Page 17 of The Prez

An hour later, Reaper is finished and has my tattoo wrapped. He doesn’t bother giving me tattoo care instructions since I’m a fucking canvas. He just sends me on my way.

I’m not ready to go home. I know if I do, the baby will be crying and the nanny will be harried, telling me he can’t do the job and I’ll be stuck with the baby by myself again. Shane and Jace’s old lady have been helping, but they got their own shit to do. It’ll be all on me. At least I can get one more night of fucking blissful silence.

No such luck.

When I step into the clubhouse, loud music greets me,hangarounds dancing and playing pool, some drinking and flirting with some of my brothers. Callie separates herself from the crowd, sauntering over to me. “Hey, Prez. Lookin’ for some company?”

I could do with a distraction. It’ll take my mind off having a baby at home … and the man who is with the baby.

Fucking Omari. I can’t get him out of my head, no matter how hard I try. He’s fucking fine as fuck. Callie is nothing like him, so I’m not sure she’ll do to get my mind off him. She’s a white, blonde woman with hair down to her ass and a tight body. Omari is a short, light skinned Black guy with a wide smile, beautiful fucking eyes, and a thick body that’s meant to hold on to while I rut into his body.

All I can think about is Omari and his soft curves and lush body. I could barely sleep earlier in the day, knowing he was in the other room. He looks soft, his flesh smooth. I would love to mark him up, make a mess out of him.

Growling away from those thoughts, I grip Callie by the arm and walk her to my room. She giggles, tottering on her heels, but keeps pace with me easily. “Okay, Prez. I see you’re in a mood. You can take it out on this pussy all you’d like.” She’s practically bouncing in her heels as I drag her along. “I was thinking, maybe when we’re together exclusively, we can do something about how all this is set up.” She waves her hand towards the layout of the clubhouse. “Could use some sprucing up.”

“Stop talking,” I snap, pushing her into the room where she climbs on the bed eagerly. “Take your clothes off and get on your hands and knees.”

She complies quickly, stripping her clothes off in a flash and climbing on the bed with her small ass in the air. Omari’s ass is plump, his cheeks the perfect size to bounce against my thighs as I give him my dick inch by agonizing inch, making him come apart on my cock.

I don’t bother taking my clothes off—I just slide my pants down to my thighs and free my semi hard shaft from briefs. I close my eyes and jerk myself, trying to get hard. The only thing that works is thinking of the fucking nanny in this same position, looking over his shoulder at me, begging me to take him rough.

My cock lengthens, and I quickly slide a condom on and sink into Callie. She moans and pants, sounding like a porn star and not in a good way. Her shouts of “Yes, Prez!” and “Harder, Daddy!” and those stupid over the top moans do more to deflate my erection than bring me any relief.

I try to get into the sex, but no matter how much I try, I’m not feeling it. Even shutting my eyes and thinking about Omari isn’t doing the trick, since the bony hips I’m holding let me know that Callie isn’t him. I need a distraction from my bullshit, but this ain’t it.

My cock softens and I pull out of her, snatching the condom off in frustration. “Get out.”

She sighs, dragging on her clothes. “You want to talk? Old ladies talk to their men, so I can be, like, your sounding board. Whatever you need, Prez.”

“I need you to get the fuck out of my room before I toss you out.”

Callie squeaks, grabbing the rest of her clothes and scurrying from my room.

With an irritated grunt, I stuff my flaccid cock back into my pants. Even though I wanted a break, I can’t seem to pull my mind away from home. No need to stick around here when my brain is focused on my damn address.

I throw the door open, storming out to get back on my chopper to head home.

“Prez!” I turn to see Pete jogging over to me, his limp from his accident barely noticeable. A year and a half ago, he got into a motorcycle accident and had to have rods insertedinto his leg. He hasn’t let that stop him, still active in the club and riding with us. We mostly have him drive our F-350 when we do our annual and charity rides since it hurts his leg to ride for more than an hour.

I stop, waiting for him to approach. “I wanted to let you know I started my apprenticeship. Thank you.”

“Anything you need, brother,” I tell him, patting his back. The lead tattooer at our new shop was thrilled to have an apprentice, saying he’s been wanting to train someone for years.

“It helps me keep my mind off …” He pauses and coughs. It takes him a minute to speak again. In a rough voice, he says, “Yeah, thanks, Prez.” Pete pats my shoulder and walks away, tapping the bar so one of the hangarounds can pass him a beer.

Pete has been taking Christian’s death hard. This is the first time I’ve seen him smile in weeks.

Sighing, I remind myself that I have to be there for my brothers and make sure they’re okay. I can’t let my personal life stop me from doing my duties to the club. I can’t fail them too.

I make my rounds around the courtyard, talking to everyone and asking after them. Some of my brother’s look surprised, and I know I need to do better.

After I speak to everyone, I tell Jace I’m leaving and head home.

When I slide my key in the door, I brace myself for the sound of wailing and crying, for an angry Omari to tell me he can’t handle Baby Rafael and leaving me in the lurch.

Instead, I’m greeted with the soft sound of singing coming from the nursery. Inching my way over, I see the door is cracked and I can just peek inside. Omari has his back to me, his head down as his arms move up and down. It takes me a moment to realize he’s … singing to Baby Rafael. The sound of the faint harmony reaches my ears and I sag against the doorframe. This is what he deserves. Baby Rafael deserves someone that wants to sing to him every night. That’s not me.

Not wanting to disturb the happy scene, since I don’t fucking belong, I head to my room, shutting myself up tight so I can lie down and try to get my shit together.

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