23. Sharing Isn’t Caring #2
“That new brother can’t keep his eyes off her.
” Clutching my glass, I take a gulp, finally starting to feel the effects warming my veins and loosening the tension in my neck.
Wheels is sitting on a table opposite where Kitty’s playing blackjack with Green, Monster, and Rogue, trying not to stare at her and failing.
“I haven’t seen her without a wig in a long time,” she muses, trying to get a rise out of me.
“You sure it’s not you who’s obsessed with her?”
“Speaking of obsessed…” She rolls her eyes, tracking Callan’s entry and path directly to Rogue. Wrapping a hand around her throat, he tips her head back and kisses her from behind. Within seconds, she’s twisting out of her seat and climbing him. “Must be nice to be wanted,” she muses.
When Callan puts Rogue down for air, he nods toward the bar, and she sits back in her seat. Making a beeline for me, his gaze darts to Claire, and a crease slices across his forehead.
“Everything okay?” he asks, taking my drink and finishing it.
“We were just saying the new brother seems smitten with our Kitty cat,” Claire pipes up, swinging her leg and smirking at me. Fucking bitch .
“No, we weren’t,” I growl, burning a hole into the side of her head, willing it to explode.
Callan scans the room, his attention landing on Wheels. “Why the fuck is he glaring at you?”
Turning my head, I squint through blurry eyes. Sure enough, the fucker shifted his focus from Kit to me.
Cackling like a witch, Claire slips off the stool and pats a hand on Callan’s chest. “Why don’t you ask your best friend or sister?” Callan’s eyes drop to where her hand is, and she flinches. Snatching her arm back, she saunters out of the room like she didn’t just detonate a huge fucking bomb.
Taking a moment to gather his thoughts, Callan sweeps the bottle of whisky and guzzles it back, wiping his mouth across his forearm. “Are you going to wait for me to ask?”
“She’s drunk and being a cunt.” I pull out my money clip and reel off a few bills, dropping them on the bar for Jess.
“What did she mean about Kit?”
“Nothing.”
“Cutter, is there something I need to know about Kit?”
My heart pounds heavily in my chest.
Tell him.
Say it.
Tell him you love her.
Say it, you pussy.
“Claire’s just jealous. I mentioned Kit looks good with her new hair and that Wheels might have a little crush.”
“Kit seems better, right?” He nods, looking over at her. “Like herself again.”
“Yeah, sure.” I have to look away. It hurts to be here right now.
“Does she like Wheels back?” he asks, and I almost choke on my own tongue.
“Would it matter? He’s a brother.”
“I know.” He thins his lips, giving me his attention. “You better have a word with Claire. Bitches can get real fucking nasty when they’re jealous.”
“I’ll set her straight.” I snatch the bottle from his grasp and stumble out of the bar to my room, the halls seeming to stretch on for miles.
The paintings Diamond keeps adding to the walls bleed their color, the faces of rockstars mocking me.
Shoving into my room, I find Claire standing at the end of my bed.
“Explain your game to me,” I bark, fighting the urge to throttle her.
Furrowing her brow, she sticks out her bottom lip. “What do you mean?”
“I mean that shit out there with Callan.” My head feels like I’m at sea about to walk the plank.
Shrugging her shoulder, she kicks off her high heels and plonks down on my bed. “What did I say?”
“What the fuck has gotten into you?” She’s been acting weird, extra jealous, reckless.
“Not you.” She guffaws, then stands and pulls down her skirt. “We can change that if you want.”
Hooking her thumbs into her panties, she pushes them down her legs and bites her lip, watching me for a reaction.
It’s not the first time she’s tried to make things between us something more, but she’s never been this needy about it.
It’s the first time I’ve seen her pussy.
This stripping to get a reaction out of me is new.
Roaming her body in a quick assessment, I snort.
There’s a slim black strip of pubic hair running down to the lips and a tattoo of boxing gloves on the mound.
Pointing to the ink, I raise a brow. Pres was a boxer when he was young. Still has a killer right hook.
“I can be devoted.” She reaches behind her and loosens the straps of her top, letting it drop to the floor at her feet. Round fake tits sit too high on her chest.
“It’s getting desperate, Claire.”
Sauntering toward me, she shoves at my chest until my back hits the door. “Why do you fight it so hard? You might like it.”
I have no doubt she’s a good fuck, but I’ve never been interested—and seeing her get railed by a man who is not only my pres but a father figure hasn’t helped.
Palming my cock through my jeans, she kisses a path up my neck, and I turn my head before she can reach my face. “I’ll make you feel so good. You won’t even remember your own name, let alone hers. ” It’s a whispered promise.
My cock begins to harden from the friction.
If I have to let Kitty move on, maybe I should too.
It’s not like I can divorce Claire. I’m stuck with her.
Dropping to her knees, she unzips my fly, and despite part of me trying to convince myself to let this happen, my brain screams that it’s a bad idea.
Urgent hands yank down my jeans to just below my ass cheeks. My dick springs free. Her petite hand closes around my length. “You’re fucking huge,” she moans, and I hate the sound of it.
“Don’t fucking talk. Just suck it.” Wide, ecstatic eyes dance up at me like she won a prize.
Her lips close around the head, slurping like she’s trying to get ice up a straw.
Kitty’s image burns in my mind. My head hits the wood panel behind me, and I grip a handful of her hair, pushing her down on my shaft.
Teeth scrape up my cock, her head bobbing like there’s a spring in her neck.
Kitty’s smile, laughter, lips, tongue, her hot, wet pussy—a warm ache seeps into my spine and pulses through my cock.
I’m going to cum. Tugging Claire’s head back, she releases me with a popping sound.
I grip my cock and aim it down at her tits.
White ribbons of cum spurt out, covering her chest, dripping off her peaked nipples.
When the wave subsides, my teeth grit. She’s not fucking Kitty.
Disgust settles in my gut and anger pounds in my head.
When I don’t move or say anything, Claire licks her lips and pushes a hand up my stomach. “What are you thinking?” she purrs, trying to be seductive.
On a heavy exhale, I push her hand away and tug my jeans up. Gripping the door handle, I open it. “I’m thinking I still remember my name.”
And I sure as shit remember Kitty’s.