Devil's Game

by Joanna Wylde

Jesus, I wanted to drive over there and just pound her ’til she screamed. No, scratch that. I wanted her here, with me. In my bed. Riding my cock. Shouldn’t be so goddamned complicated to make that happen. I’d given almost a decade of my life to the club. Never complained, never held back. I’d done terrible things for the Devil’s Jacks. I’d keep doing them, too.

  All I wanted in return was one thing. One girl. Of course it had to be the girl who could start a fucking war with a phone call …

  I still wouldn’t give her up.

  “This is bullshit,” I muttered. “Let me see you tomorrow. I’ll pick you up, we’ll go for a ride. Hell, it can be like a date or something.”

  She laughed.

  “Do people still date?”

  “Fuck if I know,” I admitted. “Not my thing.”

  “So you’re a love-’em-and-leave-’em kind of guy?” she asked, her voice teasing.

  “Yeah, but I leave my women happy,” I replied, rubbing my hand up and down my dick again. I imagined her lips wrapped around it and my hips arched a little. It took everything I had not to groan. Damn. I couldn’t think.

  “I don’t know what to say to that,” she replied softly. “I don’t know, Liam. I want to … But is it a good idea?”

  I gave a short laugh—she had no clue how bad an idea it was.

  “No, probably not,” I said. “So why don’t you tell me what you’re wearing instead? No harm in that.”

  I heard her breath catch. Would she answer?

  “I’ve got a pink camisole, with pink and gray jammie shorts,” she said. “It feels weird talking about this. Should I have said I was wearing something sexy from Victoria’s Secret?”

  “I can’t imagine anything sexier than what you just described,” I replied, and I meant every word. I’d jacked off to the pictures of her naked a hundred times—and yeah, I get how creepy that is, and no, I don’t give a shit—but hearing her talk about her little pink cami was fuckin’ hot. Em wasn’t some cover model or anything—nice curves without being super stacked. But those tits of hers were perfect for me in every way. Now I pictured them, spread out a little as she lay back in her bed, the nipples making little peaks in the soft fabric of her top.

  I wanted to suck them into my mouth and roll them around until she screamed. Maybe bite them when I finally came after fucking her tight cunt for an hour. I slid the zipper on my jeans down, letting my cock pop out. Then I wrapped my hand around it.

  “What are you wearing?”

  “Jeans, an old T-shirt. Nothin’ special.”

  “You look pretty special in jeans,” she whispered. Then she gave an awkward giggle. “That was so cheesy. I can’t believe I said that.”

  “I’ll take it,” I replied, smiling.

  “I’m just not real good at this. I mean, I know we’ve talked at night, but that was before … You know.”

  She didn’t want to say it and I sure as shit didn’t need her remembering what I’d put her through.

  “We’re not doing anything,” I said, slowly rubbing my cock up and down. I squeezed it hard, watching as fluid beaded up on the tip. “This is just two friends talking, okay?”

  “Okay,” she said. “But there’s something I need to know first.”

  “Ask,” I told her, hoping to hell it was a question I could answer.

  “Liam, do you have an old lady tucked away somewhere? I mean, I know I don’t have any right to ask, but …”

  That caught me off guard. What the hell? This was what I got for giving her space, I realized. Was someone filling her head with shit?

  “No. Fuck no—where’d that come from?”

  “Well, you say you’re not into relationships, but a lot of guys say that when they want to get laid,” she replied, sounding nervous. “Then it turns out they’re already with someone, just looking for something extra on the side. For all I know you’re married with ten kids. You’ve already lied to me about other stuff, and I know some of the brothers keep more than one woman.”

  I coughed.

  “If I was married with ten kids, I wouldn’t be talking on the phone with you. I’d be shooting myself in the fucking head.”

  She laughed.

  “So the answer is no?”

  “The answer is definitely no,” I said. “I’ve slept around—I’m not ashamed of that. And I lied to you for my club. But I don’t have to trick girls to get laid.”

  “So no more surprises?” she asked.

  “No, straight up,” I answered, hoping she’d believe me. My phone beeped—another call—but I ignored it.

  “Where are we going with this?” she asked. “Has anything changed? Or should we just hang up and end it before things get worse?”

  I considered carefully before I answered.

  “I don’t know,” I replied, and for once it was the truth. “You want me to be honest, so I’ll be honest. I don’t know what’s between us because it’s not like we’ve had a chance to explore it. You’re different than any other woman I’ve been with. I actually like talking to you about shit that’s not sex, but I won’t pretend that fucking you isn’t what I think about the most. Just your voice makes my dick stand on end, so I’ll take whatever I can get. If that’s just a phone call, don’t spoil it for me yet, okay?”

  She didn’t say anything for a moment.

  “I just slid my hand down into my boxers,” she whispered, and I swear a pint of blood left my brain. “I’m remembering what it felt like when you sucked my nipples. I want to lick your stomach.”

  My entire body clenched. My fingers slid up my straining cock to find the beads of precome. I palmed my cockhead, then started jacking myself slow and hard.

  Yeah, this was what I needed.

  “Find your clit,” I told her, my voice going low. “Are you wet yet?”

  “Yes,” she said. “I feel really weird doing this … Like I’m a whore or something, because the club—”

  “You’re not a whore. And don’t think about the club. I don’t want you thinking about anyone else at all when you’re touching yourself, got me? Think about me and what I’m going to do to you the first chance I get.”

  “What’s that?”

  “I’ll start by sliding my fingers deep inside your pussy, get them nice and wet. Then I might play with your clit.”

  I heard her breath catch.

  “I’m doing that right now,” she said. “What about you?”

  “I’ve got my cock out and I’m jerking off while I listen to your voice,” I told her bluntly. “My balls are so fucking tight they feel like they’re in a vise, and I keep imagining how hot and slick you’d be around me right now.”

  “Oh,” she whispered. Her breath caught again. “You’re better than my vibrator, you know that?”

  The image of her using that vibrator filled my brain and I lost the power to speak. I felt my balls drawing up, my hand gripping my dick so hard it almost hurt.

  Almost.

  “How are you doing?” I asked, trying to slow myself down.

  “Good,” she whispered.

  “Tell me about it.”

  “I’m rubbing my clit, one finger on each side,” she told me. “First up and down, and then I sort of wiggle them against each other. I’m using my other hand to play with my nipples. Your turn.”

  I gave myself another hard tug, hips lifting. Hell, I was getting damned close. Usually I could last for hours, but something about Em fucked with me on every level.

  “Jesus, wish I was better with words,” I muttered. “Honest to fuck, Em. I’m pretty close to blowing my load. Picturing you getting yourself off makes me feel like I’m gonna have a heart attack.”

  “You want me to stop?” she asked, her voice almost playful. My dick spasmed and my balls drew up tight. Shit shit shit.

  “If you stop—” I started to say, and then the door to my room burst open.

  “The fuck?” I yelled, sitting up and dropping the phone with a crash.

  “Get your ass o
ut here,” Skid said, his voice grim.

  I decided to shoot him.

  I let my cock go and reached for the gun sitting on the bedside table, but he held up a hand.

  “You gonna get off the phone?” he asked, giving me a pointed look. I couldn’t think—all the blood in my body was currently concentrated in my dick. My balls seized up and I realized I was in for some serious pain.

  “Liam, are you okay?” I heard Em’s voice, high-pitched and tinny. I reached down and grabbed the phone, pulling myself together.

  “It’s fine, babe,” I said, glaring at Skid. He shook his head and made a slashing motion across his throat. “I have to go, though. Skid needs help with something. I’ll talk to you later.”

  “Wait—” she started to say, but I hung up.

  “This had better be really, really fucking important,” I told my club brother. “You got shit timing.”

  “It is,” he said. “Put away your joystick and get your ass downstairs. We got serious trouble.”

  I walked painfully down the narrow stairwell to the living room. Damn house was a hundred years old and it showed. Zipping up my jeans hurt like a bitch and I decided the next time I needed information from someone, I’d torture the fucker by making him talk to Em, then turn off the call and force him to put on my pants.

  Like most Friday nights, we’d had company. It hadn’t been a formal party, but Skid and the other guys had invited a group of slutty girls over. Not quite a real clubhouse, but better than nothing. Now two of those girls were naked and making out on the couch. Another had passed out cold on the floor and I heard more laughing in the kitchen.

  Typical night for us.

  It wasn’t normal for the girls to be playing alone, though. They were putting on a hell of a show, and it went against everything my club brothers believed in to miss live girl-on-girl action.

  “Down here,” Skid yelled. I followed his voice to the basement stairs. It was a dankish pit kind of a place, but it had its uses. Smoking out, storing product, laundry, and even one memorable night when this hippie chick did some kind of weird talking-to-spirits thing …

  It was also where we had church. Not that we were a real chapter or anything, but we essentially functioned as one, complete with formal meetings and the occasional vote.

  “This better be fuckin’ good,” I muttered as I climbed down. Clutch lay back on the ratty couch next to the semifunctional washer and dryer, his bum leg propped up on the armrest. Grass paced back and forth, muttering, while Skid leaned against the washer, fingers tapping a rhythm restlessly against the ancient metal.

  “Got news,” Grass said, eye twitching. Fuck, was he tweaking? I’d told him no more, but it’d been a rough couple of weeks. He stopped pacing and rubbed his chin mindlessly, the motion spasmodic.

  Yup, he was. Great, because we needed one more thing to worry about.

  “Toke is dead,” Skid said. I glanced at him sharply.

  “How?”

  “They found him this morning,” he replied. “Still in protective custody, but his throat was slit. No explanation. Word just filtered down—I guess Picnic called Burke.”

  I raised my brows.

  “No shit?”

  “Gets weirder,” he continued. “Reapers want to know how we pulled it off. Burke bullshitted them, bought us some time to investigate. He wants to know if you arranged something. You been playin’ games without tellin’ the rest of us?”

  I cocked my head, feeling something dark building inside me.

  “Don’t care for your tone, brother,” I said slowly and carefully. “One, I didn’t do shit—but if I had, that’d be between me and Burke. Two, why is Burke talkin’ to you and not me?”

  Skid offered a twisted smile.

  “He called you first, asshole. You didn’t answer. What were you doin’ that’s more important than takin’ a call from your VP? Seein’ as I found you on the phone with your dick hangin’ out, you might wanna consider what you plan to tell him very carefully.”

  Shit. I shut my eyes and shook my head, rubbing my temples.

  “Jesus, Skid,” Grass snapped, his voice high-pitched and trembling. “Stop being such a little bitch. What are you, jealous?”

  We both looked at him, startled. Grass threw up his hands, clearly frustrated and even twitchier than before. He wasn’t done yet, either.

  “What does Burke want from us?” Grass demanded. “I’ll bet it’s the Reapers that took him out. He fucked them over, and now they’re tryin’ to blame us. Use it as an excuse to end the truce.”

  “That doesn’t make any sense,” Skid snarled. “Jesus, Grass. You need to lay off that shit, it’s makin’ you paranoid. Reapers want peace, too. They don’t need an excuse to go to war. They wanna fight, they’ll just start shooting. It’s entirely possible they killed Toke—fucker betrayed his club, no surprise there. But I don’t think they’d come callin’ if that was the case.”

  “Don’t talk to me like I’m an idiot!”

  “Shut the fuck up!” I roared. The two men jumped. “Christ, what are we, fucking children? Skid—did Burke have anything he wanted us to do?”

  Skid scowled.

  “No,” he admitted. “Although he said to watch out. Until we know who killed Toke and why, we need to assume there’s a new player.”

  “Cartel?” Clutch asked. “You think they have the contacts this far north to pull off a hit in protective custody?”

  We all stilled. Shit. Not a comforting thought.

  “Okay, we need to assume there’s someone local we don’t know about, someone with that kind of power,” I said slowly. “Time for more security. Make sure you check in with each other, and we all start carrying. Grass, when you stop seein’ shit that isn’t real, I want you to make sure Clutch has a place in his truck that’s safe from a search, okay? Can’t risk a parole violation. Anyone else need help rigging up something for their bikes?”

  “It’s covered,” Skid said, sighing. “Sorry, Hunter. Didn’t mean to be such a dick.”

  “Fair enough,” I muttered, running a hand through my hair. Christ, what a night.

  “I fucking hate Portland,” Grass announced suddenly. “This town is like hell, only cold. It rains all the time, like we’re living underwater, and now we have to worry about the cartel, too? Getting away from them was the only good part about moving north.”

  “We’re doing our jobs,” I reminded him, my voice cooling as I moved into enforcer mode. Enough of this shit. “Burke needs us here—we all agreed to it—so stop whining. He wants active intel, and that means we’re in Portland until he says otherwise.”

  Skid crossed his arms, silently backing me up. God, I wanted to kill him sometimes, but I had to give him credit—he always put the club first, and that meant keeping discipline. He never let it get personal.

  Grass glared at me, but he closed his mouth. He knew damned well I was right. He also knew I’d make an example of him in a heartbeat if I had to. We couldn’t afford kindness, not with the club divided and elections coming.

  “We have a problem?” I asked Grass bluntly. He held my gaze a moment longer, then shook his head. I glanced down at Clutch, deciding I was way too sober for this shit.

  “You okay?”

  “Yeah,” he replied. “Leg hurts like a motherfucker, but I’ll pop some pills so it’s all good.”

  “Pussy,” Skid taunted, rolling his eyes. “Been a full two months since Toke tortured you. You still whining?”

  Clutch let out a choked snort and shook his head. The tension broke and just like that, it was all good. Thank fuck for Skid—it’d been a long stretch in this water-logged city without allies, but every time we found ourselves at each other’s throats, he’d step in and somehow make it better. The guy had a gift when he chose to use it.

  I flipped the guys off and climbed back upstairs.

  The chicks on the couch had passed out, and I didn’t see anyone in the kitchen. I used my foot to roll the girl on the floor out o
f my way, grabbed a beer, then flopped down in a chair and clicked on the TV.

  Porn. Of course.

  Naturally, that made me think of Em fingering herself, and I wondered if I should call her back. I decided not to—it was late and the mood wasn’t right. Not only that, I wasn’t sure I could handle hearing her husky, sexy little voice calling me Liam again. My balls fucking hurt, and not in a good way.

  A few minutes later, Clutch hobbled in and sat down on the couch next to the girls. Together we watched some redhead with giant implants get fucked up the ass on the big screen.

  “Shit,” Clutch said after a few minutes. “The high-def has totally ruined porn. Are those ingrown hairs?”

  I choked on my beer, and he grinned at me.

  “Jackass.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Em filled my dreams.

  Her ice-blue eyes—surrounded by thick, dark lashes—peeked up at me as she thoughtfully licked the tip of my hard-on, then slowly sucked it into her mouth. I knew she didn’t have a hell of a lot of experience, but damn she sucked dick like a pro.

  Her hand wrapped around my shaft and I bucked up.

  Fuck, that was worth the wait.

  Then she drew me even deeper, taking me into her throat, catching me off guard.

  How the hell did she know how to do that?

  I felt a sudden desire to kill the owner of whatever cock she’d been practicing on. Her tongue flicked the underside of my dickhead, fluttering, and I forgot all about my upcoming murder plans. I stiffened, my balls tight and ready to blow, but my brain was starting to question the whole situation.

  What was wrong here?

  Em sucked hard, humming deep in her throat as she bobbed faster and faster. Her other hand reached down between my legs, rolling my balls with her fingers as she sped up. I was close, so I reached down to touch her head, give her a warning.

  Wait. Em’s hair wasn’t this short.

  But her mouth was so goddamned hot and wet. Shit. I couldn’t think. I’d never dreamed she’d know so many tricks, and some small part of me started to consider murder again. My Em wasn’t so innocent anymore, and whoever taught her would answer—

  I lost the thought as my load exploded, blowing the world apart. Holy shit, I needed that.