We’re three strong as fuck dominant males. We might be able to provide her with protection, but all the other stuff-Examples of submissive males, older mothers who can help her with her pups, submissive and dominant females she can learn from… Yeah, we can’t compete with that.
My chest is so tight I can’t breathe as I tear through the marsh. I’ve got to get Luna out of my system in the only way I know how-get hammered and hammer some pussy.
It takes me nearly forty minutes to get back home, and when I do, Callan and Warrick are nowhere to be found. I take a quick shower, dress in cleanish Levis and a Henley, and head out to hop on my fully restored Harley motorcycle, circa the mid-2020s. She’s a forty-year-old beast of a ride with high-performance capabilities and the loudest, most powerful
engine this city has ever seen. If she were any faster, she could parasail across the swamp.
The sky’s so dark it blots out the moon and every star. It’s going to be a whale of a storm whenever it hits. The wind howls as I power along the driveway, but it matches my angry mood. Once I hit the paved road, I speed along at about one-twenty. Cars and trucks move out of my way as if they can feel my rage.
Other supernaturals in the area hole up at Gideon’s Bar when it floods, but my mood’s a little rough for that crowd. Instead, I head to the Demon’s Eye, a favorite biker bar my brothers and I frequent. I park my bike, swing my leg off the frame, and stride inside.
The bar’s dark and dingy, just the way I like it. As I storm across the concrete floor, every patron lifts their head to look at me, no doubt feeling the energy I leave in my wake as I pass their tables or booths. The bartender, a swarthy panther shifter named Dagger, looks up when I stalk toward the steel and carbon bar-top at the back of the pub.
“Y’look like ya need somethin’ stiff and strong,” he says, grinning with a feral glint in his eyes. Like most of the panthers, he’s a First Nations cat. He’s got shoulder length black hair tied back with a bandana, and like most people in this bar, he’s got scars and tats and missing teeth to show for the crowd he prefers.
“The stiffer, the better,” I growl, planting my ass on the bar stool.
“I got jus’ whatcha need. How ’bout an Irish Car Bomb? Part Guinness, part whiskey, part Irish-cream-all ready to fuck you up.” The gold grill in his mouth glints in the dim light.
“Make it a double, and you’ve got yourself a deal.” I swivel in my seat, eyeing the bar for a fuckable woman. Guilt swells inside me, like I’m cheating on Luna, which is fucking pathetic, since she didn’t even choose me when she was with us. Axel is right-we’re not equipped to give her a full life. All I’m equipped to do is fuck a woman good and hard, give her a few orgasms to write home about, and send her packing. I shove the thought of Luna roughly away and spy a couple of hotties watching me in return. They look like the kind of women who need nothing more than what I can give-a good, deep dicking.
Dagger slides the glass of dark chocolate-colored liquid in my direction, and I start to lift it to my mouth.
“Not s’ fast,” Dagger says, reaching for a shot glass filled with a creamy mocha substance. “Wait for the good stuff. Gotta to chug the whole thing before the cream curdles.” He chuckles, making the scars on his face and neck dance as he drops the entire shot glass into the Guinness.
“To better times,” I say, hefting the mug.
“Better times,” he says with a nod, planting his palms on the bar top.
I tip back my head and drain the drink, pushing away the shot glass with my tongue. Then I slam the mug back on the counter. “Hit me up with another.”
“Y’got it.” Dagger turns and gets busy with my second drink.
The first was only a warm-up…I plan on getting so wasted tonight that all thoughts of Luna are drowned.
Half a dozen Car Bombs later, my mind is starting to fuzz out when a warm hand slides across my back. My first thought is, Luna!
When I pivot, there’s one of the hotties from across the bar. Even three sheets to the wind, I can tell she’s not as pretty as she looked from across the room. Looks won’t get me what I crave, though-a good lay who can squeeze Luna right out of my mind.
“Help you?” I growl.
“Is that your best line?” she asks with a teasing smile. “I don’t need a fucking line.”
“Well, then it’s your lucky day, because you can help me, in fact,” she says, swaying on her feet. “You can help me quench this fire.” She runs her palm across her body. She’s wearing a skin-tight, see-through t-shirt that shows off her black bra.
“Good, then let’s go.” I slide from the bar stool, grab her hand, and drag her toward the exit.
“No foreplay?” she teases.
“We both know we want to fuck. Let’s skip the formalities.”
She shrugs and grins at her friend. Her friend should be concerned that she’s going off with a man like me, but then, what do I know? She probably does this as much as I do. I haul the woman out the back door into the alley. It stinks of piss and garbage, but I’ve dropped my share of used condoms in the swill back here.
When we’re deep into the shadows, I push her against the bricks and savage her mouth with mine. She tastes like cigarettes and beer, but she’s willing and responsive. My dick, however, seems to have a mind of its own -it’s not rising to the opportunity.
She grinds her hips against me, and I know she can feel the disappointing show happening in my jeans. Like the whore she is, she drops to a crouch, unzips my fly, and takes my limp dick into her mouth. This’ll work-blow jobs always get me off. I can fingerfuck her to make her happy afterwards.
But, no, her mouth and her tongue aren’t working, either. I can get it up, but just barely, and I’m nowhere near finishing even after fifteen minutes of her best work. I keep picturing Luna and losing my concentration. I want her mouth on me. I want to touch her, to taste her, to hold her. Hell, I want to be with her, near her, even if I never get to fuck her.
Just sitting beside her on the porch swing at night, shooting the shit with a few beers, is better than a blowjob from a stranger.
What the fuck is happening to me?
I grab the woman’s head and ease her away from me. “Sorry, babe, it ain’t happening tonight.”
I turn and stomp off down the alley, ghosting the woman who thought she’d scored tonight.
“Hey,” she yells. “Limp dick asshole!”
I groan and throw my leg over my bike. If I can’t even have a meaningless lay to satisfy my needs, I’m well and truly fucked.