my attention again. Head home or head upstairs?
Setting my empty bottle on the table, I stood, mind made up on relieving my brewing balls to the sound of her cries. If I couldn’t have a wet pussy or ass, my hand would have to do. Again. I hurried up the stairs after Capone, and caught sight of him disappearing into one of the hotel-like rooms on the third floor. A fucking perv, I let myself into the one beside them, knowing the thin-ass walls would let me hear every noise they made.
I unzipped my jeans, palmed my cock, and lay down on the bed. Lazily stroking myself while waiting, eyes closed and imagining myself in Capone’s shoes as she went down on him. Lying back on the bed, legs spread, pussy dripping and needing to be stuffed.
A bead of pre-cum slickened my hand, and I clenched my jaw against the need to jerk faster.
Eventually, a moan sounded—female and breathy—drawing up my balls.
Minutes later, the cheap bed in the room next door squeaked. Thumped with a set rhythm. Gasps, groans, and cries from her lips spurred me on, until I pumped down my length with a brutal grip, imagining her tight pussy squeezing me, milking me as Capone fucked her mouth.
“Oh, God!” she shrieked through the wall. “Yes! Fuck, yes!”
My body convulsed, and I cupped my free hand over the head of my dick and shot into my fist, groaning as I emptied myself. Hardly satisfactory, but better than fucking blue balls or a cold shower. Capone’s deep groan came on the final thump.
Lucky fucking bastard.
I should have joined them at the bar. Dropped a few hints. Maybe he’d keep her around for a while or even offer to share next time.
Fucking hope stiffened my dick again.