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TWELVE

BOZO

I slant my lips down on hers, needing to taste her once more. Our mouths fuse together, and I run my hands over her body, tracing every curve and dip. God, she’s so fucking sexy.

Why the fuck haven’t we been doing this before now?

She pulls me closer, her fingers tangling in my hair. With a gentle push, I guide her toward the bed. We tumble onto the soft mattress, a tangle of limbs and heated breaths. My lips trail down her neck, savoring the taste of her skin. She arches against me with a soft gasp.

I strip her clothes off piece by piece, revealing her smooth skin inch by inch. My hands caress every curve, loving how she shivers under my touch, her eyes dark with desire. I pause to drink in the sight of her, sprawled beneath me in all her naked glory.

"You're beautiful," I murmur against her collarbone.

She pulls me down for another searing kiss, her legs wrapping around my waist. I groan as she grinds against me, the friction driving me wild. My lips move lower, trailing kisses down her chest. I take one peaked nipple into my mouth, swirling my tongue around the sensitive bud. She cries out, her back arching off the bed.

"Please," she whimpers, "I need you."

I slide a hand between her thighs, finding her slick and ready. I stroke her clit slowly, teasingly, until she's writhing beneath me. But I need more. I want to taste her before I fuck her.

“Open up for me, baby,” I growl, my voice low and rough as I lean over her. She obeys without hesitation, spreading her thighs wide. I glance down and my cock thickens at the sight of her puffy, wet pussy lips.

I trail kisses along her inner thigh, loving the way her breath catches. "Con," she whimpers.

I bury my face between her thighs, inhaling deeply and savoring the intoxicating scent of her arousal. I run my tongue along her folds, feeling her body tense and hearing a gasp escape from her lips. She arches off the bed, wrapping her legs around my shoulders as I continue to taste and tease her.

I don’t hold back; I feast on her. There will never be anything as sweet as her pussy. She’s utterly soaked. She’s writhing in pleasure, grinding her pussy against my mouth. She wants more. I spear my tongue into her pussy and she releases a strangled moan. I do it over and over again, that husky hitch of her breath making my cock thicken. Christ, she’s going to have me on the edge without even touching me.

“Please, Con,” she says hoarsely. “Please make me come.”

I swipe my finger along her folds, teasing her, and she releases a strangled groan. I bite back a curse as I push my finger into her tight, wet, warm channel. Christ, I need to fuck her. She grinds against my finger, my tongue laving at her clit. Her body is tense, and I know it’s not going to take much longer until she detonates.

“So close,” she whines. “Connor, please.”

I add another finger, loving how her pussy ripples around them. Her body writhes with pleasure, her pussy grinding against my fingers. I roll my tongue around her clit, adding a bit more pressure than before. She moans long and hard. I switch it up, my fingers playing with her clit and my mouth at her pussy. I hear her breathing deepen and feel her legs tighten around my shoulders, and she detonates, her pussy flooding my mouth. Her words come out strangled as she orgasms. I lap up her juices, loving her taste.

I get to my feet and unsnap my button, freeing my cock. It’s rock hard and in need of relief. I position myself at her entrance, and with one hand on her thigh and the other gripping my shaft, I slide into her wetness, groaning at the sensation. Her legs wrap around my waist, pulling me closer as I thrust deep into her. The sound of our moans fills the room as she spasms around me in the aftermath of her orgasm.

"Connor," she whimpers, urging me on.

My fingers dig into her soft flesh as I plunge back into her, feeling every inch of her tight walls clenching around me. She cries out at the sudden change in position, but it only spurs me on.

My thrusts are hard and fast now as I chase my own release. And she's meeting every one of them with equal force, driving us both closer to the edge. Her moans grow louder and wilder, matching my own grunts and curses.

I can feel it building inside me, that familiar tension coiling in my stomach.

“You’re gonna come for me, baby,” I snarl.

I slam into her with relentless force, my body slick with sweat as I thrust in and out of her. Every movement brings me closer to the edge, my cock throbbing with need. I can feel her walls clenching around me, and I know she's close too. Desperately, I reach down and find her clit, rubbing it hard and fast as my thrusts become more punishing. She cries out, her head falling forward, hair covering her face. Her body tenses beneath mine and I feel the telltale signs of her impending release.

“Fucking come,” I demand.

Her body tightens and her pussy contracts around my cock. The feeling of her walls suffocating my cock is more than enough to pull the cum from my balls. I thrust harder and faster, chasing my own release. When it hits, it's like a freight train crashing through me, pleasure shooting through every nerve ending. I groan and bury myself deep inside of her, filling her with my cum.

"Shit," I hiss as I collapse on top of her, both of us panting and sweating.

I roll off her, staring up at the ceiling as I breathe heavily. For a moment, we just lie here in silence, the only sound our ragged breaths slowly returning to normal. I turn my head to look at her, taking in her flushed cheeks and tousled hair. She looks incredibly beautiful.

Guilt wells up in my stomach. She’s perfect, pure, un-fucking-touchable, and I’ve just fucked her like a damn animal. What the hell is wrong with me?

"Well," she says finally, a small smile playing on her lips. "That was amazing."

"It was," I agree, knowing that it was beyond that. Gráinne has always been the person I’ve wanted but never let myself have. She deserves the best from life. She deserves to be loved and cherished. Neither are things I can give her.

“So,” she says softly. “What happens now?”

Fuck. What the hell do I do now?

“Sunshine,” I begin, turning to face her. I watch as her expression falls, and within seconds, it’s completely closed off. “We’ve got so much shit going on?—”

She nods. “I get it,” she says, her voice a hell of a lot cooler than it had been. “We’re friends. We don’t want to fuck that up.”

Fuck. Why the hell does it hurt having her say those words to me, even though it was what I wanted, what I had planned on saying?

I swallow hard, my throat suddenly dry. Fuck, how the hell have we fucked this up already? "Gráinne, I?—"

"It's fine, Connor," she cuts me off, sitting up and pulling the sheet around her body. "Really. We got caught up in the moment. It happens."

But I can see the hurt in her eyes, no matter how hard she tries to hide it. And it kills me, knowing I put that pain there. I reach out to touch her arm, but she flinches away.

"Don't," she says softly. "Please don't make this harder than it needs to be." She sits up straighter, wrapping the sheet tighter around herself. "You should go."

I feel like I've been punched in the gut. Her words hang heavy in the air between us. I should go. I know I should. It's what she wants, what would be easiest. But something keeps me rooted to the spot. She’s been my best friend since we were kids. When things got bad, she was my only constant. I can’t fucking walk away and ruin everything.

My cell begins to ring from the pocket of my jeans. Gritting my teeth, I reach for it, pulling on my jeans as I answer it. “Yeah?”

“You’re wanted back at the clubhouse,” Preacher says in a way of greeting. He doesn’t wait for me to respond; he just ends the call.

I stare at Gráinne. She’s watching me with a cold expression. She knows I have to leave. Hell, she’s practically throwing me out. But I’m a prospect, and when the Fury Vipers MC calls me, I come running, as that’s what a prospect does.

I run a hand through my hair, frustration coursing through me. "Gráinne, I have to go. Club business."

She nods, her face a mask of indifference. "Of course. The club always comes first, right?"

Her words sting, but I can't deny their truth. The club does come first. It has to. But that doesn't mean she doesn't matter to me.

"This isn't over," I say, my voice low and intense. "We need to talk about this."

She turns away, her shoulders hunched. "There's nothing to talk about, Connor. Just go."

I want to argue, to make her understand, but the clock is ticking. I can't keep the club waiting. With a growl of frustration, I finish dressing, shoving my feet into my boots.

At the door, I pause, looking back at her. She's still sitting on the bed, the sheet wrapped around her like a shield. "Gráinne," I say softly.

She looks up, and for a moment, I see the vulnerability in her eyes before she masks it. "What?"

"I'll be back," I promise. "We're not done here."

She doesn't respond, just turns her head away again. With a heavy heart, I leave, closing the door behind me. This is beyond fucked up. Everything is a fucking mess.

As I walk out of her apartment and into the frosty night, I feel like the biggest asshole in the world. I've just fucked up the best thing in my life, and for what? Because I'm too much of a coward to admit how I really feel?

I notice that my bike’s sitting out front. I must thank Jer for sorting that out for me. When he called me earlier to say that Grá was at his house and she’d just found out her dad was dead, I knew I’d find her in a bad way. Reading that letter gutted her. She may have hated him at times, but he was her dad. He was a man that she loved deeply.

I climb onto my bike, the familiar rumble of the engine doing nothing to calm the storm in my head. As I ride toward the clubhouse, I can't shake the image of Gráinne's hurt expression. I've known her my whole life, been there for her through everything, and now I've gone and fucked it all up.

The road blurs before me as I push my bike faster, trying to outrun my thoughts. Of course it’s useless. Nothing will help me escape them.

I park my bike outside of the clubhouse and head inside, steeling myself for whatever awaits. I spot Preacher at the bar and make my way over.

"What's the situation?" I ask, sliding onto a stool beside him.

He gives me a small nod, his eyes bloodshot as he brings a glass of whiskey to his lips. I don’t think I can recall a time when he was sober. The man’s always got a drink in his hands. He’s hiding a lot of pain. I don’t know what happened, but it’s fucked him up completely.

"Prez needs you to do a booze run," he says with a grin. "You and Cowboy are the lucky ones."

I grit my teeth. Fuck, it means there's going to be a party, and that means my ass is cleaning up the mess. Great. Fuck. The sooner I'm out of prospect probation and finally able to be a patched member, it will be a day to celebrate.

"Where is Cowboy?" I ask.

There are four of us prospecting at the same time. Cowboy is exactly as his name suggests. He got it due to the fact he’s got his hands in everything. The mafia, the Fury Vipers MC, drugs, guns; anything he can, he’s involved in. He’s a cowboy, hence his moniker. Then there's Tank—the man's built like one—and Hustler—not much explanation needed for that one. I've played poker against him a few times. He's a cheat and he's not allowed to play at any table that Lorcan runs. So far, I'm the only prospect without a moniker. But I know that'll come when it's time.

Two Weeks Later

I'm bartending in the club today, and I'm shocked as shit when Preacher shakes his head, not wanting the beer I push his way. Damn, the man's not drinking. Fuck, it must be a damn miracle.

It’s been two weeks since I last saw Gráinne. She’s hiding from me and I’m losing my shit. She’ll text me—hell, she’ll even answer my calls—but whenever I turn up to her apartment, she won’t open the door and pretends that she’s not home. I’m getting fucking sick of it. She’d better be ready, because once I’m finished here today, my ass is going to be at her house, and I’ll be damned if I’m going to let her ignore me once again.

"Who's the Bozo that's parked their bike against the fucking gate, meaning no one can get in?" I hear a deep, familiar voice say. I turn to see Danny Gallagher standing in the doorway, Raptor, the vice president of the Fury Vipers, beside him, along with Wrath. Danny is the son of Denis Gallagher and grandson to Henry. I’ve met Danny a few times in the past. He’s now in London as he runs the Irish mafia in the UK. "Gotta say, the club turned out a lot better than I expected. You've done a great job." His gaze moves to Preacher. "Good to see you, Preacher. Man, it's been a while. I swear I did a double take when I saw you. I thought it was Jesus Christ himself sitting there."

My lips twitch at what he’s said, but then I realize what he’s talking about and inwardly groan. Fuck, that’s my bike.

"Oh shit," I groan. "That's my bike. Sorry, Danny, I'll move it."

Danny grins. "You may want to check you've not damaged it."

I quickly check on my bike. Thankfully, it’s not damaged, but I move it to a better spot. I wasn’t thinking when I parked it there this morning as I was trying to get Gráinne to talk to me over the phone. She’s acting as though everything’s fine but I call bullshit. If everything was as hunky dory as she’s making out, why the fuck is she ignoring me whenever I come to her house?

As I get closer to the clubhouse door, I hear voices.

"Connor just got his road name, babe," Pyro says, and I can tell he’s speaking to his old lady, Chloe, who happens to be Danny’s younger sister and the daughter of Denis Gallagher.

I shake my head when I realize what my name’s going to be. Fuck. Bozo.

"That's ironic, don't you think?" Callie asks. She’s Chloe’s step-mam and she’s married to Denis Gallagher.

"Yep," Pyro says, and I can hear the amusement in his voice. "But the man's goin' to be made a club member in the next few weeks and he needs a road name."

My steps falter at his words. I’m going to be a patched member in just a few weeks? Fuck. Warmth spreads through my chest at the thought. This is what I’ve been working toward. This is what I’ve wanted.

"Do we all have to call him Bozo?" Callie asks. "Would it not be mean? Like, the guy's the smartest man in the room. Calling him a word that means stupid or significant seems a little…" she pauses, as if she's trying to find the right word.

"Love that you think that, Mrs. Gallagher," I say, stepping back inside the clubhouse. "But being called Bozo isn't mean and isn't meant in that way."

Chloe nods as she reaches for her ma's hand. "It means that he's part of the family."

Fuck yeah, I’m going to be a part of this family. It may be fucked up, but Christ, it’s the best family I’ve ever met.

I turn to Danny, who’s watching me warily. "But that doesn't mean I won't give Danny shit every time I see him for me having this road name."

Danny chuckles, as do the rest of the guys. I glance at the clock and see I've got another three hours before Grá will be home. I’m going to make sure that I’m waiting for her when she is. I’m not letting her shut me out again. Not fucking happening.

This bullshit ends today.