Frost (Rolling Thunder MC Birmingham #3) - Candace Blevins
Chapter One
Frost
It was a normal evening in the clubhouse, the night Banshee walked out.
Though at the time, I hadn’t been out of jail long enough for anything to seem normal. You’d think it would after three months, but not so much. Some days, it felt as if everything had changed while I was inside, and I knew that wasn’t actually the case, but society had broken down to practically nothing and was trying to come back. There were growing pains all around.
I hadn’t realized how often I’d gone to Banshee over the other sweetbutts until the little lynx wasn’t around anymore. I didn’t just miss her, I craved her.
But once she was gone, that was it. She’d have to come back on her own. No way would I go and beg her back. Besides, she’d have to take licks from Squatch before she could return, and my brothers might even vote that she’d have to go through the weekend-long initiation train all over again, too.
Not for the first time, I thought back to that night. She’d rebuffed Khan first, but he’s on loan to us from the Mobile chapter, and pretty laid back, so he’d grabbed another sweetbutt and went to town on her. However, not ten minutes later, Squatch ordered her to blow him and she’d turned around and walked away. He’d then ordered her to pull her skirt up and bend over the back of the sofa, and she’d told him to find someone else. Squatch is our Sergeant-at-Arms. The guy responsible for internal discipline. He’s the last of my brothers you want to fuck with. Well, except me, but we don’t advertise that too much.
While Squatch and Mad Dog decided how many licks she was going to get, and with what, she’d stared at me. I’m sure she wanted me to intervene, but I don’t know what I could’ve done at that point. She’d dug herself a hole.
Still, if I’d known how much I was going to miss the little lynx, it’s possible I’d have thought of something.
Her only saving grace was her words before she left. She’d told Mad Dog, “I’ve valued my time here. I like some of you more than others, and having to fuck whoever wants me isn’t working for me anymore, so I’ll leave.”
And then she’d walked out, and I hadn’t seen her since. I’d thought about finding her a few times, but what would I say? I miss fucking your ass and hearing you scream and beg for relief?
I had no business with her, anyway. I needed to tear into a woman every once in a while with something more than my cock. A belt, or a whip, or worse. Banshee got off on us tearing her up while we fucked her ass, but she’d only been turned on for mild-to-medium spankings, and it had taken us a while to work her up to that. The little kitty cat wasn’t likely to agree to let me tie her up and hurt her bad.
But oh, how I wanted to do just that. I mean, not in a serial killer kind of way — in most of my fantasies, I wanted to make her orgasm while I hurt her. Only a few times had I fantasized about hurting her for real, and I wasn’t going to go through with that. I know the difference between fantasy and reality. Sometimes, situations arise where I can exercise my sadistic impulses full out, but most of the time, I can satisfy them with consensual sexual sadism.
Oddly, I’d been able to enjoy actual sadism in jail a whole lot more than I was managing now that I was out, but that was okay, because sex on the outside also feeds a need.
And here’s the thing, I wanted to hurt Banshee and then take care of her afterwards. That was new to me. It isn’t that I’ve never done the whole aftercare thing, it’s that it’s always been a chore, like cleaning the dishes after you cook. I wanted to take care of Banshee.
But it wasn’t going to happen. I’d let her walk out the door. She’d looked right at me. She’d given me a chance to step forward and claim her. I’d known, in that instance, it was now-or-never, and I hadn’t moved a muscle to stop her.
I put my truck into park and opened my tablet to look over my notes before I stepped onto the jobsite.