Callum (Wild Wolves MC #2)

1. Ash

ASH

Warm, strong hands slide up my thighs, and I lean back on my hands, giving him room. The soft, breathy laugh that follows goes straight to my groin and my cock throbs, my jeans uncomfortably tight now.

“So ready for me,” he whispers, then rubs his thumb over my obvious bulge.

“Fuck.” I let my head fall back, a groan escaping as he ever so slowly reaches for the button on my jeans.

It’s the sweetest torture as he takes his time, anticipation building with every drawn-out second.

I know it’ll be worth it, know the pleasure that’s headed my way if I let him take the lead like he wants to.

Fucking finally, he slides the zip down and wraps his long fingers around my length, his palm surprisingly smooth as he slides his hand up and down at a pace that has my hips rising off the bed, desperate for more.

“Yeah,” I murmur as he finds lube from somewhere. My jeans and underwear have disappeared, making everything suddenly ten times better. I push into his hand, biting my lip to keep from crying out, because I know we have to be quiet.

Warm breath tickles the side of my neck, blunt teeth scrape over sensitive skin, and a shiver rocks through me. He seems to know exactly where to kiss me, how to touch me to get me off, and when he slides his other hand back behind my balls, it’s about to be all over.

The second his fingers press against my hole, I’m done. My back arches, come shooting across my belly as he strokes me through one of the best orgasms I’ve ever had.

My eyes snap open, the bedroom ceiling the first thing I see as reality comes crashing in, quickly followed by embarrassment and the realisation that it’s happened again.

Fucking hell.

I’ve had that dream at least three times in the last week. Ever since I went out to the compound to see Morgan. It’s not always exactly the same, and even though I never see his face, I know it’s the same person who gets me off. The same hands that take me apart all too easily.

Callum Holt.

Wild Wolves vice president and now apparent star of my filthy dreams. I mean, I’ve always thought he was hot—all of the Wild Wolves inner circle are—but I’ve never dreamt about him before this week.

Not like that, anyway.

But then, I’d never really seen him up close and personal like I did last week. I didn’t even speak to him, for fuck’s sake, but being in their environment, their home, felt different somehow.

Not that I want him or anything like that.

I’m not Morgan.

The bad-biker-boy vibe isn’t my thing in reality.

But that close proximity somehow translated into me having some of the hottest sex ever, and I’m not even awake for it.

I don’t need to look down to know that I came for real because I can feel it cooling on my stomach.

My hand is still wrapped around my cock, for fuck’s sake.

But even as my cheeks flame at having a wet dream in my twenties, I can’t resist giving myself another couple of strokes because it was good, and I’m still hard.

That changes abruptly when my phone rings, my mum’s picture flashing on the screen. At least she didn’t come round. I moved into their converted double garage when my nan came to stay; it wouldn’t be the first time she’s popped round and surprised me.

I pull the covers over my lap, sit up a bit and answer the call.

“Hey.” I do a quick scan of my face in the small window, satisfied I don’t look like I just came.

“Morning, Honey.” She squints. “Did I wake you? You still look half asleep.”

“Nope,” I lie. “I was just about to get up.”

“Oh, good. Well, we’re taking Mum to the hospital to see the specialist. Probably be gone a few hours.”

“Okay. Let me know how it goes.”

“Will do. You here for tea later?”

I hesitate. “Maybe. I’m headed out to see Morgan again this morning. Might be late though, so don’t wait for me.”

I can almost see her train of thought as I remind her where he lives now. That was a fun conversation. I don’t exactly understand it myself, so it wasn’t easy trying to convince my parents that Morgan joining a motorcycle gang wasn’t cause for concern.

“Give him our love.”

“I will.”

I wait for it, knowing it’s coming.

“And please let him know that he’ll always have a home here if he wants it.”

I smile despite the gravity of the situation. “Thanks, Mum, I will.”

We say our goodbyes, and I listen to them all leave, the slam of the front door audible even in here.

My post-orgasm bliss totally gone now, I need to get up and have a shower. I make it as far as throwing the covers back when a message pops up on my phone.

Morgan: Still coming today?

I sit and stare at it instead of instantly replying like I normally would.

I’m not mad at him anymore. I’m not. Despite being hurt and angry that he’d lied to me for all those weeks when I thought he was off ‘finding himself,’ yet he was apparently just down the road at the Wild Wolves compound the whole fucking time.

Okay, fine. Maybe I’m still a little bitter about that, but I love him like a brother, and I accepted his explanation.

And forgave him.

There’s just . . . there’s still something off between us, something he’s keeping from me, and I hate the fact we have secrets now.

I run a hand through my hair, annoyed with myself, because Morgan openly admitted he hadn’t told me everything.

He promised he would though, and soon. I just have to be patient.

But I can’t help but feel like that day isn’t going to be today, and the longer it hangs between us, the more I worry that it might be something we can’t come back from.

Fuck’s sake, Ash. I roll my eyes because it’s not like he’s killed someone.

I hope.

Who knows what he had to do to get accepted into a motorcycle gang.

All things I should’ve asked when I saw him, but I was just so fucking pleased to see him, then angry at him for lying, and the emotional whiplash caught me off guard. Only when I got back home did I think of all the questions I should’ve asked him.

And doing it over text doesn’t feel right.

I need to see his face in person.

To make sure he’s telling the truth.

And that’s a thought I never expected to have about my best friend.

Ever.

I hate even having it now, but he lied to me. And not a small white one, but a big fucking monster of a lie. Something he’s never ever done before, and I guess I’m not over it.

But I won’t get any answers lying here either.

With a trepidation I’m not used to feeling about seeing Morgan, I get out of bed and head for the shower.

Hopefully, washing away the evidence will take my mind off Callum Holt as well. Fuck knows the last thing I need is to let him know I have any interest in him.

Because I don’t.

Not when I’m awake.

That path leads to embarrassment and humiliation, and I’m not a big fan of either.