around the steering wheel at the thought of how she’d looked on her hands and knees, tits swaying even with her sports bra keeping those beauties restrained, sweat on her brow, her eyes a little glazed from fatigue—it’d be too easy to strip off those clothes in my mind’s eye and for her to look like she was being fucked. The way she’d rocked back and forth on her knees, swaying as she scrubbed, it was like she was being screwed doggy style. Not pounded, just screwed.
There was a distinct difference.
My dick had been aching ever since I’d gone to check in on the bunkhouse during my shift. The bar had been busier than usual as it was a Saturday night, a lot of brothers had been helping fix up the bunkhouse and everyone had been celebrating the fact that not only was it mostly complete, but Stone was on the mend and would be home soon.
With the revelry making my ears ache, my eyes stinging from all the smoke, I’d headed outside for a breather and had seen someone sneaking out of the bunkhouses where the girls were living, which, now that I thought about it, I hadn’t investigated further because Indy had pulled up, dragging my attention her way. Of course, her arrival was weird, but weird was a regular occurrence around this place.
I’d figured she was maybe coming to visit Giulia and Nyx, except, she hadn’t. She’d pulled out a bucket of cleaning materials, then, a few steps toward the bunkhouse, she’d tossed a bottle of bleach like she was lobbing a softball. It had gone sailing through the air before it collided with a wet thud as it exploded on the ground.
Attention thoroughly caught, I’d watched her as she slipped in, and through the windows, I’d seen she was setting up to clean. Brothers had hollered at me to get back and to serve some drinks up, so I’d done as asked, before, an hour later when things had died down, seeing she was still there, I’d gone to check on her.
I loved a woman who cleaned. There was nothing misogynistic about it. If I boned guys, I’d get off on watching them clean too. It was the act, not the gender. I just loved it. So, Indy, without even knowing it, had given me my version of a private lap dance.
Growling under my breath because I’d tap that ass of hers quick as breathing if given the opportunity, I trundled into town and headed off toward the east side where I had an appointment.
I could do this in the day time because, technically, I wasn’t doing anything wrong, but there were a million laws between technicality and legality and, also, I intended to sleep when I got back. Waking up to do a chore I could have done before I slept was just impractical, and I wasn’t an impractical man.
The roads were dead, the night air was still, and only the dawn birds were interested in me as I headed to the rougher part of West Orange.
When I made it there, drove along the roads of the industrial park, I turned down my radio because all was quiet around here, and finally arrived at the unit.
As I pulled in, the whirring of the mechanism of the doors sounded overly loud in the silence of the otherwise still night as the second I made it inside, they closed behind me.
It took forty minutes longer than I’d have liked to get the crates onto the back of my truck, but I wasn’t about to complain when Kirill’s guys did the heavy lifting. I didn’t even have to get out of the cage.
A few minutes in, Kirill hopped into the passenger seat beside me, and we bumped fists as he asked, “You’re going through more of this than usual. Might have to up my rates.”
My lips twitched. “What can I say? Sometimes there’s more trash hanging around than can be recycled.”
He arched a bushy brow at me, but his smile was genuine when it made an appearance.
I’d met Kirill in college of all places. He was one of the reasons I hadn’t offed myself when my life had gone down the shitter.
I was where I was because of my mother, but knowing Kirill, an old Chem professor from college, and his wife, Monique, cared about me, regardless of the bad decisions I’d made while I was a student, had been grounding. Enough to stop me from making a