by Riley, C. L.
Despite the expensive ring, our engagement was more of a business arrangement. At some point, Conner intended to go into politics. He was smart, sexy, and had his own money. It just made sense for us both, and me as his first lady would be ideal.
I’d first met him when my dad pulled strings and opened a more extensive investigation into my mother’s death. Like me, Dad hadn’t believed she’d committed suicide; though, overtime, his opinion had changed to one of begrudging acceptance. I still wasn’t buying suicide. Conner wasn’t convinced either.
As a fire investigator working for the ATF, Conner had been assigned the case. He was already investigating a string of arson-related fires that had taken place over the past six years, from Seaside all the way to Brookings. He couldn’t tell me much about his work, but he had let it slip that the Soul Scorchers bikers’ club were suspects. A club member’s wife had died in a fire too. That revelation hadn’t surprised me at all.
Since my mother’s death, I’d seen that one cocky, firefighting biker around town, too many times to count. He’d even come to our house following the fire. What an asshole. My smile didn’t work on him. Every time I caught his attention, I found him glowering at me.
So why is it him I fantasize about when I touch myself?
That was one question I couldn’t seem to answer. So rather than suffer the frustration and embarrassment of trying, I turned my thoughts back to my future husband, who I did not fantasize about - ever.
Originally from Seal’s Cove, Conner was thrilled to be assigned here. He was five years older than me, so we hadn’t really crossed paths until the investigation. From what I’d heard, besides the fact he was a total lady-magnet, was how he’d always been fascinated with fire, volunteering to fight them in high school. His career was his first priority, which, for now, was fine with me. It gave me time to do what I wanted. As long as he didn’t embarrass me with his legendary male whoring, we’d be fine.
“Sorry about the interruption, just business stuff. Nothing major.” Conner reappeared with my father. “Go on, please, honey. What were you telling your dad?” He had the apologetic boyfriend expression mastered.
I smiled sweetly at them both. “Well, as I was saying before you so rudely interrupted …”
“Olympia,” my dad scolded. “You have my undivided attention now.”
“My personal bathroom. It’s not right. I wanted wall-to-ceiling cabinets on the east wall, and I was supposed to have starfish painted around the windows. Remember?”
Dad glanced at Conner and shrugged. “I don’t know who can paint what you want. I figured we could add the cupboards later.”
“Find someone! It’s my present from you. You said it would be perfect. It’s not. Fix it.” I refused to give up my vision. I wanted things a certain way. How hard could it be to paint some freaking starfish?
“I might have an idea,” Conner offered, his voice calm. “Bryce Richards does custom painting on cars and motorcycles. I’m sure he could do your work. He’s also a carpenter. But even better, he’s VP for the Soul Scorchers. It would give me a chance to learn more about him, and the club.”
I shivered. I didn’t want some greasy biker touching my stuff, and knowing my luck, the sexy, brooding man I couldn’t seem to evict from my thoughts would be the same one painting my bathroom.
“Daddy…?” I whined, not sold on the idea, even with Conner’s assurances.
“He’s got a point, sugar,” my father agreed with Conner, ignoring my plea. “I didn’t even think of him. He’s quite talented, and he’s one of the more civilized gang members. College educated even.”
They both chuckled.
“Fine, but I don’t want him in here alone. I plan keep an eye on him.”
There was no way in hell I was letting a strange biker into my private bathroom without supervision. He would have to walk through my bedroom to get there, giving him access to my jewelry, worse yet, my underwear drawer, which just happened to be overflowing with Victoria Secrets’ lingerie.
“I’ll leave work early on the days he’s here and make sure he knows who he’s dealing with,” Conner said, looking smug.
“He’s dealing with the mayor’s daughter. I think that should be good enough. Don’t you?” I didn’t wait for an answer. I pivoted and marched from the room, ignoring my dad’s call for me to return.
Conner knew better. When I was this annoyed, he left me alone.
Heading to the main house, I checked my cell phone. Thank God for girlfriends. I had five texts from my best friend, Becky, and several more from our little group. They wanted to go for drinks. I was game. Ladies night was always fun. Free drinks for me!
Boone
“You want another, Boone, baby?” Celeste cooed, her blue-shadowed eyes flashing with mischief. “This one’s on the house. Just for you. Jack Daniels on the rocks, but only a few rocks.”
I couldn’t help but grin. She knew what I liked. I downed the drink I’d been cradling and gave her an approving chin lift. Her cheeks darkened and she winked before spinning away, another glass already in hand.
Celeste was cool people. She’d been working behind the bar at Milton’s for the last decade at least. No one knew her real age. She insisted she was thirty-four, forever. If I had to guess, the real number was closer to forty-five and counting. Her skin had that too-much-sun leathery look, and her abundance of makeup did nothing but enhance her wrinkles. The shimmery blue eye shadow was her trademark. Not the best choice.
Her body… that was a different story.
It was rock hard, from training at the gym several hours a day; her body was toned and shapely, and she had the best pair of fake tits I’d ever seen, which made up for any deficiencies. The fact she was funny and allowed us to wear our colors inside the bar didn’t hurt either. She gave an okay blow job too.
The owner, Rob Milton, who went by his last name, was an old timer who’d traded deep sea fishing for business ownership. He was one of many local business owners who benefited from our club’s protection. A few years back someone had demolished the bar. He’d come to us for help, knowing my dad collected favors by helping others. Like the devil at a crossroads, Bones collected when the person least expected.
In old man Milton’s case, his open door policy and ability to turn a blind eye to our dealings in his establishment, more than sufficed as payment.
“So, you think its Hell’s Guardians?” Leg asked, slamming down a straight shot before I could answer. He shifted on the bar stool, moving to accommodate his latest prosthetic; some high-tech upgrade he was sampling.
Leg, or as his enemies called him, The Leg, had lost his lower left limb in Afghanistan. An IED had stolen his future as a pro baseball catcher. He’d been drafted up to ‘triple A’ before enlisting. He was from a military family and believed serving should be a requirement for every man. Even now, he had no regrets.
I wouldn’t have been so forgiving, but I respected his desire to put the past behind him, couldn’t fault a man for wanting to move on.
His question was the same one we all were pondering and was in reference to our earlier meeting. I didn’t have an answer he’d like. I’d already pissed everyone off. They wanted to go in guns blazing. I had my doubts, unlike the majority, and my father’s ear. Despite his disagreement with my assessment, he kept an open mind and trusted my instincts.
Why would the Guardians spend so much time, over six years, maybe longer, starting fires to draw attention to our club? It didn’t make sense. They were known for making direct hits on their enemies, not this evasive bullshit. Bones was convinced they were trying to get at us without openly violating the tentative truce we’d agreed to a few years back.
I didn’t see it. In my opinion, there was something bigger going on, something darker. Maybe I was chasing a boogie man that didn’t exist, but I couldn’t shake my suspicions.
I’d done a hell of a lot of research after Rita’s death and hadn’t found any connections between Hell’s Gu
ardians and the gang who’d sold her the fatal fix, but since Madeline Olsen’s death, an ATF fire investigator had set up shop in Seal’s Cove. He just happened to have grown up in town and was now engaged to Olympia Olsen. How fucked up was that?
So, no, I didn’t think the Hell’s Guardian’s would risk arson with an ATF agent snooping around. They had plenty of shady secrets they wouldn’t want uncovered. Besides, this wasn’t their territory, and if our intel was correct, which it usually was, they were no longer looking to take it over.
“Well?” Leg pressed. “Something’s going on in that ‘too smart’ brain of yours.”
I hated when my so-called intelligence was pointed out. Bones had insisted I get a college education in business management. I’d done most of it online so I could still manage club affairs. The guys thought it made me weak. My dad and I knew different.
My education gave me an edge and had helped the club expand its legitimate businesses more than most of the crew understood. Our construction company, specializing in high-end remodeling and custom carpentry work, as well as our custom paint projects, was bringing in significant income.
“It’s not the way the Guardians work,” I finally answered. “Or at least it hasn’t been. If they wanted us gone, they’d declare war.”
Expecting a heated debate, I was shocked when Leg strained to look around me. I had my back to the entrance, daring anyone to fuck with me. I wasn’t one of those paranoid fuckers who had to face the door. We had enough of those in the club already.
“Holy shit. That is some fine ass pussy.”
Leg thought every female was some fine ass pussy, so I didn’t bother turning. Choosing instead to take another long drink and ignore the escalating commotion. Leg wasn’t the only one staring. Several of our guys had stopped their pool game to gawk. Cat calls and whistles followed, which were audible over the booming music.
Okay. Now I was curious.
Celeste slid up to stand in front of me. “Oh, boy. Looks like we’ve got trouble tonight,” she chuckled. “I doubt those little girls know what they’re getting into.”
I smelled the mix of perfumes, sweet and sultry, that preceded what looked to be a small parade of sexy college coeds. They strolled by, giggling. Clearly they’d already been elsewhere drinking and were feeling pretty good. I guessed someone in their group had dared the others to take a walk on the wild side, by visiting the local biker hangout. It wouldn’t be the first time.
They sauntered up to the pool tables, their backs to me.
From my viewpoint, they all looked good enough to eat. I’d yet to see their faces, but guessed they were flying far above average.
After another quick sweep of the group, a redhead in the middle grabbed my full attention. She reached for her ponytail, releasing a rampage of waves that skimmed her ass.
Damn. Just damn.
Her hair had obviously been dyed that flashy crimson color, but from where I was sitting, it suited her perfectly. If only she’d turn around.
As if reading my mind, she tilted her head, glancing my way.
Ah, hell no. It couldn’t be.
But it was.
Olympia Olsen, usually a natural blonde, had died her hair. While she’d been tempting as a blonde, she was fucking tantalizing now. The bolder color suited her personality and made her eyes stand out.
She flashed me a salacious smile before turning back to the pool table.
The guys were already crowding the girls. Olympia accepted a stick and shot me another look, daring me to approach.
As much as I wanted to take advantage of her while she was drunk, I wanted to mess with her mind even more. “Celeste, baby…”
She bustled over, blowing at a strand of hair that had escaped from the up-do she wore for work. “Refill?”
“No. I want something else. I’m hoping you can help me out.” I grinned, allowing my gaze to travel down her body, lingering on her tits.
She trembled, her eyes widened and her nostrils flared. Her nipples jutted out, straining against the thin cotton tank she wore so well. Most people wouldn’t have noticed those simple signs of arousal, but I did. Women reacted to me like that. It was something I was used to and expected.
“What do you say I fuck you over by the jukebox?”
“Um, sure, Boone. If that’s what you want. Let me get Milton to cover the bar.”
She was back a second later with the owner. He nodded and went to work wiping down the counter.
I led her to the corner by the jukebox. It wasn’t the first time I’d fucked publicly in the bar, and it wouldn’t be the last. Because of Milton’s debt, we had free reign of the place and took advantage of the privilege, in a number of ways. Typically the bartender was off limits, but the old man wasn’t stupid. He knew better than to challenge my request.
Usually, we used the pool tables for our trysts, but under the circumstances, the place I’d chosen would be ideal. I could fuck Celeste from behind and watch Olympia’s reaction. It wouldn’t take long for someone to catch on to my exhibition, making sure everyone else got a look at my impromptu sex-with-the-bartender-show.
Pushing Celeste forward, her palms found the small table in front of us. Placing my hand between her shoulders, I pressed down. Realizing what I wanted, she leaned onto her forearms, gripping the table’s far side. Her ass surged back, rubbing against me. I was already hard. Seeing Olympia Olsen had that effect on me.
“Stay down,” I commanded. “You move; I punish that sweet ass of yours. Got it?”
“Yes,” she whimpered. She was eager for what I offered, and well aware of my reputation for heavier kink. This would be mild compared to what she’d heard.
“Good girl,” I said, my voice deep and husky.
I reached around, using both hands to squeeze her breasts, kneading her nipples. They felt pretty damn real for costing a fortune. Money well spent.
“Oh, Boone. That feels good.”
I continued, not bothering to reply. I slid my palms down her narrow waist, until I reached her ass. And what a nice ass it was. My hands groped and stroked, hiking up her skirt. She wore a thong, showcasing a detailed tattoo. “Baby, you got one beautiful ass.”
She groaned.
By now, some of my guys had noticed what I was up to and had stopped their pool game to watch. As expected, the girls turned to see what had caught the men’s attention, their mouths dropping open at the sight.
Nine Inch Nails’ trademark song, Closer, was just starting. Could things get any better?
I leaned over and whispered in her ear, “I’m gonna fuck you like an animal.”
Her hips undulated in response.
It was time to get this show going. I rolled on a condom.
Pulling her panty’s fabric aside, I bared her pussy. She might be old, but holy fuck, she had hot cunt. She was so wet for me, I had to touch. I ran my hand down her ass and trailed my finger along her sodden slit. She arched and moaned, louder this time. It appeared I wasn’t the only one who got off on being watched.
By now, the whole bar was staring, their expressions ranging from shock, to savage hunger.
Olympia Olsen appeared to be feeling both. She closed her gaping mouth and met my gaze without flinching. Her tongue flicked out, and she ran it leisurely over her upper lip.
Shit. I couldn’t wait.
‘I want to fuck you like an animal’, blared through the room as I slammed into Celeste, grabbing her hips and holding her tight against me, as I filled her.
“Fuck yeah, baby. Your pussy is so hot and wet for me. Don’t you move, and don’t you dare come until I tell you to,” I growled.
When she didn’t answer, I slapped her ass cheek, hard. She grunted, but didn’t resist. “Yes, Boone.”
“I’m gonna fuck you so hard, deep,” I ground out between clenched teeth, my gaze still glued to Olympia, who’d taken a step forward.
“That’s right, Boone. Make her feel it,” Tinker, one of our prospects, shouted; an evil
grin on his face. He’d staggered over to a nearby stool to get a better view.
Oh, I’d make her feel it, all right.
Clenching her hips so hard I’d leave marks, I drilled into Celeste, using my cock to punish the smirking girl across the bar.
I had to give Olympia credit, she never looked away. Her lips were parted, and I could see her squirming.
Imagining my cock buried in her tight pussy, I continue my onslaught, hammering into Celeste as the song reached its crescendo.
“I need to come!” she wailed.
Her cunt tightened around me. “Come then,” I hissed, prepared to explode myself.
Keeping my eyes locked on Olympia, I slapped Celeste’s other ass cheek, erupting inside her. My cock pulsing while her pussy clenched over, and over.
“Fuck …” I groaned through my release.
Even from my corner, I could see the mayor’s daughter was hot; turned on by my display. Her cheeks were as fiery as her hair color.
When I pulled out, and gave Celeste another slap on her ass, the room erupted with applause and whistles. I hadn’t realized how quiet everyone had become. Apparently, listening to the Nine Inch Nails, and me and Celeste fucking, had taken precedent over any conversations.
“Shows over,” I announced. “Go back to what you were doing. Next round is on me!”
More cheers as Celeste adjusted her skirt and hurried to her place behind the bar, where Milton was already taking drink orders. If my sex-capade wasn’t enough, free drinks had just made me the most popular guy in the bar. The mood was festive.
The only person still staring at me was Olympia. I was surprised when she smirked and shook her head.
One of her friends elbowed her, and she turned back to the pool table.
I wasn’t sure who’d actually won that battle of wills. At first, I’d felt assured of my victory, but the look she’d just given me, seemed a hell of a lot like a dismissal.
What the fuck?
With Olympia Olsen, I just couldn’t win. I wasn’t even sure what exactly I was competing for. All I knew for sure, was the girl had my head swimming and dick stiffening all over again.
