Skirt (Ruthless Kings MC #5) - K.L. Savage Page 0,34

me in the face, and ask me to fuck her harder.

I hiss when I twist my sack and fuck my cock simultaneously. The water rushes over my face as I lean back, picturing her hot mouth sucking each swollen orb between her lips before she licks my taint. Fuck, I want to. I want to come all over her face, paint it fucking white with my seed, then wipe my fingers through it and make her swallow every single drop.

My fist hits the side of the shower as I come. I jerk myself through my orgasm, wanting that sensitivity to stop me from touching myself, but I keep going. I always do. “Dawn,” her name falls from my lips in a soft whine. Thick jets leave my cock as I point my shaft where the drain is so I don’t have to clean up.

By the time I’m done, my cock is still rock hard, and I only feel more on edge. Not even a fight will help this feeling.

No matter how much I want Dawn, no matter how much I want to prove to myself that I can show her love, I’m starting to realize that maybe I can’t. She deserves better than a guy like me, a fighter, a better life what I can give her with the club. Not everyone can handle it, and with what she has been through with Cohen, she shouldn’t have to. She needs to be happy without any pain in her life.

I need a cut-slut. That’s what I need.

I turn off the water and dry off with a towel, my cock tenting the damn thing. I just had the longest, most intense orgasm of my life, and the fucker wants more. All because of Dawn. It’s her fault I’m suddenly like this. Her big fucking green eyes, strawberry blonde hair, her cock-sucking lips that have the perfect shape to them.

She’ll wreck me, and I’ll let her.

I’m good at giving people what they need from me, but I never get what I need in return.

She has to stay away from me.

Steam swirls out into the living room as I open the bathroom door, almost blocking my view of the lone figure on the couch. She’s asleep. Good. She needs the rest. With my hand gripping the side of the towel, I enter my bedroom, I designed it with me in mind. High ceilings, big bed, and walk-in closet. I whip off my towel and toss it on the floor, then walk to my closet butt fucking naked, my cock swinging as I go.

I have two rows of kilts.

And I find myself not reaching for one. It’s the first time in years, but I need something else today. I need to be someone else today, so I reach for the only pair of jeans I own. They are black, worn, old as fucking dirt with the knees torn. I put them on, leave my hair in a wet mess, and slide on my cut.

My reflection catches my eye and I hardly recognize myself. No wonder my brother hated jeans. My balls can’t breathe. I comb my beard out and walk out of my room, grab the bottle of whiskey, and take one last look at the woman who has dug up emotions I thought were buried; emotions I never thought I’d feel again.

I run out the door, lock it behind me, and take a deep breath of the dusty Vegas air. Fuck, it’s so much better out here than it is in there. It’s stuffy, with awkward sexual tension, and I need to get my head on straight. My boots scuff along the dirt, and I bring the bottle of whiskey to my lips, smiling when I think about Dawn taking a big swig of it.

She can’t handle whiskey, but she sure did try.

No, fuck. I can’t be thinking of her. She deserves better than me, and I’m not going to give up my revenge so she can sleep tight at night. Fuck that. No woman is going to come in and change my plan. Not one fucking woman.

Before I know it, I’m passing the bikes and climbing up the steps to the front door. When I walk through, all heads turn to me. Every single mouth is open. Except Pirate. He’s drinking and he starts laughing, pointing his finger at me. “Holy Shit. The Skirt has went and found himself a pair of pants.”

“You feeling okay, Skirt?” Reaper asks from the bar, taking a