Authors: Jill Sorenson
“Why would he do that?”
“Maybe he was trying to help you.”
Janelle took another drag of her cigarette, doubtful.
“What kind of customer was he?”
“Virgin.”
A club virgin or first-time visitor wasn’t always a good thing. Some of them had wild expectations and acted worse than regulars. Others were sweet and behaved well. The best ones never came back.
“I haven’t had a virgin in ages,” Tiffany said. “He was cute.”
Janelle didn’t tell her that Rex had been staring at her in the VIP room. Tiffany didn’t need any more encouragement to date losers. Janelle finished her cigarette in silence, pondering the sequence of events.
She hadn’t wanted to dance for Jester, so she’d said no. That was a first for her. It was different from saying no to a customer who broke the rules or asked for a service the club didn’t provide. Jester’s crude comment hadn’t been enough to earn her refusal. If she turned down every guy who used foul language, she’d be a much poorer woman. She’d said no for herself, because she’d sensed his desire to hurt her.
His reaction had been even worse than she’d expected, but she didn’t regret refusing him. She was glad she’d found her voice. It had felt good to stand her ground in the face of an abusive man and say no.
Never again.
I
will not be your victim
.
Chapter Fourteen
Ace was restless after his appointment with Bill, so he drove to Slab City.
He didn’t feel like going home alone. Not tonight.
Instead of cruising down the rows of trailers, he parked outside the art garden and walked through the maze of junk on display. Some of the pieces were as big as houses. Some of the pieces
were
houses. Replicas of houses, made with off-kilter frames, sharp edges and twisted metal parts. Houses with teeth.
He wasn’t into art, and he didn’t know what the pieces were supposed to represent. The clutter and dysfunction made him sad. He used to want to raze the place. Just demolish everything and clear away the debris. Over time, he’d come to realize that cleaning up the Slabs wouldn’t change the sickness underneath. It would just sanitize the surface and smother the bad feelings, which were better out in the open. Like the art pieces. Whoever had taken the time to make this fucked-up shit had released some demons.
He wished he could do the same.
When he first got sober, he’d avoided all of his old haunts. The Dirty Eleven clubhouse, his favorite bars, every liquor store he’d frequented. He’d enjoyed his solitude the way a masochist enjoyed pain. Demolition work was exhausting. Bill had kept him busy with extra side jobs in his free hours. He’d visited Skye. It had been a stark existence, but bearable. Until he met Janelle, and started to want more.
He didn’t know what to say to her. He couldn’t bring himself to cancel their date. Cursing, he kicked the dirt near an exhibit of broken glass shards. He longed for the things he’d never had. He imagined having a family, and a real home with a room for Skye. Somewhere he could hug her and kiss her good night.
He missed his friends, even though he’d always been a loner. He missed Shank and Rylan and his old crew. He missed getting drunk and high. It was the only time he’d felt like part of the group instead of an outsider freak.
His phone chirped with a text message notification. He glanced at the screen, which showed an image from an unknown sender. When he opened the attachment, a photo filled his screen. It was a blurry shot of a woman with her skirt hiked up, getting her ass groped. Although her face wasn’t in the frame, her body language suggested a struggle. Ace recognized the clunky skull rings on the man’s hand.
It was Jester—with Janelle.
Mother. Fucker.
There was a group of White Lightning members in the background, wearing their cuts like they owned the place.
He strode back to his truck, fury coursing through his veins. Jester had texted him earlier asking for an update and Ace hadn’t responded. He was still mulling over Bill’s strong-arm offer, not ready to sit down with another asshole.
Now he was ready—to rip Jester apart.
He sent a quick message to Janelle to see if she was okay. Then he texted Jester:
Let’s meet.
He waited for their replies, staring at the screen. He pictured Jester and his crew harassing Janelle, maybe even harming her physically.
“Fuck,” he said, turning on the engine and peeling out of Slab City. As he accelerated toward the highway, he called Jigsaw.
His former friend answered on the second ring. “Yeah?”
“It’s Ace. White Lightning is at Vixen, flashing patches and causing trouble.”
“We’re on it,” Jigsaw said, as if he already knew. “Riding out now.”
“I’ll meet you there.”
Ace tossed the phone on the passenger seat, relieved to have backup. He couldn’t take on a White Lightning crew by himself. Even though Ace was no longer a member of Dirty Eleven, he could count on them to protect the girls from the rival club. Vixen was supposed to be neutral territory, but it was more of a Dirty Eleven hangout. White Lightning had their own second-rate strippers at White’s. They weren’t welcome at Vixen.
He drove fast, tearing down the same stretch of road where Courtney had crashed and burned. He didn’t know why he’d come this direction tonight. Maybe he’d wanted to torture himself with bad memories.
By the time he arrived at Vixen, the situation was under control. White Lightning was gone. Janelle had returned his text and said she was fine. Jester had sent one cryptic message:
tomorrow 2 pm
.
There were several Dirty Eleven members in the parking lot, chilling by their bikes. Ace wasn’t allowed to approach them. The other guys were supposed to beat his ass if they saw him out in public. So far no one had. They all knew about his daughter and his relationship with Bill. Ace’s size and reputation helped. He was too big to mess with.
He stayed inside his truck, lighting a cigarette. Jigsaw spotted him and walked over to talk. When Ace offered him a smoke, he declined.
“Kendra made me quit,” Jigsaw said. “I guess it stuck.”
Ace had met Kendra once, and he hadn’t liked her. But he didn’t like most people. “You shouldn’t start up again.”
“How’s your sobriety going?”
“It sucks.”
Jigsaw wore a ghost of a smile, as if he understood completely. “Those fuckers cleared out before we got here. They were brawling inside.”
“With the staff?”
“With each other.”
Ace grunted in response. It didn’t make sense, but White Lightning members were stupid. They loved chaos.
“Tiffany said you’re dating one of the strippers.”
“Tiffany’s got a big mouth.”
“I’ve heard she puts it to good use.”
Ace smiled wryly, taking another drag of his cigarette.
“So what’s the story with White Lightning? Are they trying to recruit you?”
He trusted Jigsaw enough to answer honestly. “Jester approached me about a collaboration between clubs, and I wasn’t very receptive to the idea. I guess he decided to come here and apply some pressure.”
Jigsaw nodded his understanding. “What are you going to do?”
“I don’t know yet.”
“Do you need help?”
Ace was surprised by the offer. They were no longer brothers. When he left the club, he’d become an enemy, and he didn’t want to involve Jigsaw in his problems. “The girls might appreciate a bit of extra security in the parking lot.”
“Done.”
He stubbed out his cigarette in the ashtray, clearing his throat. “Bill told me you guys buried Shank’s cut.”
“We did.”
“Do you think he’s dead?”
Jigsaw arched a brow at the question. “You tell me.”
“What do you mean?”
“Rumor has it that you killed him.”
Ace’s blood turned to ice. “Who said that?”
Jigsaw didn’t reveal the source, but Ace figured it was Bill. There had been friction between Shank and Wild Bill before he disappeared. Bill might have circulated suspicions about Ace to take the heat off himself.
“It’s not true,” Ace said.
“I hoped it wasn’t,” Jigsaw said. “Things have changed in the past few months. Bill spends all of his time at the casino. He’s a big player now.”
Ace stared across the parking lot, considering. The MC lifestyle clashed with Bill’s business aspirations in many ways. Outlaws didn’t care about going legit or schmoozing with the rich and powerful. Dirty Eleven was a grassroots club with no major affiliation. Its members wanted to ride hard, party harder and do a few deals on the side.
“How do you feel about a collaboration?” Ace asked.
“Shit,” Jigsaw said, shaking his head. “That’s on Bill. I wouldn’t touch it if I were him, but I’m not him. I’m just a lowly mechanic with a garage to run, a mortgage to pay and a kid to support.”
Ace extended his hand out the window for a fist bump. “I hear you, man.”
Jigsaw knocked knuckles with him. “Be safe.”
“You too.”
His old friend rejoined the other Dirty Eleven members. Instead of staying in the parking lot, they hopped on their bikes and drove to a popular chain restaurant across the street. It was open all night. From there, they could keep an eye on Vixen.
Ace sat in his truck for a few minutes, contemplating his next step. Janelle might not want anything to do with him now. He’d already decided to leave her alone. Apologizing or saying goodbye in person would only make things worse. He didn’t trust himself to break it off. She was too tempting to resist.
Instead of driving away, he got out of his truck and went inside. He hadn’t planned to watch her dance again, but fuck it. He paid the doorman and found a seat at an empty table. When a scantily clad waitress came by, he ordered a non-alcoholic beer. Then he settled in, bracing himself a little. He wasn’t sure how he’d react to Janelle taking off her clothes for strange men now that he’d staked a claim on her.
Janelle and Tiffany came out on stage together for a duo performance. The customers hooted and hollered mildly insulting things. Ace wanted to beat Jester to a pulp, but the men in the crowd didn’t faze him. They were just white noise. He focused on Janelle.
She was bold, beautiful, untouchable.
Her routine with Tiffany started sweet and quickly turned smoking hot. When Janelle peeled away her bra and took off her skirt, the guys went wild. Ace watched her bump and grind on Tiffany, riveted.
His chest swelled at the sight of her dancing in the spotlight, her gorgeous tits on display. She looked great up there. He felt a strange combination of possessiveness and pride. She was his, and he wanted to take her. He wanted to muss that pretty makeup and pull her hair. He wanted his cock in her mouth and his come on her face.
He shifted in his chair, getting hard for her. He assumed there were other uncomfortable men in the audience. Men who would jerk off to a mental picture of his woman. That was okay, because Ace was the only one who could fuck her. He was the only one who’d see her pussy, and lick it until she screamed his name.
Walk away? Yeah, right.
He couldn’t even stand up.
Chapter Fifteen
Janelle wiped off most of her stage makeup before she packed up for the night.
She grabbed her oversized bag out of her locker, pausing to study her reflection in the full-length mirror. Outside of work, she preferred a more natural look. She couldn’t remove the product from her hair, so she drew the tousled waves into a ponytail. Her dress, the same one she’d worn all day, was slightly wrinkled.
“It’s fine,” Tiffany said while Janelle tried to smooth the fabric. “You’re not going to a fancy restaurant.”
“What if he expects sex? Like, really kinky sex?”
Tiffany rested a hand on Janelle’s shoulder. “A girl can only hope.”
“I’m serious.”
“You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.”
“I’ll be tied up and at his mercy.”
“Do you need me to supervise? Give him some pointers?”
She smiled, shaking her head.
“I know,” Tiffany said, brightening. “You can use a safeword.”
“How does that help?”
“If you say the word, he has to stop and untie you.”
“He might not listen.”
“You’ll just have to trust him.”
Janelle nibbled on her lower lip, hesitant.
“Those cuffs I gave you are easy to get out of,” Tiffany said. “It’s no different than being with any other man. They can overpower you without bondage.”
She took a deep breath, somewhat comforted by this disturbing truth. She’d said no to Jester earlier. She could tell Ace to slow down if he went too far. He hadn’t retaliated after she’d struck him. He seemed like a patient, thorough type. She got the impression that he wanted to tie her up for pleasure, not pain.
Heart racing, she accompanied Tiffany through the door. Ace was standing at a distance. Butterflies rioted in her stomach when she saw him.
“Text me later,” Tiffany said. “Before you go to sleep.”
Janelle nodded her agreement.
Giving Ace a calculating glance, Tiffany leaned in and brushed her lips over Janelle’s softly, as if they were lovers. Then she turned and strode away, her long blond hair shining like a golden halo.
Ace stepped forward to greet Janelle. He didn’t say anything about Tiffany’s provocative goodbye kiss, but he watched her walk to her car. When he returned his attention to Janelle, she felt a fresh wave of anxiety. He wasn’t an easy man to read. His eyes were pale and fierce, glowing with intensity.
“Are you okay?” he asked.
“I’m fine.”
“I liked your performance.”
She’d seen him at the edge of the crowd. Boyfriends were discouraged from visiting the strip club because they tended to get jealous and interfere. She assumed that Ace had come in to check on her, not to mark his territory.
“Did he hurt you?” he asked in a low voice.
“No.”
“Don’t lie.”
“He groped my ass and threatened me with gang rape. Happy now?”
His hands curled into fists. “I’ll talk to him.”
Janelle didn’t like the sound of that, but she wasn’t in any position to complain. Kevin had assured her that the doorman would turn away anyone in MC regalia from now on. She could always call the police as a last resort.
He glanced across the street, to the big café. A group of men on motorcycles revved up their engines and drove away. Dirty Eleven members, she presumed. Tiffany said they’d be patrolling the parking lot.
“Do you still want to go out?” he asked.
She nodded, and not just because she wanted to keep him away from Jester. She wanted to keep him for herself. She’d never had this much chemistry with a man or felt so desperate to be touched. “We can go to my trailer.”
“To fuck?”
She smiled at his blunt approach. “Is that all you’re interested in?”
“It’s all I have to offer.”
Yes. That was honest, too. Maybe he’d like to have a real relationship, but he had too much other stuff going on.
She could relate.
“Follow me,” she said, walking to her car.
She drove to her trailer in Salton City. Her palms were sweaty and her heart wouldn’t stop racing. She could almost feel his hands locked around her wrists, holding her tight. His hard body and hot mouth, descending on hers.
Whew.
Squirming in her seat, she glanced at his truck in the rearview mirror.
Please
,
don’t let me freak out again.
Please
,
let this be hot
,
instead of painfully awkward.
Please
,
don’t let him be too rough or too big.
She’d never encountered a man with that particular problem, but Tiffany had and she claimed it was a real dealbreaker. Ace hadn’t felt freakishly large to her, just above average. They were probably okay.
She parked outside her trailer and watched him do the same. Her fingers shook as she unlocked the door. It was kind of a mess inside. Stripped bare of everything but some junk and her remaining pieces of furniture.
“This place is still yours?”
“Until the end of the month.”
“Is there a bed?”
“Yes.”
They could’ve gone to a hotel, or his place. Hers was almost empty, but she felt comfortable here. And she had those cuffs in the drawer. “Do you want a drink?” she asked, heading into the kitchen and turning on the lights.
“I’m okay.”
She grabbed a bottled water from the fridge and twisted off the cap. “How should we do this?”
He shrugged. “I usually just go for it, instead of talking about it.”
That sounded good. On the other hand, she’d never done anything kinky before, and she didn’t want to repeat her mistake from last night. “What do you like?”
“I like fucking.”
She laughed, sipping her water.
“I like oral.”
“Giving or receiving?”
“Both.”
“At the same time?”
His eyes darkened. “I meant separately, but at the same time is hot. I’d love to eat your pussy while you suck my cock.”
She drew in an excited breath. For a man of few words, he certainly knew his dirty talk. “What else?”
“I like kissing,” he said, taking the bottled water from her hand. Then he pinned her against the counter and proved it. He covered her mouth with his, thrusting his tongue inside. Her lips were wet from the cold water, and his were hot. The contrast made her moan. She threaded her fingers through his thick hair and kissed him back. His chest was like a brick wall against her breasts, his heart thumping in time with hers. She wanted to yank off that sexy cowboy shirt and explore his muscles.
So she did.
Breaking the kiss, she fisted her hands in the fabric and tugged. The snap-buttons came open easily, laying bare his beautiful chest. He had a lot of ink, mostly prison-style, black wings and bold lettering. “Skye” was tattooed in cursive over his heart. Dark hair swirled around his flat male nipples and trailed down his taut stomach.
“God,” she said, drinking him in. He was lean and rock-hard, his ribcage striated. “You’re built.”
He kissed her again, seeming impatient with the focus on him. Lifting her up against the kitchen counter, he slid his hands under her skirt, palming her bottom. She thought of Jester, but only for a moment. Then she got caught up in the kiss, and in his hot mouth, and the feel of his denim fly against her damp panties.
He was hard there, too. Hot and hard and big.
He undid the buttons at the front of her dress. Underneath it she was wearing a black lace bra that did nothing to hide her pink nipples. Tearing his mouth from hers, he tugged down the lacy cups and groaned.
“I forgot something else I like,” he said, sweeping his callused thumbs over the stiff tips.
“What’s that?”
“Tits. I love tits. Yours especially.”
She fumbled with his belt, desperate to touch every part of him. He brushed her hands away and did the honors for her. Then his fly was open and his cock was free, huge and hot in her palm.
He was above average, all right. Her fingers barely met around him.
“Wow,” she said, stroking him up and down. He was big, but not so big she couldn’t handle him.
She was eager to try, anyway.
Their mouths met again, panting and kissing. He slid his hand between her legs, rubbing her pussy through the wet lace of her panties.
And she began to drift.
She floated up, watching the scene from above. They looked very sexy together. He was practically fucking her on the kitchen counter. Although his eager hands had triggered her, she didn’t want him to stop. It was easier this way, soft and dreamlike. She could feel pleasure, even reach orgasm, from a safe distance.
He paused, breathing hard against her neck. “What is it?”
Janelle came back to her body with a start. Her grip hadn’t loosened. If she continued to stroke him, he’d probably get distracted and keep going.
He peeled her fingers away from his cock. “Maybe I should ask what
you
like.”
She blinked a few times, unsure how to explain. “I liked what you were doing. I just...” she broke off, shrugging. “I drift.”
“You drift.”
She adjusted her clothing with shaking hands. He put his cock away, ready to listen. He seemed more intrigued than annoyed by the interruption, but she felt self-conscious. No one had ever noticed her problem before. Ace was more attentive than her other partners, more attuned to her responses. Perhaps he had special observational skills, honed from years of hunting and living off the land. He wasn’t like other men.
He had practical reasons for staying alert, as well. She’d slapped him the last time he’d put his hand between her legs.
“I started drifting with my stepfather,” she said, gripping the edge of the counter. “He didn’t listen when I said no, and I couldn’t fight him, so I sort of just...faded away. I do it when I’m dancing in the VIP room, or when someone is touching me. Even when I’m alone, I drift. My body responds, but my mind isn’t there.”
He examined her face, saying nothing.
“You’re the only one who could tell.”
“Maybe the others didn’t care.”
Harsh, but probably true. “Have you ever tied up a woman before?”
“Just you.”
“It wasn’t on your list of likes.”
“Oh, it’s on there.”
“You didn’t mention it.”
“I thought it made you uncomfortable.”
“It does.”
“But you want to try it?”
She hesitated, nibbling her lower lip. If she wasn’t completely honest with him about her needs and desires, they couldn’t move forward. “The other day, Tiffany left me these Velcro handcuffs. I decided to test them out.”
“How?”
“Well, I was on my bed, and I put my vibrator, you know, right there...”
“Inside you?”
“Against my clit.”
“Then what?” he asked in a hoarse voice.
She smiled, because he looked so enthralled. He was hanging on her every word. “Then I cuffed myself to the headboard, and I came like crazy.”
“Show me.”
“I haven’t told you the most important part yet.”
“What?”
“I didn’t drift. I stayed grounded. Same with last night, when you held my wrists. That’s why I got scared. It’s too intense.”
He picked up her bottled water and took a drink, his throat working. “Let’s do this. I’m going to come in my pants we keep talking about it.”
She looked down at his half-open fly and smothered a moan. His erection strained the denim on one side, stretching across the expanse. His stomach and groin were lightly furred, taut with muscle. This was no smooth-waxed, gym-sculpted pretty boy. He was all man, big and strong, with work-roughened hands and a heavy cock.
She wanted to sink to her knees and take him in her mouth.
He arched a brow at her perusal. “See something you like?”
“Mm-hmm,” she said, trailing a finger down his abdomen.
With a caveman grunt, he lifted her off the countertop and hauled her over his shoulder. She squealed, kicking her legs in mock-protest as he carried her to the bedroom. He deposited her on the bare mattress and turned on the lights, bathing the scene in a warm glow. Moving slowly, as if he was afraid she might change her mind, he removed her dress, cowboy boots and anklet socks. When she was in her bra and panties, he undid the snaps at his wrists and let his shirt drop to the floor.
His eyes weren’t cold anymore. They were glittering hot.
“What about this?” she asked, fingering the lacy edge of her bra.
“Your choice.”
She liked the way the underwire framed her breasts, and the cups were easy to tug down, so she kept it on.
“Where are the cuffs?”
“Top drawer.”
He found the paddle first, thwacking it once against his thigh before setting it aside. He ignored the ball gag in favor of the leather collar. Her breath caught in her throat at the sight of it dangling from his fingertips.
“I need to tell you my safeword,” she said.
“Something wrong with ‘no’?”
“I have a hard time with that one.”
He brought her the collar, nodding. “What’s your safeword?”
She blurted the first thing that occurred to her. “Cowboy.”
Lips quirking, he slid the collar around her neck. She lifted her ponytail off her nape while he adjusted the fit. Not too tight, but tight enough that she could feel it. Her skin prickled with awareness.
“Cowboy,” she said, testing him.
He stepped back, his expression curious.
She touched the collar. “I don’t know if I like this.”
“I’ll take it off.”
“How does it look?”
“Hot as fuck.”
She left it on.
“Show me how you did the cuffs.”
Sitting upright, she tucked her hands behind her back. He cuffed her to the headboard, but she could get free on her own. Once she was bound, he just stared at her with hungry eyes, like a cat with a canary.
“Cowboy,” she said.
“I haven’t done anything yet.”
She shifted against the headboard, rotating her wrists. This was crazy. She was way out of her comfort zone. Even if the cuffs were just a novelty item, the dynamic between them was the real deal. He was going to toy with her and make her beg. She’d never felt so vulnerable...or so aroused.
“Why don’t you call the shots?” he said.