Page 8 of The Devil's Ice

In these seven hours, Vixen had decided that she wasn’t management or supervisor material. She was looking forward to the next day, when things would settle down a bit, and she could just go back to waiting tables. Scars wouldn’t be around for a couple of days since he and Zoe were taking the weekend as a mini-honeymoon, but at least Elle and Cole would be back.

And so wouldhe.

She huffed out another sigh, an exasperated one this time, and reminded herself tojust stop thinkingabout that asshole. OK, sure, they’d had lots of fun in the bar back rooms for the past eighteen months or so, but after what he said to her two weeks ago,thatwas never going to happen again. Vixen might be free and easy with her body, but she’dneverfelt cheap in the whole of her life – not untilhe’dcalled her a whore.

It wasn’t like it was a new word as far as she was concerned. She’d been called that for years and years: by the other high school kids, her religious parents, other women whose boyfriends or husbands made a play for her. By the other waitresses at Satan’s, the customers, sometimes the MC guys too.

But she’d neverfeltlike one. She’d never been ashamed of her sexual desires, or her history, or her escapades. Truthfully, Vixen had always just loved sex and adored men, and she’d been blessed enough to be very naturally attractive to them, and so she’d been able to choose the hottest, sexiest bed partners and the best lovers. She didn’t really understand what was wrong withanyof that… she was honest about what she wanted, she never lied or made any false promises, she never pressured anyone for a relationship, she never got involved with married men or guys in relationships that she knew about. She believed in consent, honesty, mutual respect and generously giving each other a good time. What was so wrong with that?

Thatwas a stupid question, of course. What waswrongwith all of that was that she was a woman, and women weren’t supposed to bed hop without shame or guilt; women weren’t supposed to enjoy sex with lots of different partners. A steady boyfriend, sure. A husband, definitely. But a guy that a woman just picked up at a bar during her shift because she found him sexy? No way. And an MC member or seven just because she had a things for bad-boys and was surrounded by them every minute of every work day? Nuh-uh.Nogoddamn way.

So Vixen was considered a whore, though if she’d been a man, she’d have been called a ‘player’, or she’d be described as ‘sowing her wild oats’, or something equally lighthearted and non-judgmental. No way anyone would think that she was trashy for enjoying consensual short-term flings. But shewasa woman – a youngish, attractive one – so whore was what was flung in her face, over and over.

She’d never cared all that much, though. Vixen was a lot of things, but she wasn’t oblivious or stupid – she was very self-aware and no hypocrite. She knew what she liked and wanted, and she felt zero guilt or embarrassment about any of that. She also never thought less of a man who wanted to bed her a few times, but didn’t want a relationship. If he cared about her having a good time, and they were sexually compatible, then why would she think anything bad about him? It was illogical and it was small-minded and it was a waste of time.

So she’d had a very healthy – and by-and-large satisfying – sex life for almost fifteen years now, even since she turned seventeen. Not every guy was anything to write home about, but to be fair, a solid seventy percent of them had had their charms and their talents. She’d taken her pleasure where she thought it could be found, and that had been just how she liked it.

And then along camehim.

Fucking fucking Ice.

The whole thing with him hadn’t started in an unusual way: she’d started working at Satan’s about four years ago, he’d caught her eye, she’d caught his, and as Vixen well knew, she was attractive. Having said that, though, her own physical beauty paled and flickered and died when placed beside Ice’s.God, the man was gorgeous. In an MC with hot men crawling all over the damn show, almost like being sexy-as-hell was a requirement for membership, Ice was something unbelievable. Something special.

He was tall and broad (as anyone with eyes and a single functioning brain cell could notice), and she knew full well that that astonishing body was pure power and strength, and covered in tattoos that only defined the grooves and ridges of muscle. His blond hair was always cut short – she assumed it was a holdover from his days in the military, not that he ever talked about any ofthat– and it accentuated sharp cheekbones and a mouth that was almost always set in a firm, set line. He looked hard and dangerous and masterful and he ticked every single box that she had when it came to a temporary bedmate.

But whatreallyset Ice apart from every other drop-dead sexy Road Devil, at least for Vixen, were his eyes.

Oh, not their color, though they were an incredible blue, the kind of blue that could be seen clear across a dark, smoky bar. A blue that stopped you where you stood, just stole your breath as strong as jumping into a frozen lake in January. His eyes were so damncold, so emotionless, so frightening. Even after hundreds of safe, amazing encounters alone with Ice in the bar back rooms, Vixenstillshivered when those unearthly and impassive eyes rested on her, even for a few seconds, when she was just serving up drinks to a customer and happened to glance up. So the astonishingcolorwasn’t what made Ice’s eyes her favourite part of his impressive body… no, not at all.

What Vixen loved about them was how they looked when Ice was buried deep inside of her, fucking her up against a wall, that massive chest moving above her as he thrust faster and faster. In these moments, Ice just nailed his fierce gaze on her face, he held her eyes the whole time, he actually zoned in and watched herlose her mindas he pushed her closer to the edge of orgasm. Right then, right there, his eyes were blue fire, blazing heat, molten desire. For the past eighteen months,nobodyhad seen those eyes like that – nobody but her.

And now that was all over.

Fucking, fucking Ice.

“Vixen! Hey, Vixen!”

She started at the voice calling her name, then looked around Satan’s. She wondered just how long she’d been standing in one place, daydreaming about Ice’s eyes as he held her writhing body closer, remembering how his breath felt against her ear as he growled for her to come for him. And she always did, right on command, her body helpless in its response.

“Vixen!”

She turned with a small sigh, saw that Melanie was behind the bar looking hassled and waving her over. Vixen walked across the room, felt the men’s eyes on her thighs, her ass, her breasts. Pride kept her head high and her stride confident; she might be hurting but no goddamnwayshe was going to announce it to the world.

“What’s up, Mel?” she asked lightly. She knew that Melanie was no fan of hers, but Vixen always tried to be polite to her fellow staff members, no matter how they spoke to her. “You want me to pour or serve?”

“Serve,” Melanie snapped, grabbing a glass and dumping ice into it. “We’ve got at least six tables waiting for their drinks, and that useless idiot Cara disappeared into the bathroom at least twenty minutes ago.”

“Really?” Vixen shot a quick look around the heaving bar, looking for the newest waitress. “Again?”

“Yeah really, and yeah again,” Melanie said in exasperation, pouring out a good three fingers of whisky into the glass. “You didn’t notice that Julianne’s been handling the whole room all alone, while you were standing there looking vacant and barely-dressed? What were you doing anyway… scoping out your fuck buddy for the night? Or two?”

Vixen looked at her sharply, considered responding in kind, but then subsided. Again, being insulted about her skimpy clothes and her sexual history was nothing new – it just hit a bit harder in this moment.

She shrugged, put several drinks on her tray. “I was just catching my breath. It’s been full-on all day, and I needed a minute.”

“Yeah, sure.” Melanie shook her dark head, started pouring a beer. “You’d know all about things being full-on, huh?”

“Where am I taking these?” Vixen hefted the tray and studiously ignored the insult. “Which tables?”

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