Chapter 17 #2
“Yeah, well, I don’t think they’re particularly fond of me working here,” I tell her, nodding toward the redhead who has been glaring at me since she entered the building. “Apparently, that one there doesn’t like having to get her drinks from me.”
Della laughs. “From what I know, the club has never had a full-time bartender here before, and Shadow tells me you’re also doing some light cleaning—that’s usually things they do.
They’re probably threatened by you . . .
” Her voice trails as the chapel doors swing open and Lucifer and Shadow come into view.
As soon as her eyes lock with her husband’s, she slides off the stool.
Her gaze comes back to me, and she smiles. “I’ll see you around, yeah?”
I nod, and a moment later she’s in Shadow’s arms. They disappear down the hallway, and once they’re out of view, I look back toward the chapel doors.
Lucifer no longer stands in the doorway.
My eyes scan the room, and I find him pulling up a stool at the end of the bar.
His dark eyes are pinned to me, and once he’s seated, he crooks a finger, motioning for me to come to him.
I grab the bottle of bourbon he prefers, pour two fingers into a glass, and carry it down to him. I set it on the bar in front of him, and his eyes track my hand as I pull away.
“Thank you.” His voice is low, barely audible over the music. “What time did you get in?”
“About an hour ago. You were already in the chapel with Shadow.”
He traces his thumb around the rim of the glass. “Sorry I couldn’t pick you up.”
“It’s fine.” I tip my chin across the bar to where Homeboy is in a deep conversation with Dread. “Homeboy gave me a lift.”
Lucifer grunts at that, then tips his head back, knocking back his bourbon in one gulp. When he sets it down, his eyes look somewhat darker than usual. “He better have been fucking respectful.”
I roll my eyes. “Homeboy is harmless.”
He studies me for a moment, and I feel his gaze travel down my body.
For the most part, I’ve been showing up to work in tanks and loose-fitting pants.
While my grafts are mostly healed, sometimes the friction irritates them.
But tonight, knowing it was a party, I opted for something different.
A black maxi skirt and a fitted tank top.
Nothing scandalous, or anywhere near as revealing as the clothes I wore when I worked at Rodeo Roundup
“I like when you wear skirts,” he says, sliding his empty glass toward me. “I shouldn’t, but I do.”
“Oh, yeah, why is that?”
“Because anytime you do, I imagine pushing it up around your waist.”
My breath catches, and heat spreads across my chest and up my neck.
Such a fucking tease.
I swallow hard and take his glass. “I’ll get you a refill.”
“Jess.”
I pause, my hand still wrapped around the empty tumbler.
“Don’t forget the ice this time.”
I glare at him from over my shoulder, and the corner of his mouth tilts up.
He’s fucking with me, so I give him the finger and turn back to the bar.
I have a mind to lick the ice before I drop it in his glass, but I refrain.
The man already has me clenching my thighs—no need to set him off more, all so he can ultimately leave me hanging.
It’s not like I can go relieve myself in his room again. There are too many people here.
“Anything else?” I taunt.
He rolls his lips between his teeth, fighting a smirk. “I think I’m good for now.”
Dread drops onto the stool beside him. “Well, well, aren’t you two cozy over here?”
Lucifer grunts in response, which only makes Dread laugh, and in return, I smile.
Dread is my favorite of all the brothers.
Tori wouldn’t agree, of course, but there’s something about him.
I think it’s the fact that while everyone else seems to tiptoe around Lucifer, he’s the only one who isn’t afraid to call him on his shit.
The man also loves fucking with him, which I can appreciate.
“Can I get a beer, Jess?”
“Anything for you,” I tease, tacking on a wink just to annoy Lucifer.
I grab a bottle from the cooler, twist the cap, and slide it across to him. Then I top off Lucifer’s glass one more time before retreating to the other end of the bar where Homeboy is waving me down.
“How about a shot?” Homeboy says, leaning against the bar with that easy, lopsided grin. “Tequila. You and me.”
Laughing, I grab the bottle and a fresh glass, pouring him a shot. He watches me the entire time, his eyes warm and friendly in a way that’s completely uncomplicated.
“You know, for someone who works behind a bar, you’re not much of a drinker,” he says, picking up the shot.
“I drink,” I insist.
“Not with me you don’t.” He tilts his head. “Come on. One shot. It’s a party.”
I hesitate, then grab a second glass and pour myself one. “Fine. One.”
We clink glasses and throw them back. The tequila burns down my throat, and I set the glass down with a small grimace.
Homeboy laughs. “See? That wasn’t so bad.”
I’m about to respond when movement near the end of the bar catches my eye.
The redhead who has been glaring at me since she arrived slips up behind Lucifer.
My stomach drops as she winds her arms around his neck from behind, pressing her bare tits against his back.
She says something into his ear, and he glances over his shoulder at her.
Lucifer glances over his shoulder at her, and something in his expression tells me they know each other intimately.
Perhaps it’s the way she touches him so confidently that makes my stomach twist. It’s almost as if she’s telling the whole world, she’s fucked him—she’s fucked my husband, and she knows just what he likes.
The thought makes something ugly coil in my chest.
I watch as Lucifer says something to her, his voice too low for me to catch, and then—slowly, deliberately—he reaches up and peels her hands off his shoulders.
She pouts, but before she can protest, Dread leans in and says something that makes her smile.
She slips away from Lucifer and moves onto Dread’s lap, running her fingers through his dark hair.
My eyes drift back to Lucifer, and I find him already watching me.
His gaze is unreadable, and it pins me in place for a beat too long.
I finally turn back to the bar and start wiping down the counter again, but I can feel Lucifer’s stare burning into the side of my face.
I refuse to look at him. If he wants to sit there and watch me while some redhead with fake tits drapes herself all over him, he can stew in whatever guilt or amusement he’s feeling.
I’m not going to give him the satisfaction of catching my eye again.
Instead, I let my gaze wander across the clubhouse, scanning the bodies packed into every corner until I land on Nightmare and go completely still.
He’s got a blonde saddle bunny bent over the arm of one of the leather couches near the far wall, her stilettos barely touching the floor, her thong shoved to the side.
His hand is fisted in her hair, and his hips are moving in a slow, deliberate rhythm that leaves absolutely nothing to the imagination.
Her mouth is open, her eyes half-closed, and she’s making noises that somehow cut through the music even from across the room.
I freeze, the rag still pressed against the counter.
The room is loud enough that most people aren’t paying attention, but I am. I’m paying attention to every detail—the way her skin flushes pink, the way her thighs tremble, the way Nightmare’s shoulders flex as he works her closer to whatever edge he’s pushing her toward.
Suddenly, warmth presses against my back. Hard, solid, and unmistakable.
I snap out of the trance, my breath stuttering as Lucifer braces his arms on either side of me, caging me between the bar and the wall of his chest. His front pressing flush against my back, and I can feel the heat radiating off him.
I turn my head, and my eyes find Nightmare again—still on the couch, still between her legs, still making her moan like the world is ending.
“You like watching them.”
His voice is right next to my ear, low and rough, and it’s not a question. He moves one hand from the bar and smooths his palm over my hip, bunching the fabric of my skirt in his fist. His fingers press into the curve of my waist, and I feel every point of contact like a brand.
“Lucifer—”
“You’re turned on.” His hand slides lower, his knuckles brushing the top of my ass, and I suck in a sharp breath. Again, it’s not a question, yet I still feel compelled to respond.
“Yes.”
“Come with me.”
His voice leaves no room for argument. His hand finds mine, fingers threading through my own, and he pulls me away from the bar. My feet move before my brain catches up. Everyone is too lost in their own debauchery to pay attention to the bartender being led across the floor by the club president.
We reach the chapel doors. Lucifer pushes one open, guides me through, and the heavy wood swings shut behind us. I blink, adjusting to the dimmer light, and my gaze sweeps around the room, landing on the massive oak table at the center, surrounded by a ring of leather chairs.
I turn back to Lucifer. “What are we doing in here?”
He crosses the room to the far wall, where a large panel of glass stretches along the entire width. He raps his knuckles against it twice, the sound echoing in the quiet space.
“One-way glass,” he says, turning back to me. “They can’t see us. But we can see everything happening out there.”
I glance through the window, taking in all the moving bodies.
“Get on top of the table.”
My heart slams against my ribs. “What?”
“You heard me.” There’s a rawness to his voice. “On the table, Jess. Now.”
I don’t know why I obey. Maybe it’s the shot I took with Homeboy, or maybe it’s the weeks of being teased and edged and left wanting until I’m half out of my mind. Either way, I grip the edge of the oak and hoist myself up.
“Push your skirt up.”