Chapter One
Grinder
“Choo choo, motherfuckers! The cum train is leaving the station, all a-fucking-board!” The entirety of the clubhouse groans except, of course, for the willing passengers ready for a fun ride.
A few of the brothers turn their backs, as if they could even ignore the sexfest we’re about to embark on. Sledge, our resident Brit, leans against the back of the couch, grinning like a toddler at a magic show. He’s hot as fuck, all square jawed and ocean-blue eyes with a perfect set of pearly white teeth. Sadly—or maybe thankfully—he’s as straight as a ruler and dick’s not his jam.
Me? I’m an equal opportunity fucker. If there’s a slick, hot, hole, I’m likely to stick my cock in it. With a condom, of course. I’m not a complete fuck up.
“You playin’, Sledge?” I mean, one never knows, right?
“Nah, mate. Just watchin’.”
In a single file line, I grin as about six people, four women—or Khunts as they have so sweetly named themselves after the Sons of Khaos—and two men head for the long hallway. Thegoal of this game is to suck or eat out, depending on the junk at your disposal. They all stand against the wall in their preferred positions with either their dicks or pussies or asses out and ready for the eating. Then, the feast begins.
“Boner, you need to keep time. No cheating in this game, it’s against the ten commandments,” I call out over my shoulder to my best friend as I take my blindfold out of my pocket. What? I like the surprise element of this game.
“Fuck off, Grinder! I’m winning this hand of poker, I ain’t moving for shit.” Asshole.
“You’re a fuckin’ traitor. How dare you choose money over my pleasure.” I don’t even get a verbal response from him, just a high placed middle finger for my outrage. I’m not even asking Crow. He always refuses because he likes to watch. Fucking voyeurs…they’re no fun.
“Mackenzie! My favorite human. Come time me, please.” I mean, it’s worth a shot, right? Mac is always up for some fun, but I’m not too hopeful for this one.
“I will fuck you up, Grinder. Don’t ever ask my wife to supervise your crazy-ass sex games again.” Fucking Psycho.
“She’s her own woman, you neanderthal. Let her speak for herself.” My club brother may be a compulsive hot head capable of literally ripping people’s limbs right off their bodies, but I’m not scared of him. Especially now that he’s a father. He’s gone soft.
If soft means a crazy fucker capable of shooting anyone who dares come too close to his baby.
“Yeah, I’m not watching you or timing you while you do whatever it is that you do.” Mac calls out, and I now realize we have way too many prudes in this club.
“I’ll do it!” Bash walks over to me, beer in hand and eyes scanning the line of willing sex partners in various stages of undress. Why didn’t I think of him earlier? He’s young, hot,and single. Only way to be when you’re living your best life in a motorcycle club for deranged speed addicts.
Ride, die, and bleed for speed. Some of these old fuckers seem to have forgotten our motto.
“Ah, Bashypoo! You’re my new favorite. Here, take my watch and make sure no one cheats. Thirty seconds per passenger and the train isn’t allowed to touch him or herself. Last to come, wins.” I put my blindfold on and do some mouth exercises to loosen up my jaw.
“What do they win?” Hmmm, I hadn’t thought it all out but we’ll stay simple and go for a crowd pleaser.
“Free drinks for two days.” I’m not going longer because some of these assholes could bankrupt us with their drinking habits.
“What if they don’t drink?” I pause, pull my blindfold down over one eye, and narrow it at Bash.
“Name one fucking person in this club who doesn’t drink.”
“Mac, Athena, Sabrina, and Vanessa drink very little. Bear sips one beer all fucking night long. And by all night, I do mean for a couple of hours since they’re outta here by eight p.m.”
I roll my eyes and point behind me to the sex train.
“Are any of them presenting their dicks and pussies?” Raising a brow and cocking my head to the side, I make sure to sound as condescending as possible.
“No.”
“Well then, problem solved.” My dick is almost soft after all of this talking. “Thirty seconds, not one over.” I raise my blindfold back over my eye and turn, ready to jump on the pleasure train. Behind me, everyone has gone back to whatever it is they were doing.
Some are talking, others laughing. Drinks are being served up, glasses slamming on the wooden bar after shots are taken. The club door opens then closes, voices greeting whichever brother has just come inside. I fucking love this life.
The sounds and the smells—all leather and sex and alcohol and weed—are familiar and feel like a warm blanket around my shoulders.