by Jenika Snow
STRIKER SLAMMED HIS dick into the club whore and spanked her ass repeatedly. She cried out beneath him, but he wasn’t feeling it. Hell, he couldn’t even keep his dick hard. For the past six months, he hadn’t gone near Dominion, and he was losing his fucking mind. He couldn’t handle not going and delivering the pain he gave to the submissive women, but he didn’t want the club to know what he did in his spare time, especially at Zeke’s place of business. That was just asking for trouble if the club didn’t approve.
Fuck, it was all fucked up.
He needed to give pain, and he needed a woman to take that pain and enjoy it because it gave her pleasure to make him happy.
Pulling out of the faceless whore, he tore off the condom and told her to get the fuck out of his room.
“What did I do wrong?”
He scrubbed a hand over his face. “Just get the fuck out.”
“Come on, Striker; I want your dick.”
He was annoyed with himself, his life, and desires, and especially with her for pushing him right now. “Your pussy is too damn big. Stay off the brothers and tighten yourself up.” He heard her gasp and didn’t care. Picking up his jeans, he tugged on a shirt, left his room, and the club. He ignored the calls of the brothers and kept making his way toward his bike.
Fresh air and a ride would clear his mind, and help him to deal with whatever shit was going on in his head.
He rode around town for an hour, and the whole time he kept coming back to the same old problems. Striker should tell Demon about his needs, his cravings, and that if he didn’t go back soon, it was going to drive him crazy. He’d lose his shit, be too strung out, and that wasn’t safe for him or the club.
When hunger finally got the better of him, he pulled into the parking lot of a small diner. Dismounting his Harley, he made his way into the restaurant on the outskirts of town. There were only a couple of people eating, and he took a seat in the back.
Minding his own business, Striker picked up the menu and looked it over.
“Hi there, is there anything I can get you to drink to start off?” a sweet voice said, invading his solitude and his frustration.
Looking up, he stared into the most beautiful green eyes he’d ever seen. Her raven hair cascaded around her shoulders, and he didn’t know what to say.
For a moment, he couldn’t speak; he didn’t know what it was about her that caused this tightness in his body and made it stand at attention. There was an air of vulnerability, an innocence, and a timid demeanor. It called to the Dom in him, the male that wanted to protect her. The sensation to do that, was so sudden, so powerful, that he felt his heart pick up speed, felt his palms start to sweat, and grew even more annoyed with himself.
Was he that hard up for a little D/s action, for a scene to help him relax and let off the steam inside of him that he was resorting to wanting random women, including his waitress?
Get yourself together.
“Sir?”
He knew she was being polite in using that term, but fucking hell, hearing her say it, knowing that it was one of the titles he used a Dom, had Striker instantly getting wood. He shifted on the seat, tried to act like he wasn’t affected, but shit, he hadn’t felt this kind of arousal, not even when he was at Dominion. It was misplaced, for sure, but undeniable.
“Um,” she looked a little nervous and started biting her lip. Striker couldn’t help but watch the act. And when she looked over her shoulder, her shirt becoming snug around her chest, her white bra visible through her equally white t-shirt, his dick punched forward even more. The fucker rubbed along his zipper, wanting out.
“I,” he cleared his throat, his voice gruff.
“Can I get you something to drink?” She was biting her lip again, and he didn’t miss how she looked at his cut. Did she know what his biker vest meant? Did she know what it meant to be a Patch? Maybe she did because she looked nervous as hell.
“Coffee. Just coffee right now.”
She nodded once, stood there for a second, just staring at him, and then turned and left him at his table, staring at her ass, and wanting to bend her over the lunch counter. He stared at her ass, those big, luscious, juicy globes moving under the tight material of her black pants. She had a woman’s body, thick, lush, able to take a pounding from a man like him.
He reached under the table and adjusted his cock, the fucker so damn hard he could have groaned at the slight touch alone. And like some sick, obsessed asshole, Striker couldn’t stop staring at her. She’d look at him, the long dark fall of her hair not able to hide the fact she might be uncomfortable by his attention. If she was afraid, she had every right to be. What he wanted to do to an innocent looking woman like her was so wrong, so fucking vile, that if he hadn’t been one sadistic motherfucker that liked giving pain to women who wanted it, he would have been disgusted with himself.
Well, damn, he was either one sick bastard, too hard up for a good session of fucking, or something about that woman that called out to his dominating side that no other woman had ever brought forth. Either way, Striker didn’t know if he could ignore it, but he’d sure as hell try. That woman, shy and innocent in appearance, would be scared shitless if she knew the kind of things he liked to do in the bedroom.
To be continued…
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Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
About the Book
Dedication
Other titles by Crescent Snow Publishing
Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Epilogue
Exclusive Teaser of The Way I Like It
Connect with the Authors