Page 3 of Devil's Plaything

I toss the cum-covered paper towels into the garbage can and light up a cigarette. She walks over to me and takes it. Placing it between her lips, she takes a long drag, blowing the smoke into my face. She leans forward and presses a soft kiss to my cheek.

“Thanks.”

Who is this chick?

“Where the fuck do you think you’re going?”

She turns around, an eyebrow arched. “I didn’t tell you? Must not be any of your business.”

I nod, laughing. It’s rare that a chick makes me laugh but this girl is full of surprises. “To the bar. That’s where we’re going.”

She’s tempted to decline but finally accepts. “Lead the way, mystery man.”

“Widow.”

“I’m sorry?”

“You can call me Widow.”

I finish off the cigarette and head out, giving the nod to security that they’re free to come back in. We walk to the bar and I let her order, impressed when she orders whiskey.

“What’s your name?” I ask.

“Let’s not ruin this with the whole name exchange bit, Widow.”

Three shots later, she still hasn’t given me her name, but I don’t mind. I don’t need her name to fuck her again, and I know without a doubt, that’s happening.

“So, what happened tonight?”

She smiles and shrugs. “I heard this place was hiring. Figured I’d audition.”

I chuckle. “I don’t know. I’d have to see another dance before making a decision.”

“There’s no fucking way this place is yours.”

“Don’t underestimate me, sweetheart. There isn’t a thing that happens in this club that I don’t know about.”

“Right,” she replies with a roll of her eyes.

Snapping my fingers, I motion to Lita, one of the dancers. She’s been to several of our parties at the clubhouse, so she instantly wraps her arms around my neck.

“What do you need, Widow?”

“Get on your knees.”

Without questioning me, she drops to the floor and her hands go to unbutton my jeans. My firecracker grabs Lita’s hair, pulling her back.

“Get the fuck out of here.”

Lita gazes up at me and I nod, giving her permission to leave. I grin over at the girl. “Jealous type?”

“I don’t like sharing.”

“Clearly.” My phone buzzes and I see a text from Hawk. “I gotta run. You need a ride somewhere?”

“Actually, yes, a ride would be great.”

I don’t bother thanking the bartender before we head out. I climb on my bike, handing her a helmet. She rattles off the address, which sounds vaguely familiar, and climbs on behind me. I speed off, her arms tight around my waist, tits pressed to my back. I’m tempted to ignore Hawk and take her to my place. She points to the right and I turn, figuring her place is as good as mine for round two, then I can find out what the hell Hawk wants.

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