Page 9 of Wild Night (Vicious Reapers MC #2)

CHAPTER EIGHT

POSEY

After our walk, Ivy and I climb back on his bike and ride to the clubhouse.

I’m not sure why, but I feel very melancholy.

I don’t know if it’s because Dakota has left for her honeymoon, or if it’s because this situation with Ivy feels a little off, or if it’s because of the looming threat of Lucian.

Whatever the case, I don’t like the feel of it at all.

As the bike comes to a stop in front of the clubhouse, right next to my car, I think about climbing inside and leaving.

I have no idea where I would go or what I would do.

Plus, I made a promise to Dakota, and she’s had enough of life’s shit handed to her over the years. I don’t need to add to that.

A few moments after our arrival, we’re off the bike and walking into the clubhouse. There is hard rock playing, pool balls cracking against one another, the scent of smoke and booze filling the air, and naked women.

Lots of naked women.

Well, by lots, I count four.

That’s a lot to me, considering I wasn’t expecting to see any. As I scan the room, I not only see their nakedness, but a couple of them are having sex right there out in the open. Holy shit, this was not something I expected.

“Welcome to the club, princess,” Ivy says with a chuckle.

I don’t look away from the action. I can’t. There is too much going on here, and I can’t seem to do anything other than stare. I’m not sure what kind of world I’ve stepped into, but now I’m questioning everything.

Ivy seems to think this is funny. Whether he’s laughing at what’s happening or my reaction to it, I’m not sure. And honestly, it doesn’t even matter. I am in a state of surprise, of shock, of awe.

I’ve never seen anything like this in my life. I don’t consider myself a prude, or I didn’t until this moment. Granted, I don’t care that these people are doing their own things. It doesn’t bother me that sex is so free, but at the same time… it could not be me.

I know without a doubt that it could not, and now I have to wonder if this is what Ivy wants. Because if it is, I can just slip into the bedroom, lock the door, grab my shit, go to the motel in town, and wait for Dakota to come back.

“C’mon, babe,” Ivy murmurs, grasping my hand with his.

He moves toward the hallway, and I happily follow behind him. I’m not sure what to say or think about all the things I just witnessed. I couldn’t even look at any of the guys’ faces. I don’t know who was doing what to whom. All I know is that I saw a lot of body parts in just a few minutes.

Once we’re inside the bedroom, which I assume is my bedroom for the time being, Ivy closes the door behind him, and I hear the dead bolt lock into place.

Turning around to face him, I open my mouth to say something, although I’m not even sure what.

Thankfully, Ivy speaks first, and I snap my lips closed.

“That is the life here, princess,” he begins.

I don’t respond, mainly because I’m not sure how to react to that. So, instead of saying anything, I continue to watch him, waiting to hear what he’s going to say next.

“That doesn’t mean you have to do any of it. Those girls do it because it’s their job.”

His words fill me with nothing more than confusion. I don’t understand fully what’s being said here. So I ask, knowing that if I don’t get clarification, it could mean I’m complicit in something and putting myself in hot water.

Honestly, I’ve been in enough trouble as it is.

I do not need any extra coming my way. I’m rethinking my living situation right about now.

The motel is seeming like the right choice, even if I’m probably a hell of a lot safer from the outside world right here.

What I’m not safe from are the inner workings of this club.

“Job?” I ask.

“A job,” he confirms. “They give their bodies, and the club takes care of them in exchange.”

Give their bodies.

“So they’re prostitutes.”

He shrugs, and honest to freaking God, I cannot believe that he’s so nonchalant about this. He’s an attorney. How could he be okay with this? But he continues speaking, and I find myself wondering if maybe I’m the weird one.

The odd woman out because by the time he’s finished, he’s made it make so much sense that I’m questioning everything.

“They can leave any time they want. Nobody is making them stay here. They know that for parties, they need to be ready and down for whatever. But if, for whatever reason, they don’t want to fuck someone, they can turn it down.

They usually don’t. It’s mutually beneficial, and they know they are safe with us. ”

Safe.

I need that, but I’m not sure I could do the hooker thing to be that way. Although desperate times, I guess…

IVY

I can see the wheels turning inside of her head, and I want to ensure her that she will not be a clubwhore… like fucking ever, but I don’t. Something holds me back. I’m not sure what, but it does.

She doesn’t ask me if we want her to be one. The answer would be and will always be absolutely fucking not. Even if she’s not officially claimed, she’s still mine, and mine she will stay.

Posey could marry someone else, have his babies, and do whatever the fuck, but as far as this club is concerned, she’s mine, and nobody else can even look at her sideways, especially goddamn Viking.

“Any other burning questions?” I ask.

Her eyes widen, and she shakes her head once. My lips twitch into a smirk. Good. Fucking great. Because I’m ready to eat her before I fuck her. In that order… well, maybe throwing in a blow job for me in the mix.

I would never turn down a blow job, not fucking ever.

“I’m never going to understand it, am I?”

My lips twitch into a smirk. “Understand it? Yeah, maybe one day. Like it? Never.”

She’s never going to like it. No good woman would, but it’s the way of the club. It’s the way of the life, and it’s something that is never going to change. Even though this relationship is fake as fuck, she’s going to have to accept it or… or nothing. There is no choice.

Posey wrinkles her nose, then she takes a single step toward me, then another, stopping when she’s so close that I can smell her. Dipping my chin, I shift my face closer to hers. I curve my fingers around her hips, gripping her as I pull her body against mine.

She falls against me, her hands lifting between us and landing on my chest as her head tips back and her eyes find mine. “You aren’t one of them. You never will be,” I say.

As much as I am lying to her about other things, tricking her, or whatever the fuck you want to call it, this is something I am telling the truth about. She will never be a clubwhore. Never.

“You’re Dakota’s sister. Unless it’s something you want, it’s not anything that will ever be offered.”

“I don’t think I would want that,” she whispers.

I hum, touching my lips to hers, but I don’t deepen the kiss, at least not yet. I’m trying my damnedest to make this less about screwing and more about building a relationship combined with sex because, believe me, there will be fucking—a lot of it.

“You better not fucking want that, princess.”

Slipping my tongue between her lips, I taste her.

My tongue swirls around inside of her warmth before I break the kiss.

My mouth trails down the side of her throat, my teeth scraping her soft flesh as I move down her neck and stop at the top of her breasts.

Her hands fly to my biceps, and her fingers flex against my arms.

Lifting my head, I move so that I can look into her eyes. Her hands move, sliding the cut from my shoulders. I don’t let it fall to the floor, though.

Instead, once it’s off, I hang it on the hook that I know is next to the door. There is a hook beside every single door for this purpose alone. I don’t even have to look behind me. I know exactly where it is.

Once my cut is hanging, I shift both my attention and focus back to her. She is watching me, her head tipped to the side, and just when I think she’s about to ask me something, she grasps the hem of my shirt and gently peels it over my head. That, I let fall to the floor.

I don’t jump on her or pick her up and take her to the bed, no matter how badly I want to do just that. Instead, I watch her for a moment.

Content to take her in.

Slowly, tentatively, she lifts her hand and extends her index finger as she gently traces my tattoos, my nipple piercing, then my tattoos again. Sinking my teeth into my bottom lip, I ball my fingers into fists at my sides, wanting nothing more than to touch every square inch of her.

“Looking at you like this, I would never guess you’re an attorney,” she says in a whisper.

I chuckle, releasing my fingers and relaxing them before I cup her cheek, sliding my thumb along her bottom lip as my eyes search hers.

I’ve never been someone who could just sit and do nothing.

I’m busy. I always have been. Never content to do nothing, I’ve been busy since the moment I could be busy.

But I could stand here for a lifetime and just look at her.

Unmoving.

Unbreathing.