Page 6 of Savage Fire

“I heard the shrieks and the laughter all the way in Hawk’s room, and I just knew Tessa had something to do with it.”

“You’ve got that right,” Tessa replied smugly.

Fae smirked. “Tessa could get a nun in trouble at Christmas mass.”

Tessa opened her mouth to deny such an utterlyoutrageousclaim when she noticed Skathi sauntering down the corridor and into the room, a gentle smile on her face.

The woman was over six feet tall, was thick with two CCs, and looked well-fucked. Her long black hair had been woven into a slick braid, but fly-away strands had escaped the braid, sticking up in all directions. And her cheeks were ruddy; pink and glowing. And the twinkle in her eyes was telling as hell. Yup, she’d been back in the Prez’s apartment getting an afternoon quickie.

Rising from her seat, Tessa met Skathi, throwing her arms around her bestie.

“Oof!” Skathi grunted then chuckled. “Careful, there. The belly has grown into its own international calling code.”

Tessa leaned back, stared down at Skathi’s round belly and grinned.

“Nah. Not quite. It’s hardly bigger than its own street address, at the most.” Sliding her hands over the belly, Tessa rubbed it playfully.

Behind them, Liz and Fae chuckled. The club women, Amelia and Rosa, knew better than to laugh about anything regarding their Prez’s old lady.

“Enough about my belly,” Skathi said, swatting away Tessa’s hands. “You are done with physical therapy, yes?”

Tessa smirked. “All done, babes!” Liz and Fae let out excited whoops, making Tessa’s heart leap. This…this was what friendship was supposed to feel like.

Skathi grinned, that twinkle in her eye going from well-fucked to well…fuck.

“Good! It’s time to party, ladies!”

Fang slammed the door behind him with such force the windows on each side of the door frame rattled in their panes. Another damn day of frustration—club and personal. The dispensary that club had set up was having distribution problems, which was shit since the club was also the distributor. And since Fang was the Road Captain, it was his responsibility to get the pot from point A to point B efficiently. Their newest club brother, Toke, formerly Brady, had patched in four months ago and immediately took over the pot farm, Herb Garden, putting his LVNU master’s degree in biochemistry and his Bachelor of Science degree in horticulture to good use. The man was a fucking whiz with…“herbs.” Too bad he was shit for brains when it came to running a business.

Now…his personal frustrations…every five-foot-eleven,thicc, blonde-haired, blue-eyed, badass bit of it was something he couldn’t solve as easily as making a few belligerent phone calls.

Gritting his teeth, he tossed his keys into the ceramic bowl on the foyer table and took a deep breath, willing away the surge of anger turning his world violent red. Leaning against the table, he peered down at the bowl, his gaze flickering over the iridescent swirls of color in the useless decorative piece Anise had bought last year. It was one of a hundred other pieces of prissy décor he’d paid for over the last several years, and his wallet reflected that. Then again, he made enough money in a year to outfit a hundred houses just like this with the same feminine garbage.

If his brothers could see his house, they’d laugh him out of the fucking club, and he’d have earned it. But he was man enough to admit that he allowed such softness in his home because it kept the women happy.

To the outside world, he was a filthy manwhore, living in sin. They wouldn’t understand his lifestyle choice.

Women?

Yeah. Five of them.

All living under one roof. All successful, beautiful, sexually deviant women. All there to please him at his whim. If he wanted one or all of them in his bed, they would come to him, arms and legs open, begging for his touch, his tongue, his cock.

His Hive. His harem. In woke terms, they were all in a polyamorous relationship, even though there was no actual emotional attachment involved. There was no love, no dreams of the future. Allpolyand noamor. Anyone at any time could end their individual arrangement with him and he wouldn’t sweat it. He’d just find another Bee to replace her. He had no idea if there was a term to explain their situation that wouldn’t make him sound like a greedy asshole, keeping all the best pussy for himself. While his club brothers hopped from club bitch to any other strange pussy that came along, he had his women to keep him satisfied. They were dedicated to him, faithful to him, and him alone. They lived and breathed for him and his pleasure. They knew exactly what he wanted, how he wanted it, and he never had to waste time chatting up some slut at the clubhouse or the club bar, Up to No Good, just to get his dick wet. If he wanted pussy, ass, or mouth, he just went home, crooked a finger at whichever of his Bees he was in the mood for, and they came.

And they fucking camehard. Every goddamn time. He wasn’t a selfish lover; he was a giver. And his Bees lapped up his cum and his attention, like the good little bees they were.

He was thirty-seven, was in his physical prime, and living the life of a fucking sultan—with the money, the mansion, and the women.

So why the fuck was he so hung up on one woman who wouldn’t even give him the time of day?

Tessa Grimes.

Best friend to his Prez’s new old lady, Skathi.

Both Skathi and Tessa were badasses who literally kicked ass in the MMA ring. Both women were fucking Amazons with above average height, muscle packed bodies, and fucking curves for days. But there was something about Tessa that had snatched his attention the moment he set eyes on her. Something he couldn’t name but refused to ignore. No matter how much she peered at him with cold blue eyes, or smirked at him in disdain.

Fuck, if she knew about his other women, how they lived, she’d probably rip his balls off and feed them to a pack of rabid coyotes. But…then again…maybe she’d like it. What woman wouldn’t enjoy living in the lap of luxury, without a single want or need denied…including their want and need of him? He gave and gave, whatever he women wanted…except kissing on the mouth. That was his hard limit. Pegging? Ass play? Tying him down to ride him like a fucking cowgirl. He was game. But kissing? No fucking way. Kissing was too personal. Too intimate. It came to close to sharing breath, sharing souls. Even the thought of putting his lips on Tessa, of pressing his mouth against hers and tasting her made something inside him twist. And he felt something for Tessa…something more than he felt for any other woman. Ever. Even his Bees.

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