Page 11 of Vegas Daddies

Something sinks inside of me. My place would’ve been better. Damn Lifesaver for suggesting Brander’s place. We’ve scared the girl away.

“Cool!” She continues on like it’s nothing.

Fucking hell. Lifesaver and I share a surprised glance.

Brander walks in with a bottle of whisky and four glasses.Glenlivetdoes that say?

Looks like we’re on the strong stuff tonight.

Alice makes herself comfortable on the couch, skirt gathered around her ankles. She eyes the various artworks framed on the wall. One is of Spring Mountain during sunset—a location we often ride through. Another is of a crushed can of diet Pepsi, but I’m unsure what significance that holds.

“Nice artwork.”

“Thanks.” Brander looks up from pouring.

“He painted them,” I say.

Her eyes widen. “Impressive.”

Brander passes her a glass of straight whisky. She winces after one sip, but goes straight back in for another.

My ears ring as if in memory of the ride. My hand on her breast. I shuffle in my seat and take a big gulp of whisky to sort myself out. Visions of her gorgeous, pert nipples hard under my touch is all I can see. She has a good pair of breasts, and I want nothing more than to come all over them.

I’ve always been a one-woman kind of man, so my mind was blown when I first started at the clubhouse and saw multiple men pleasuring the same woman. Carly was my first girlfriend, my only girlfriend, and we met back in Buffalo, New York—my hometown—when I used to serve coffee at the local coffee shop. She strolled in one day and that was it.

Until it hit me that long-term shit never works out.

My parents were childhood sweethearts. They were in love, totally. You could see it in their eyes from all the wedding photos and vacations. Inseparable, they were. And then on my seventh birthday, I was gifted the most unexpected present.

Surprise! We’re getting divorced.

They’ll get back together one day,I always told myself.Have to.

Nope. There was too much history and they could never see eye to eye. You could’ve called me a fucking pigeon back in Buffalo. Back and forth, up and down the same stretch of road, deliveringnew bits of information and tirelessly trying to make things right, even twenty-eight years later.

But it was pointless.

So I moved here for a new start. A new adventure. I told Carly the day before moving that things weren’t gonna work between us, and then I hopped on my Harley and never looked back.

Many women have asked me to claim them at the clubhouse. They scream my name when I fuck them, and suck my dick whenever I want them to, but nothing ever has me rushing to the tattoo parlor to brand my name on their ass cheeks. Life at Venom Vultures is simple.

Was.

Alice, I think, has complicated things.

And not just for me. I see how Lifesaver’s eyes linger.

How Brander’s flick away.

The woman’s a fucking oddity. Not just a simple fuck.

Alice sets down her glass. “Can I shower? Is that okay? I feel a little sweaty.”

“Of course,” says Brander. His eyes remain focused on the glass in his hands. “It’s the first left at the top of the stairs. Spare towels are in the cabinet as you walk in, bottom shelf. Take as many as you need.”

She takes off.

Damn, that ass moves so seamlessly.

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