Which you would think would make me more jealous, but I actually think it makes me more secure. Knowing how she feels about me.

“I don’t know how I feel about it,” I tell her honestly. “I could never let another man touch you. Bridger would be the only one I’d ever trust, and that’s only because sex is just an act to him. There’s no intimacy.”

“He’s safe,” she guesses.

“Yeah… I don’t feel threatened by him.”

“Just so we’re clear though,” she says saucily. “I’m never sharing you with another woman. I will go batshit crazy if one ever touched you.”

I laugh and then pull my cock out, slamming it back in. “I can live with that.”

Her eyes flutter shut, and she grips me tight.

Fuck… that feels so good. It’s never felt this good.

“To answer your question,” I say as I pull out. I push back in slowly, relishing her tiny moan. “I can do without it though. You’re enough excitement for me. Always.”

Relief shines in her eyes, but she licks at her lips before saying. “But… um… I’d be up for us to try some kinky stuff.”

I give a husky laugh and start thrusting in and out of her again. “Of course you would.”

Epilogue

Cain

I follow Woolf out of his office.

No… correction… that would now just be Bridger’s office.

I cannot fucking believe Woolf sold out completely to Bridger. I mean… he seemed so invested in this club, and not just monetarily. As head of security and a longtime friend of Woolf and Bridger’s, they wanted me to be the first to know. They apparently signed the purchase documents last week but had to get some other things in order before they wanted to announce it to everyone else. I got the news first, but they’re going to have a staff meeting tomorrow to let everyone else know, and I suppose some type of email would go out to the sex club patrons.

Just… damn.

Woolf Jennings went all legit and vanilla on us.

I watch as he walks over to the bar where he slips his arm around the waist of Callie Hayes. There’s no shame in admitting it… they make a gorgeous fucking couple. I’ve known Woolf a long time. I’ve seen him at what I’ve thought has been his pinnacle of happiness when we opened the doors to The Wicked Horse, but fuck… looking at him right now. The way he looks at Callie with such unfettered love and reverence actually makes my chest constrict a bit with overt happiness for my friend. It’s at this moment that I realize he’s doing the absolute right thing.

I smile to myself because ever since I caught Woolf fucking her outside The Silo that night and watched how he tried to protect her so I couldn’t see… well, I just knew then he was a goner. And you know what? Good for him. Everyone deserves a chance at love, I suppose.

I mean… if that’s your thing.

Woolf catches my gaze and lifts his chin up to me in acknowledgment. I give him another congratulatory smile and watch as he takes Callie by the hand and leads her out of the club. I expect the only time I’ll be seeing him now is on the days that I work out at the Double J. I’ve been working there on and off since high school as it’s a good way to make some extra cash and while Woolf—I mean Bridger, now—pays me well, I’m on a mission to become debt free as quickly as possible. That means I work my ass off and live frugally, because I can’t stand being constricted by financial obligations.

Making my way out into the main nightclub, my eyes do a quick sweep around. I have between four to six security men on duty each night to keep everything under control and running smoothly. There’s no mistaking them in their black BDUs and form-fitting black t-shirts with The Wicked Horse logo on the front and the word SECURITY on the back. I want them to be obvious to the crowd so they know I don’t fuck around when it comes to the safety of the patrons here and that I don’t tolerate any shit on my watch.

I’ve got my black BDUs on tonight too along with my combat boots—product leftover from my days in the Marine Corps. Instead of my Wicked Horse security shirt though, I’m wearing a long-sleeve, black athletic shirt that fits my skin like a second glove because my job tonight is a little different than the normal security oversight I provide.

As I walk through the club to the front door, I continually scan my eyes back and forth. Old habits—those where I’m waiting for an ambush by Taliban insurgents while sweeping the Zabul Province of Afghanistan—die hard, and I suppose that will never go away.

Except, my eyes slam in an abrupt halt on her.

This is the third night in a row she’s come in, and I don’t necessarily like how she rattles my focus at work.

I wish I could tell you what it was about her that caught my attention, and I’m ashamed that I can’t. It’s a blow to my ego that my intuition and street smarts are failing.

She’s pretty, for sure.

Not gorgeous, but really pretty. Wavy, blonde hair that comes down halfway in between her chin and shoulders and bright blue, baby doll eyes. On the petite side, but with plenty of curves. This, I’ve noticed, when she dances with her three girlfriends who she comes in with.

She only dances with those girls. She’s turned down every man who’s come up to ask her to dance. I’m also ashamed I noticed this because I have better uses of my time than watching a pretty girl get hit on in a bar.

I suppose the reason she caught my eye is because it seems she’s been trying to catch it. While she sits at a table, talking and laughing with her friends, her gaze will roam around The Wicked Horse. She’ll watch the dancers or the band if we have one going. She’ll sometimes focus in on other tables of people, but she never rests her gaze in one place very long.

Except when it lands on me. Then she’ll hold my stare if I just happen to be watching her, which is often, and sometimes she doesn’t look away for an almost unbearably long time. She’s always the one who breaks eye contact though, and it’s always with a wistful smile.

She’s never approached me though, even though women do that all the time despite the scary-as-fuck scar that slashes across my face and the menacing glare I seem to give off most of the time. It’s true… I’ve been hit on more times than I could ever hope to remember, and I’d be lying if I didn’t say this job wasn’t without perks. While I’d never leave my post while on duty, I’ve taken plenty of those women home and fucked them after work hours.

Hell, sometimes, I’ve just taken them up against the side of the building after I’ve got everything locked up.

My security team always shakes their heads with amusement at the amount of female attention I get, and I assure them it’s not because of my charm or good looks, but rather the rumor floating around—which just happens to be true—that I’ve got a massive cock and I’m a god in the bedroom with it.

They all tell me to fuck off when I point that out to them. Jealous pricks.

I’ve never approached the blonde woman; although I get the sense she wants me to. Again, when I’m working, I’m working. I don’t have time for flirting or fucking. But maybe I should come in on my next night off and possibly talk to her. Try to figure out what’s going on underneath those pretty pale curls because she fascinates me. While I get hit on all the time, women have a hard time holding my gaze the way this one does. They’re content to stare at my feet while they try to flirt because my eyes are sometimes too cold and my scar is too angry looking.

But not this woman. She looks me dead in the eye, and it is a fucking turn on as much as it is a mind fuck to me.

I think she senses my gaze, because hers slides away from one of the girls at her table who seems to be telling quite an animated story, and she locks irises with me. We engage in the same staring war for only a moment, but I’m the one who has to look away this time as I reach the front door of The Wicked Horse. Things to do… people to see.