Page 31 of The Games We Play

I shake my head and scoff. “I am most definitelynotfucking Iris.”

I’m pissed he asked the question that way. Because while I’m not sure what Iris and I are beyond a clusterfuck waiting to happen, I hate the idea that all we could be is boiled down to a four-letter expletive. But it gave me the opportunity to answer truthfully. I don’t want to lie to my prez, but I will if I have to.

King holds my gaze for a minute, scanning for any hint of deceit, but he isn’t going to find any, because I didn’t lie.

I haven’t fucked Iris.

Yet.

Shit. No, maybe not ever. Who the fuck knows.

I clearly need a long ride. Like a couple of days.

“I’m gonna ride on after we’re done tonight. Clear my head.”

King nods. “Sounds like a good idea. Don’t go so far you can’t get back if I need you. And be back within a week.”

An hour later, King, Saint, a prospect called Kieran, and I are on the road; two hours after that, we’re parked up in Bethlehem leaving Kieran with our bikes.

Thankful for the cool October weather, I tug my hair up underneath my beanie.

We’re south of the Lehigh River, on the boundary of Fountain Hill and Sayre Park, where the properties have a little more land. The neighborhood looks nice enough.

“Which one is the truck registered to?” I whisper

“Number forty-eight.” King tips his chin up the hill. In the dark, it’s hard to see too far ahead. Leaving the bikes was a good idea. It’s so fucking quiet here that I hear the occasional drone of a TV playing as I walk by the houses.

When we finally find the truck, the house appears empty. Lights are off, no TV or anything playing inside. Saint and King creep around back while I get busy placing the tracking device in the wheel arch, just above the rim—the second one I placed tonight. Once I’m confident it’s secured, I head around back.

King shakes his head. “Nothing to see, but no way in. The house is almost too secure for a neighborhood like this.”

He points to the back door. It has a reinforced wrought iron gate locked across it. And there are bars on the lower windows.

Not usually the sign of a friendly homeowner.

I hoped to be able to break in.

Saint walks across the lawn from an outbuilding. “Nothing,” he says.

“We should get out of here,” King says.

I consider bailing on my plans. I think about driving back to Asbury Park to see Iris, but I need to prove to myself I’m cool not being around her, because I don’t want to have to choose between her and my club. I take one look at my bike and know I need to head out.

King notices. “Ride well, brother.”

I nod, climb on my bike, and tear away.

I head north. It’s already late. After midnight. Around four in the morning, when my eyes are starting to burn with the effort of staying awake, I find a motel and grab a room on the ground floor where I can lock my bike up just beneath the window of my room.

I’m too tired to do much beyond strip and fall into bed.

But even as I close my eyes. I think of Iris.

I think of that pretty dress with the deep V she wore to have breakfast with her friend, the way the hem skimmed her thighs and showed off the narrowest part of her waist. I never realized I have a kink for dominating someone so much smaller than me, but it’s all I can think about. How narrow her waist will feel in my hands and how her breasts won’t fill my palms. I wonder how tight her pussy will be around my dick.

Within minutes, I’m hard.

I know I won’t sleep comfortably until I take care of it. After sliding my hand beneath the covers, I grip my dick and close my eyes. I start to think about Iris naked, but I keep losing the image. Instead of the sexy visual of her crawling up my torso, sitting up, and lowering herself onto my dick, the image shifts.