Combust (Savage Disciples MC Book 5)

by Drew Elyse

  Gauge looked to his left, where Sketch was actually fucking drawing something on a napkin, to his right where Ham was on his phone, then back to me. “No.”

  “Just because you’ve got women at home doesn’t mean you can’t appreciate a good view. God damn.”

  Ham set his phone down and took a pull of his beer. “I appreciate what you’ve got here. I’m busy tryin’ to keep my crazy fucking woman at home instead of showing up.”

  Max, of all the girls, might have been my favorite. I gave the guys shit, but I actually liked their women. They were fucking loyal, and that went a long way for me. They were also all good women, funny, some sweet. Max, however, knew how to have fun.

  “Tell her to get her ass down here,” I invited. Max was the last person who would put a damper on the party.

  “Not a fuckin’ chance,” Ham stated firmly.

  “Why the hell not?”

  “I let her come here, I’ll end up murdering all you fuckers when she gets herself up on one of those poles,” Ham answered.

  Fair enough. Max would absolutely pull something like that. Probably get the other women to stop stripping and ask to teach her some moves. Max was hot, but I wasn’t feeling that show. Mostly because I figured Ham wasn’t exaggerating on how it would end.

  The music pumping through the dark room switched from “Lollipop” by Flaming Hanley to “Come Together” by The Beatles. I’d never seen any of the girls dance to that track even in rehearsals, so it grabbed my attention right off. The lights on the stage were dark, only flashing for a beat in time with the music, but that was long enough for me to catch the way they shone on red hair.

  Fuck, that goddamn hair.

  When the song really got rolling, there was still no spotlight to see her properly, just the runners along the frame of the stage. There was no stopping it. My body moved of its own accord, rising from the chair and walking like I was fucking hypnotized by her. I took the seat right at the end of the runway. The whole thing had a table fixed along it to give customers a way to sit close and still have a place for drinks. It also gave the dancers more space.

  For the first time, I fucking hated that gap.

  The song wasn’t typical for what we played here. It was quieter, less high energy. But Avery was right there, rolling her body to the low beat like the song was fucking written to provide the soundtrack while she seduced a man.

  She was wearing tiny shorts I knew would be ripped off at some point and a black bustier. The tall as fuck heels she had on were right at eye level, but I was leaning back in my chair to take in the whole damn picture of her long legs and sexy fuckin’ curves.

  The bustier was the first thing to go, coming off when Lennon finally sang the first “Come together.” The fabric flew away, revealing a see-through mesh bra beneath, and sailed right toward me. Usually, the girls didn’t do that. Too hard to keep costumes to wear if they threw them at desperate customers. Tonight, the usual rules didn’t apply. The fact that Avery was taking advantage of that pleased me to no fucking end.

  Her shorts followed after another minute of her teasing at taking them off. In their place was a little thong that matched the bra. It just barely hid what it was designed to, but there was so much to see, it didn’t even fucking matter. Particularly with the sensual way those hips of hers swayed as she gripped the pole above her head and slid up and down.

  My dick was hard as fucking stone, and it didn’t help when Avery dropped to her knees and crawled across the stage. I gripped the counter so hard, I was sure I’d be paying to have the fucking thing fixed tomorrow. I didn’t care. All I cared about was the living wet dream in front of me, moving her body in ways that had me losing my ever-loving mind while her eyes stayed on mine.

  This wasn’t her working. This wasn’t a stripper on stage trying to please to make tips. I’d seen more than my fair share of those performances. They got the job done, but they’d never consumed me like this. I’d had women on their knees blowing me who weren’t as effective.

  And it was for me. She might try to deny it later, but that sex in her eyes wasn’t an act. That heat was burning through her the same way it was for me. If I let go and reached out, I doubted she’d stop me. And I’d find out what I already knew in my gut to be true—that her pussy was just as hot as her eyes and wet for me.

  Her knees were right at the edge of the stage, close enough for me to touch if I only tried, when she flung the bra that’d been doing almost nothing off. Still, the spectacular sight of her tits had me feeling like I might start leaking cum into my jeans.

  I all but growled when she backed away, returning to the pole to finish off the dance, spinning herself around on it, rubbing her nearly exposed body against it erotically. It was all a good show, a typical performance for her up on the pole. It had nothing on having her right there on her knees. I’d put money down that her being close to me had never been a part of the routine at all, that she’d gotten carried away by the same pull I was feeling. Then, it had hit her what she was doing and she’d retreated, going back to the choreographed moves that gave her space from me.

  Fuck that.

  The rules didn’t apply tonight.

  I was out of my seat as soon as the music and lights faded.

  I’d made it through the dance.

  My heart was pounding, beating against the inside of my ribcage like it was trying to escape. Far more uncomfortable than that, though, was the fact that I was wet.

  Never, not once in all the time I’d been stripping, had being on that stage ever included me being aroused. I put on a show of it that men ate up every night, but it was never anywhere close to reality.

  Or it hadn’t been until Daz sat at the end of the stage.

  It wasn’t like I’d never danced with him watching before. There was just something there tonight. Maybe it was the way Ham’s words had been haunting me for days on end.

  If you’re ever plannin’ to throw the asshole a bone, it’ll be his birthday.

  I was loath to admit it, but part of me had known for a while I was going to give in eventually. The attraction—desire like I’d never experienced—was too strong. I wasn’t even sure I actually liked him. Sure, he was a good boss, but he was also an obnoxious flirt who never seemed to take anything but running the club seriously. My body didn’t care, though. He was hot, almost dangerously so. It was one of the few times in my life I’d experienced true, unadulterated lust.

  And knowing I had the same effect on him just made that flame burn even hotter.

  When the song ended and I was able to get off the stage, to break the ever mounting tension between us, it took all I had not to run. The tall-as-hell platform stilettos I had on might have hindered me a bit, but I was more than adept in them and managed a solid jog.

  The curtain separating the main space from the hall back to the private rooms and usually guarded dressing rooms had barely fallen back into place before I heard the heavy velvet shift. I knew it was him without looking. What surprised me wasn’t that he’d followed, it was the moment he stepped past me and kept moving. It surprised me so much, I stopped in my tracks.

  Daz’s attention snapped back around to me. He was a few feet ahead now, but it was nowhere near far enough for me to miss the tension in his frame, the stiffness in his jaw, the inferno raging in his eyes. Without a word, he stomped the few steps that separated us, snatched my hand, and yanked me along behind him.

  Leading us to the first door, he pushed it open and slammed it closed with a resounding snap. He shut us into the private dance room, muting out the lights from the hall until we had only the low, purple lighting inside to see by.

  Daz was standing there, his eyes fixed on me, his stare hot enough to scorch across my bared skin. I felt more naked than I possibly ever had in my life. It didn’t matter that my audience had shrunk from twenty odd people to one. It didn’t matter that I’d taken my clothes off in front of much larger crowds. With Daz looking at me that way, I was more than un
dressed.

  I was exposed.

  My eyes flicked back to the door, wondering for a crazed moment if I should run for it—if I even could. Despite the overwhelming attraction, flirting, and the fact that I’d gotten myself off at least daily with the image of him in my mind, I wasn’t actually prepared for this reality.

  “You want to go, you do it right the fuck now,” Daz stated, his voice far rougher than I’d ever heard it, that innate joking lilt that always colored it gone.

  I met those fiery eyes, seeing a man undone. This was Daz past the edge of sanity, driven there by this crazy desire between us.

  Which meant he felt it at least almost as much as I did.

  “I don’t want to go.”

  Saying the words was like letting loose a wild animal. Daz’s body crashed into mine, slamming my back against the door. The air rushed from my lungs and his mouth descended to mine before I could take a breath. His kiss was vigorous, consuming, not at all the coaxing tease I expected from him. Still, even as my chest ached with the need for air, he was so skilled, I didn’t want to stop. His tongue was intoxicating, and I was aching and wet from the desire to see what else he might be able to do with it.

  His mouth left mine, dropping down to my breasts. Gasping, I thrust my chest forward. He accepted the invitation spectacularly, his tongue flicking against one of my nipples before his lips wrapped around it and sucked.

  I didn’t want to cry out, but there was no holding it in. All the precious control I’d cherished on stage was gone, devastated by the fire Daz had started in me. It wasn’t a spark, a little flicker of a flame—it was total combustion.

  His hands came up to hold the heavy weight of my breasts, his fingers teasing the nipple he wasn't lavishing attention on with that mouth of his. Then, he switched sides, until I was squirming between him and the door.

  It was nothing like I would have expected from him. Daz struck me as the quick and dirty type. A real wham, bam, thank you ma'am kind of guy. Dirty couldn't be denied, but there was nothing quick about the way he continued to torture my straining nipples, moving back and forth between them while the ache between my legs grew unbearable.

  It was too much, not enough. Chilling pleasure and scalding pain. It was enough that any sense of self-preservation was a thing of the past.

  “Please,” I groaned.

  There was a wicked glint in his eyes as he lifted away, leaving my breasts to be assaulted by the cool air, a jarring feeling after his heated attention. He pulled me by the hand across the small room to the pole in the center. There, with insistent motions, he wrapped my fingers around the chilly metal.

  “Hold on, baby.”

  With rough hands on my hips, he yanked my lower body away from the pole, making me stumble in the tall heels still strapped to my feet, and positioned me until I was bent over gripping the pole with outstretched arms for balance. With a hand caressing my back, ass, and thighs, he knelt behind me.

  The faintest pressure rubbed back and forth between my legs, pressing the damp scrap of fabric against my sensitive skin.

  “Soaked,” he murmured, his appreciation evident in the single word. I didn’t have words, not when that touch was more torture than anything he’d done so far. All I had was a desperate keening sound. “Don’t worry. I’ll give you what you need.”

  Pulling at the center of the wet spot, he yanked the thong down until it was stretched around my spread thighs and released a low groan that had me wanting to press my legs together. Then, his hands were on my ass cheeks, spreading me open. It felt too personal. It was exactly why I didn’t dance at clubs that required full nudity.

  He gave me a long lick from my clit up. Every thought in my mind shattered to nothing against the thrill of pleasure that consumed me. I whimpered when he lifted away.

  “Sweeter than I fuckin’ thought,” Daz declared roughly, and in another heartbeat, his tongue was buried in my pussy.

  He licked, he sucked, he fucked me with his tongue until I was afraid my legs would buckle. An orgasm I knew would destroy me was building faster than I could believe.

  “Fuck, you’re actually good at this.”

  He stopped. Instantly. Completely. I cried out in dismay, my hips lifting to press back against him, but he moved farther away.

  “The fuck?”

  “Are you seriously stopping right now?” I nearly shrieked.

  “You said that shit, sugar. Now, explain.”

  I didn’t want to, but I was past the point of no return here, and I’d do anything to get him back on task. “I honestly assumed you wouldn’t be great in bed. The way you talk—brag—about how good you are, it seemed like a front.”

  His hands went back to my hips, gripping me harder, until the press of his fingers into my muscles almost hurt. “I’ll show you how fuckin’ good I am.”

  He dove back in like a man on a mission. “Good” couldn’t touch what he gave me. Words could barely scratch the surface of the unrelenting pleasure. In no time at all, I was barreling headlong into an orgasm that had my legs trembling uncontrollably. Still, he didn’t let up. His hands at my hips took my weight, holding me against his face, making me take everything he gave as he rang me dry. When the last aftershocks faded, he tried to set me down slowly, but I couldn’t stay upright. I sank right to my knees, still gripping the pole like a lifeline.

  Daz wrapped himself around me. “You’re coming home with me,” he stated. “I’m not done with you yet.”

  I woke to find I was lying on my stomach, too warm and feeling like I’d had the workout of my life. Last night had definitely been that. Somewhere around round four, I’d already been sore. I’d lost count of where we were not long later, yet Daz had kept at me after that.

  The man’s stamina was otherworldly.

  “Again?” I didn’t bother keeping the surprise out of my voice.

  I wasn’t convinced I could keep getting off, and he’d already come three times. What kind of man could manage that?

  “I’ve got months of wanting you stored up. I might have found some form of relief along the way, but that itch never really got scratched. I’m not stopping until you make me, or I get my fill,” he informed me, his cock already hardening again as he rubbed lazily against the lips of my pussy, drumming up a stir of desire I thought would be impossible at this point.

  His lips took mine, the lingering taste of my own need still there from the spectacular way he’d eaten me at the club. It wasn’t long before the ministrations of his tongue turned that stir into a raging need.

  Daz reached over to the pile of condoms he’d left on the nightstand after pulling them from the drawer, and I took the opportunity to turn onto my stomach, lifting my hips in the air for him. He cock nestled between the cheeks of my ass.

  “Mmm. This how you want it this time?” he asked, rolling his hips to pleasure himself against me.

  “Yes.”

  “You’ve got it, sugar.”

  I turned over, aching everywhere, and saw Daz on his back beside me, out cold. There was an alarm clock on the nightstand beyond him, which surprised me. So few people had them anymore, and Daz didn’t strike me as the type to set alarms for the morning.

  It was just after ten. I wasn’t entirely sure what time we’d both collapsed—sometime in the early hours this morning—but it was probably too early to wake him. Hell, I wasn’t sure why I was awake. But I was, wide awake, so I climbed out of bed and found the sweats I’d worn to work last night on the floor. Slipping them on, I went to search out a bathroom.

  I was a sight. The big hair from being onstage had only grown from having Daz’s hands in it. He hadn’t left it alone, no matter what position we were in. Luckily, there was a hair tie on the bathroom sink. I felt shitty for stealing it, but I had to do something to get this mess under control.

  When I was finished, I stepped back into the hall and paused. I wasn't sure crawling back into bed with Daz was the best idea. However we moved forward last night—whether
pretending this never happened, or ending up right back here again—I definitely wasn’t into anything that involved cuddling. It might have been best if I took off, but I didn’t want to look like I was running. We’d hooked up, and it was really, really good. I wasn’t going to be ashamed of that or let it make things awkward at work.

  Casual fucking was all Daz was interested in, I knew that. He needed to know that was fine by me.

  As I stood there, I heard music on low downstairs and my curiosity got the better of me.

  There was an older man at the stove in the kitchen, rasping along to Johnny Cash as he flipped what must have been the bacon I’d caught a whiff of on the way down. I wasn’t sure what to say, but I really just wanted to ask for a piece.

  “Sit your ass down, pretty girl. Got plenty here for both of us and that jackass. Once the smell gets upstairs, he’ll drag his ass out of bed.”

  I did as I was told, crossing the kitchen to sit at the table. I wasn’t entirely sure, but I was thinking this man might have been Daz’s dad, which was bound to be pretty awkward. I was worried it also meant Daz lived at home still. I knew he had some issues, but I didn’t think being afraid to cut the apron strings was one of them.

  Whoever this guy was, he had on a Disciples’ cut, so he was at least by some extension kind of my boss.

  It was starting to become apparent—again—why I shouldn’t have slept with Daz.

  For a few minutes, I sat silently while Mr. Whoever He Was finished making breakfast, then grossly overloaded two plates, setting one down in front of me before sitting across the table with his own.

  There was a literal mound of scrambled eggs, toast, home fries, and bacon. I wasn’t sure of the social rules at play when an old, burly biker ordered you to sit and eat breakfast with him after you had a one night stand with one of his biker buddies, so I just went with it, and asked, “Do you have hot sauce?”

  He looked up from where he was piling a bunch of the food onto one of his pieces of toast. I wasn’t sure if I’d just committed some sin I’d come to regret, but he said nothing as he got up and lumbered to the fridge. When he returned a minute later, he dropped a bottle of Cholula onto the table, and muttered, “Good call, girlie.”