of my oldest friends—Aaron, who took the handle Ankh. And despite how hot I thought Priest was, they were so clearly happy together I didn’t have the slightest desire to mess with that.
I’d known Aaron growing up, but we’d lost touch when he moved out to Los Angeles for school. When he’d returned to Elkin Lake, it was with Priest on his arm and a new burning desire to start Hell’s Ankhor. I was so fucking happy for them both—they fit each other the way a bike chain fits on the teeth of the cog. A perfect balance. I was already part of the Liberty Crew at the time, but not in the inner circle yet, and I was thrilled that there was going to be another club nearby.
Growing our clubs side by side was one of the greatest joys of my life. I’d leaned on them a lot as I’d grown into a leadership role within the Liberty Crew, always asking for advice or guidance or just a place to vent about club issues to people who really understood. We spent a lot of time together—Priest and Ankh became like uncles to Dante and Tru as they grew up.
When we lost Ankh a few years ago, there were moments I thought we might lose Priest, too. His grief had swallowed him. He spent days in bed, hardly ate. He was a shell of a man for a long time. It was only his club, and his son, who were eventually able to drag him out of the darkest depths, and slowly help him recover and heal.
Watching the brightness and the openness return to Priest had been a joy and a relief, and I knew watching his brothers-in-arms find love had been no small part of that. He’d never be the man he was before Ankh was killed, but he was becoming someone just as kind and strong and wise—and handsome.
I sighed and placed one hand on the cool tile of the shower, focusing on the heat of the water and the warm steam as I breathed in. I just couldn’t believe that I was having sex dreams about one of my oldest friends. I’d always found him handsome, and as he aged, he was only getting more attractive: with silver streaks in his dark hair, crow’s feet and laugh lines, and a new layer of softness over his strong body.
Fuck. My cock was still hard from the dream, from the way dream-Priest had laughed warmly as he’d held me down and grinded his dick against my ass. I felt a little slimy, but I couldn’t help it—there was no way I was going to get through my day if I didn’t at least take the edge off. I was just taking care of physical needs here. It didn’t have to be anything weird.
I gripped my cock and it throbbed in my hand. I groaned in relief at the sensation; I felt like I was already teetering on the edge, like the dream had gotten me almost all the way there. The shower had done nothing to ease my near-painful arousal. I couldn’t help but relive the dream as I jerked off rough and fast: the sensation of Priest’s muscular body pinning me down, his hands on my wrists, his beard scratching across my skin. It felt good—really good—but I was still rushing it, jerking myself efficiently, like if I got it over quickly, it’d be less terrible that I was jerking off to thoughts of Priest. Even if they were dream thoughts.
I came with a low moan, savoring the rush of relief that accompanied it. My muscles tensed and relaxed, and I finally felt like I could breathe again.
Yeah, the orgasm had cleared my head, thank God. I pushed away the lingering sense of guilt as I finished showering, then got dressed in a hurry and made my way downstairs, where the clubhouse was in the throes of morning chaos as usual.
Dante was manning the kitchen, making mountains of eggs and toast, with Heath hanging off him and distracting him with teasing kisses. Eli and Star were hovering over a laptop, looking at the enforcement schedule, and the schedule for Stella’s as well. Tru was on the couch with a cup of coffee, his feet kicked in Beau’s lap as Beau flipped through television channels.
“Morning, folks,” I hollered as I descended the stairs. “Is there coffee?”
“Of course there’s coffee,” Star said, without looking up. “How long have you lived