Page 5 of Turmoil's Target

A harsh laugh rips from my throat. “Even though I’m a prospect, I know I can do better than you.” I down my drink and head for the door, shaking my head.

Fucking clubwhores, man.

I gun my Harley down the dark road toward Bad Bunnies, the club’s brothel, anticipation thrumming in my veins.

I need to blow off some steam.

Hopping off my bike, I stride up and knock on the door.

It swings open a moment later.

“Well hello there, handsome,” Cirque greets with a flirty smile that has my cock stirring to life. “I didn’t expect to see you tonight.”

My eyes roam over her hungrily, taking in the black lace barely covering her pale skin, the wicked darkness rimming her eyes. “Hey darlin’. Busy tonight?” I drawl, my voice rough with want.

She steps back, crooking a finger at me. “For you? Never. Come on in.”

I follow her swaying hips down the hall, my pulse jumping under my skin, need burning through me.

Yeah, this is exactly what I need tonight.

Cirque leads me into her dimly lit bedroom, the air thick with sensual promise.

She turns to face me, red hair tumbling over her shoulders, green eyes glinting with mischief.

“What can I do for you tonight, Turmoil?” she purrs, trailing a black-tipped finger down my chest. “Tell me what you need.”

I cup her jaw, tilting her face up to mine. “I want to see these pretty lips wrapped around my cock.”

She licks her lips slowly. “Mmm, I’d love to taste you.” Sinking gracefully to her knees, she unbuckles my belt with deft fingers.

I groan as she takes me into the wet heat of her mouth, working me with mind-numbing skill.

As amazing as her mouth feels, I need more.

Fisting a hand in her hair, I pull her off and yank her up against me.

She gasps as I claim her mouth in a brutal kiss, my other hand groping her breast roughly.

Breaking away, I spin her around and shove her face-first against the wall.

She moans and arches back into me.

I rip her skimpy panties aside and drive into her, setting a punishing rhythm.

There’s no tenderness, just a primal need to lose myself in her body.

As I pound into her over and over, chasing my release, my scattered thoughts drift back to the undercover job Jolt and I took on.

This is my chance to show the club what I’m really made of, that I have value beyond just being Anatoly Morozov’s son.

My family may not get the MC life, but at least they respect my choices.

This is who I am, where I belong.

And I’m going to prove myself to my brothers if it’s the last thing I do.

With a few more savage thrusts, I bury myself deep and let go, emptying myself inside Cirque with a guttural groan.

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