“There’s the Bulldog,” Blackie said, his arm stretching over my shoulder as he pointed toward the far left corner of the room. I followed his finger, choosing to block out the people surrounding me and focus on the reason I was here.
Jack leaned back against an old black leather sofa, his arms stretched wide across the back of the couch. I watched, mesmerized as he threw his head back against the pillows and closed his eyes, his ruggedly handsome features twisting and contorting in pleasure. His lips, shadowed by the scruff of a day or two's growth, lifted in the faintest of grins. He was beautiful in a lethal sort of way. I stared in awe as the man who always seemed so intense, unraveled before my very eyes.
He dropped one hand to his lap, threading his fingers through the hair of the woman positioned between his thick thighs. I couldn’t tell what she looked like as she was on her knees with her back toward me and her face buried balls deep between Jack’s legs. He fisted her hair, arched his hips and fucked her mouth.
It was vulgar, and it was obscene but I couldn’t tear my eyes away from him. I think I even took a few steps further into the room, hoping to get a better look. I felt something dormant awaken inside of me. A burning for something I didn’t realize was missing from my life. Something I didn’t know I was still capable of feeling.
I clenched my legs tightly together, trying to dull the ache that stirred between my thighs, the need that ripped through me, screaming for relief. Jack was oblivious to his surroundings, fixed on getting off, working for it like his life depended on it.
I was crazy.
Crazy for thinking this was a good idea. Crazy for coming here. Bat shit crazy for standing here watching, waiting, to see this man through his orgasm. Certifiable for wishing I was the one who drove him to that sweet ending.
“Well what are you waiting for?” Blackie taunted from behind me.
Jack’s hips buckled, and he shouted something I couldn’t make out since I was too far away. I bet whatever it was he cried out was dirty. Real dirty.
“This is the best fucking night of my life,” a young guy exclaimed, as he stood in front of me blocking my view of Jack. I lifted my eyes to his as he flipped the baseball cap he was wearing around so that the rim wasn’t blocking his eyes.
“Who are you, sexy mama?” He asked, reaching out to run his hand along my side.
“Riggs, she’s here for the Bulldog,” Blackie clipped.
I snapped out of the semi-catatonic state I was in and shoved the pie against the young guy’s chest, forcing him to take hold of it.
“I’ve got to go,” I mumbled, turning around and slamming into Blackie’s chest. He glanced down at me, a sly grin on his face.
“Can’t hack it,” he accused. For the first time since I stepped foot into Jack’s world I actually felt frightened. I stared up at Blackie, fearful that he would block my escape and force me to wait around for Jack to zip his fly.
“No I can’t,” I whispered, giving him the words he wanted to hear me say. Blackie stared at me for a minute, quietly assessing me before clearing the path for me to pass.
“Don’t look back, little lady,” he warned.
I didn’t tell him that I wouldn’t look back, that the images of Jack were embedded in my brain. The memory of his face would burn ferociously inside of me, warming me on the cold lonely nights.
I pushed passed Blackie, running from Jack and his dark life. My feet hit the pavement outside the warehouse, carrying me away from the Satan’s Knight’s clubhouse. Only when I was outside of the gates did I turn and look back at the building. I conceded that my therapist was wrong. Jack was not someone I needed in my life. He may have given me a glimpse of the girl I used to be but there was no hope in him being the man who resurrected the old Reina.
It was hopeless.
I was hopeless.
I looked down at my clothing, vowing to donate all my old clothes to charity, rid myself of the disguises and false hope that I’d ever be healed. I was merely a ghost of Reina DeCarlo.
Chapter Eight
I stared down at the brunette who sucked me off, milking every drop of come into that polluted mouth of hers. She wiped at her dry, cracked lips with the back of her hand as she stood on her platform heels, grinning at me, so fucking proud of herself. Whore.
She was a dime a dozen, been through half the men in the club, spreading her legs on command.
“How ‘bout that ride now, Bulldog?” She purred, lifting her skirt as she moved to sit on my lap. She wrapped her boney arms around my neck as she rocked herself against my semi-soft dick.
I grabbed hold of her hips and pushed her off of me.
“Served your purpose, keep it movin’ girl,” I ground out, raising my hips and pulling up my jeans. She glared at me before diverting her eyes to Riggs as he plopped his ass down beside me on the sofa.