Chapter 6

King/Dante

"If you're trying to pretend this afternoon never happened, sugar, you need to know that I'm not gonna let that happen. We may be finished for now, but believe me, we aren't even close to being done yet."

I pressed a kiss against the top of her head, inhaling the scent of her shampoo. My dick perked up, and I fought the urge to grind into the lush curve of her ass. Only the thought of her kids upstairs stopped me. I dipped my head to drop a soft kiss on her temple, and Ella shivered slightly as my breath skated over her skin.

I cursed under my breath when my cell phone rang, although by the way Ella's body sagged in relief, she was grateful as hell for the reprieve. I could almost feel her building walls between us – walls built on guilt and regret, if I had to guess. No way was I going to let that shit happen.

The ring tone was the one I had set for my club brothers. I had another for club business, meaning someone connected to La Famiglia Rossi or one of the other MC's we were friendly with. I had a separate one for family, and another one for all other callers, so I would know which calls to answer, and which could likely just go to voice mail if I was busy. I handed the cookie tin to Ella and took a reluctant step back while apologizing for the interruption.

"I need to take this," I said, fishing my phone out of the inside pocket of my cut and seeing Bodhi's name flashing on the screen. He was Ace's assistant manager at Fallen Angels. If he was calling instead of sending me a quick text, it probably wasn't a good sign. I walked into the living room so that Ella wouldn't overhear the conversation.

"What?" I greeted him gruffly, not worried in the least about offending the man currently cockblocking me.

"We've had some trouble, Prez. I tried to reach Ace, but he didn't answer. One of the customers got a little too handsy with one of the servers, and managed to drag her onto his lap and get his hand under her skirt before she could get anyone's attention. She ended up smacking him upside the head with her serving tray to get away from him."

"Which server? Is she all right?" I asked, keeping my voice low.

"It was Mandy. Her skirt is torn, and she's got a few marks on her inner thigh that are already starting to bruise. She's mostly pissed as hell, but OK otherwise. She's taking a break in the back, but she says she wants to get back out there and finish her shift."

"Does she want to press charges against him?" If she did, that was fine with me. We'd let law enforcement handle it for now. We could always track him down later to give him a taste of club justice.

"Nope, she doesn't care too much for cops. She's happy to let us handle it."

Mandy had worked for us for a couple of years and was probably the best server we had. She was tough and knew how to keep the booze flowing and handle the flirty customers who on occasion mistook her for a stripper and pressed her for a lap dance. It didn't surprise me that she was pretty much taking this in her stride, but it pissed me the fuck off that she even had to.

"How the fuck did this happen? Where were the goddamned bouncers who were supposed to be working the floor?"

"They were trying to de-escalate a situation with a table full of drunks so they could escort them out without a fight breaking out in the middle of the damned club. I think the other bastard saw that going down and decided to take advantage of the distraction."

"Where is he now?" I asked through gritted teeth. Not much pissed me off more than a man trying to take advantage of a woman.

"We've got him cooling his heels in the back office with Skid. Trick's on his way," Bodhi grunted, and the anger in his voice matched mine.

"I'll be there in about fifteen minutes. If Trick gets there before I do, tell him to wait on me before he starts. I'd like to have a little chat with the shitstain myself."

"Will do, Prez."

Dammit, it wasn't often that I regretted my role leading the MC, but this was one time that I wished I could hand the president's patch off to someone else for the night. and I cursed the strip club, the asshole customer, and Ace for not responding to Bodhi's call.

We ended the call moments later, and I sighed deeply as I slid my phone back inside my cut. Goddammit, this is not how I wanted my evening to end.

I stalked back into the kitchen as Ella closed the lid on the now-filled tin. I smiled as I realized it was setting in the only clear spot on the island – the very spot I'd placed her on top of a short time ago.

"The lasagna will need to bake for about an hour," she said, drawing me out of the memories of our kiss. I ran my eyes over her, taking in the full tits that stretched the front of her shirt in all the best ways, down over the thick curve of her hips and thighs, landing on the tips of her toes peeking out from her sandals, their nails painted a deep, dark red that matched her fingertips. I cursed Ace and the lousy bastard who'd fucked with one of our girls all over again as I thought about how this evening could have gone.

"I'm sorry, sugar, I'm going to have to take a raincheck on dinner. We've got an issue at one of our businesses that I need to take care of." I didn't know jack-shit about dealing with a lady like Ella, but something told me it would be better not to mention that the business in question was a strip club.

I hid my satisfaction at the brief look of disappointment that flitted across her face at my news. Maybe she wasn't building those walls quite as high as I'd thought.

"Oh, I'm sorry to hear that. I hope it's nothing serious."

I flashed her a reassuring smile. "No, but it is something that needs my attention, and unfortunately, it can't wait. Believe me, I'd much rather spend the evening having dinner with you."

Ella smiled back, and I saw a tiny dimple in her cheek that I hadn't noticed before. I was tempted to call Trick and have him deal with it, but I wasn't the kind of president who delegated that shit.

She gestured to the cookie tin. "I wasn't sure what you liked, so there is an assortment of muffins – blueberry, apple cinnamon, and banana – along with both kinds of cookies."

I almost drooled. If the brownies yesterday and the cookie I'd eaten earlier were any indication, this woman had some damned good skills in the kitchen. By the way her tongue had explored my mouth and her body had moved against mine, I knew she probably had some damned good skills in the bedroom, too. My cock throbbed as I imagined how her tongue would feel exploring the rest of my body. Dammit, I didn't want to leave this woman, but I didn't have a choice. My responsibility to the club came before the needs of my dick.

"Thank you," I said, reaching for her and pulling her close. She felt good in my arms, fitting against me as if she'd been made for me. Her eyes widened as I smiled down at her. "I hate that I got called away. I would have enjoyed staying for dinner." My eyes roamed over her face, memorizing every beautiful feature. This close, I could see a ring of darker blue around her irises. I couldn't remember the last time I'd looked into a woman's eyes, but damn, hers were pretty.

She swallowed hard and I bent my head to kiss her cheek, not trusting myself to do anything more.

"I'd love to kiss you again, sugar, but your kids are upstairs. Besides, if I did, I don't think I'd be able to leave anytime soon."

A flush bloomed on her cheeks at my softly spoken words, and those pretty blue eyes narrowed on me as she looked at me warily.

"You're quite the ladies' man, aren't you?"

I snorted a laugh at that. That implied some sort of attempt at seduction or a pursuit for a woman's affection. I couldn't be bothered with that shit. So, ladies' man, no. Manwhore, maybe, or at least I was in my heyday. I'd slowed down a little bit over the last couple of years. I still enjoyed the hell out of women, but I had been getting bored with the "get in-get out-get gone" routine I'd perfected over the years. Hell, I didn't even bother trying to remember their names these days. By the next morning, they were just nameless, faceless women I'd fucked the night before and had already forgotten about.

"No, I just know what I want, and I'm not afraid to take it."

"And you want me?"

I shot her a wicked grin. "If you don't know that already, then I wasn't doing something right." My phone went off in my pocket, with a text chime this time. I cursed under my breath as I let go of Ella so I could pull my phone out. It was Trick, letting me know he would be at the club in five minutes.

"Shit, I need to go," I muttered. I dipped my head to drop another quick kiss on Ella's cheek, taking a split-second to breathe in the scent of vanilla mixed with something sweet that seemed to be embedded in her skin.

"Oh, just one more thing. Your daughter is gonna be just as pretty as her mama when she grows up, and Sinner told me that the boys are already sniffing around. You'd better keep that knife of yours handy."

Ella blushed again, either because of the compliment or the reminder of her threat from yesterday. I shot her a wink as I headed out the door. I climbed into my truck then glanced next door to Sinner's place. I heaved a sigh as I started the truck and put it into gear, then backed out of her driveway and headed toward the strip club.

Sinner would likely be pissed as hell if I went after Ella, and I wasn't sure I'd blame him. She wasn't like the women I picked up at the clubhouse or Inferno. She wasn't a random woman I could fuck and forget about by the time I'd tucked my dick back in my pants. I had a feeling she wasn't the kind of woman I could forget about, period, and fuck if I knew how I felt about that.

By the time I stalked through the door to Fallen Angels, I was good and fucking pissed – at the asshole who assaulted Mandy, at myself, hell, even at Ella for being so damned tempting. I'd spent the fifteen-minute drive reliving every second of my time with her, and I couldn't decide which need was stronger – the need to bury myself balls-deep inside what the undoubtedly the sweetest cunt I'd ever tasted, or the need to walk away now before I fucked things up for Sinner and me both. The raging case of blue balls I had wasn't helping me think any clearer, and being here are the strip club wasn't going to ease that need one damned bit.

I had rules in place about the strippers. I employed them, so I didn't touch them. Yeah, we might be an MC, but we were still running a business here – a really fucking profitable business – and smart employers didn't fuck their employees.

Now, the members of the club were a different matter, so if the ladies wanted to do more than dance for the brothers, that was up to them. As long as no money changed hands other than for a lap dance or a tip, I didn't give two shits what they got up to when the dancers weren't on-stage as long as they understood that it didn't affect their employment one way or another.

I noticed Star working the floor with a tray of shots balanced on one hand as she rubbed a customer's shoulder with the other. Her tits, covered in the tiniest scrap of fabric possible, were mere inches from his face, a fact which he was definitely enjoying judging by the way he was licking his lips. Star and the other club bunnies occasionally filled in at the strip club if we were short-handed, but glancing around that didn't seem to be the case. I spotted several of the scantily clad servers, more than enough to handle the relatively light Sunday night crowd. I tucked that question away for later, then made my way to the back office.

I slammed the office door behind me, causing the man who'd ruined my night to jump in his chair. Skid snickered as he sat in the padded office chair with his feet propped up on the corner of the desk, looking as if he didn't have a care in the world. Trick was standing against the wall, leaning on his beloved baseball bat like it was some kind of gentleman's walking stick. He straightened as he tipped his head my way in a silent greeting, then swung the bat up with one hand to slap it against the palm of the other.

"You got his ID?" I flicked my gaze to Skid, who nodded as he handed over a worn, leather wallet. I flipped it open and pulled out his driver's license.

"Steven Paulson, aged thirty-eight." I eyed the fuck-weasel in disgust, taking in his pasty skin, unkempt hair, and shaking hands. He looked at least ten years older than he actually was. "Seems to me that you're old enough to know better than to fuckin' touch someone without their permission."

He tried to hide his nervousness behind a layer of false bravado as he glared at me from beneath lowered brows. It would have been more effective if his eyes hadn't kept skittering away from mine, as if he weren't quite strong enough to meet my gaze. I could sense his fear, which grew with each " thwack " of Trick's bat against the palm of his hand. It brought a satisfied smirk to my face, and I pulled one of the wooden chairs to me, flipped it around, and straddled it as I sat down in front of him.

I folded my arms over the slats on the back of the chair, then tilted my head ever-so-slightly as I stared at the miserable shitstain nervously fidgeting in his chair. I deliberately didn't speak, knowing that the uncomfortable silence – broken only by the rhythmic smack of the bat in Trick's hand – would amp up the dumbass's anxiety over what was coming. Skid and Trick both knew enough to wait for me to begin talking, and surprisingly, so did Steven Paulson.

"Would you care to explain what the fuck you were thinking when you put your hands on one of our employees without her consent?" I kept my voice deceptively calm, knowing it would throw him off even more. I was right. He swallowed hard and his eyes darted to the other two men in the room before coming back to rest uneasily on me.

Paulson's eyes were drawn to my cut, and I smirked as they widened even more as he spotted my president's patch. I was almost impressed that he hadn't pissed himself yet, but that would come soon enough. Hopefully, Trick would have him out back by the dumpsters before that happened. It was a bitch to try to get the smell of piss out of carpets.

"According to your license, you only live a few miles away. Now, since you're a local, I'm pretty damned sure you know who we are. It's not a secret that our club owns Fallen Angels either, so you probably knew that, too. So, the way I see it, you came into our bar and thought it'd be OK to assault one of our employees. You thought it would be OK to disrespect her, and our MC? You're even dumber than you look, Stevie-boy."

The sound of Trick's bat slapping against his palm was the only sound in the office, aside from Paulson's ragged breathing. At the rate he was going, he would hyperventilate before Trick even took his first swing.

I got to my feet and shoved the chair to the side, then took a step forward so that I was looming over Paulson, who cringed and huddled back in his seat. Skid swung his legs down off the desk and stood, and Trick stepped forward, with his bat now cradled in the crook of his arm like it was a baby.

"Now, here's what's gonna happen, motherfucker. These two gentlemen are gonna take you outside and impress upon you the importance of keeping your fuckin' hands to your fuckin' self. Count yourself lucky, because we'll let you walk away afterward." He tried to stifle the pathetic whimper, but I still heard it and flashed him a menacing grin. He whimpered again when I leaned over and grasped him by the shoulders, giving him a less than gentle shake.

"If you show your face around here again, or I ever hear that you've put your hands on another woman without a fuckin' invitation, you won't even get the chance to crawl away next time. You got me?"

He nodded jerkily, his eyes frantically moving from me to my club brothers. I yanked him to his feet and shoved him toward Trick, who wrapped his huge hand around Paulson's scrawny bicep. Skid stepped forward and opened the door, then glanced out into the hallway to make sure that none of the customers had wandered back here by mistake. We didn't need any witnesses.

He stepped out into the hall and motioned Trick forward, and we all headed out the back exit that opened out into the employee parking lot. The dumpsters were out there, too, hidden behind tall, wooden fences that we knew from experience would shield us from view if anyone else happened to wander into this part of the lot.

Skid opened up the gate on the fence, and Trick shoved Paulson through it. He cried out as he landed on his knees, causing Trick and Skid to laugh.

As Paulson tried to scramble out of reach, I reached down and grabbed him, hauling back my fist before punching him right in the face. He fell back against the fence, his head bouncing off the wooden slats as he cried out again and grabbed the nose I'd just broken. I wrinkled my own nose as the sudden stench of piss filled the air

"That was for disrespecting our MC, you sorry-ass sonofabitch. Now, I'll let Trick and Skid teach you a lesson about disrespecting women and keeping your fuckin' hands to yourself. Oh, and Paulson?" At the sound of his name, he stopped trying to staunch the blood gushing from his nose and raised his head to look at me, fear written on every line of his pockmarked face. "Just in case you get any ideas about calling the cops, you need to remember that we have you on camera sexually assaulting our employee, and we'll gladly turn that footage over to the police. But don't worry, if that happens you won't be in jail long at all, since we'll make sure you're jumped and shanked on your very first night behind bars. It's not a pretty way to die, so I wouldn't recommend it."

I took a step back and flexed the knuckles on my hand, which were already starting to swell with the force of connecting with his face.

"Skid, which hand did he use to touch Mandy?"

Skid smirked at me, knowing exactly why I was asking. This wasn't our first rodeo, unfortunately.

"His right, Prez."

I glanced at Trick, then tipped my head toward his Louisville Slugger. "You heard the man, Trick. Break every finger on his right hand."

"Be glad to, Prez."

I clapped him on the shoulder, ignoring the way Paulson whimpered and begged for mercy as he tried to crabwalk away from us. Skid stepped close and grabbed him by the hair, yanking his head back and smacking it against the fence boards again. He reached for a rag in his back pocket, then shoved it in Paulson's mouth. I loved it when my brothers came prepared.

"I'll leave you boys to it. Enjoy yourselves."

They both laughed, and as I walked away, the sound of Trick's bat making contact with skin and bone, and the muffled screaming that accompanied it, went a long way toward soothing my temper.

Once back inside the club, I tracked Mandy down to check on her. Bodhi was with her, sitting on the small leather couch in the dancers' dressing room. She denied the need for medical attention, and again insisted that she wanted to get back out on the floor to finish her shift. She looked pale though, and I suspected she was more shaken up than she wanted to admit. I also suspected that her desire to get back to work stemmed from the need for the tips. She was a single mom, and one of her kids had special needs, so I figured money would be especially tight if she missed out on a night's work.

I reached into my pocket and pulled out my wallet, ignoring her protests as I peeled off ten one-hundred-dollar bills. She'd worked about half a shift before all hell broke loose, so this was more than enough to make up for the lost hours, but she deserved a little extra for what she'd been through. I pressed them into her hand and told her to go home for the night.

"I'll take care of paying out your share to the bar staff. Go home, hug your kids, and try to forget about this shit tonight, babe. Are you scheduled for tomorrow night?"

"Uh, no," she responded shakily, and I saw the shimmer of tears in her eyes as she looked at the cash and then stared up at me in relief. "I'm not on again until Tuesday."

"That's good. You be sure to let Bodhi know if you need another night off to get yourself together, OK?"

Bodhi nodded at me as he got to his feet, then held out his hand to help Mandy up.

"Come on, honey. You go change and I'll escort you to your car," he said. We never let any of the female employees walk to their cars alone. Mandy nodded gratefully and darted over to the lockers around the corner.

Once she was out of earshot, I instructed him to take money from the till to tip out the bar staff.

He nodded an acknowledgement, and I started to leave, then remembered seeing Star. "Why is Star working tonight? Even with Mandy leaving early, you have plenty of coverage from what I could see."

Bodhi just shrugged and shot me a look I'd come to know well. "Fuck if I know, Prez. Ace called her in before I got here for my shift. Gave me orders to keep her on until we close."

"Yeah, that's not happening. If she isn't needed, send her home."

He nodded again, clearly pleased by my decision.

"Uh, Prez, this isn't the first time he's pulled that shit. He's had her working at least two other times when I know damned well we didn't need her."

I scowled at that news. "Call me if that happens again."

"Will do, boss."

Skid strode into the room at that moment, quietly letting us know that he and Trick had just helped Paulson to his car and had watched him drive off, using only his left hand to steer, of course.

"Get with Brick to make sure the camera footage of you two ‘ helping him to his car' is erased, and only shows him driving off under his own steam, just in case he's stupid enough to go to the cops," I instructed, keeping my voice equally low. It was doubtful that Mandy could hear us over the sound of the music coming from the stage area, but there was no sense announcing our activities.

Skid just grinned at my command. "It's a damned shame when technology glitches like that, ain't it?"

Mandy reappeared from the changing area then, wearing a tank top and a pair of blue jeans, coming to a stop next to me. She looked much younger with her heavy make-up removed, and with her short blonde hair instead of the long blonde wig she wore when she worked. "I'm heading home, brother, so I'll walk her out. Call me if there's any hint of blowback from tonight."

Bodhi nodded in understanding and headed back out to the main bar area. I guided Mandy out through the same door we'd used with Paulson, and she directed me toward the older model Subaru parked in the corner of the lot. It beeped as she unlocked it, and I opened the driver's door for her to slide behind the wheel.

"Thanks, King. We all appreciate you and the club looking out for us. As for the money, I –" she stopped for a second to compose herself, then cleared her throat and continued. "Well, I just want you to know how much it means to me. It would have sucked to lose out on a night's tips, especially because of that asshole."

"No thanks needed, babe. You do good work for us. You deserve it. Drive safely, and we'll see you Tuesday."

She nodded and reached for her seatbelt as I closed the car door and took a step back. I waited until she had driven off before making my way over to my truck, which I'd left parked at the curb by the back door.

I turned around at the sound of my name, rolling my eyes as Star waltzed over toward me with a ridiculous pout on her face.

"Bodhi said I'm not needed anymore, but Ace said –"

"Ace must have assumed we'd be a little busier tonight. Our regular servers can handle it."

She huffed but was smart enough not to argue. "Can you give me a ride back to the clubhouse then, so I don't have to waste money getting an Uber?"

If I'd been on my bike, I would have called one of the prospects to pick her up in the club van but since I was in my truck, I agreed. I didn't like the idea of any woman getting in a rideshare alone at night. It seemed like an especially bad idea if that woman was picked up at a strip club. Right or wrong, that gave some people the wrong impression.

"Go find some clothes to put on. I don't want any of that body glitter shit in my truck." I didn't want her practically bare ass on my truck seats either, but I was feeling enough like a gentleman that I didn't tell her that outright.

"Hurry your ass up, too. I'm not waiting around all night," I called as an afterthought. She was back within a few minutes, clothed in a T-shirt and shorts, both at least one size too small. She was mostly covered though, so that was what mattered.

I turned off the A/C and rolled down the windows in the truck, partly so it would be difficult to carry on a conversation over the road noise, but mostly so I didn't have to inhale the perfume she'd doused herself with. I found myself missing Ella's scent, which was crazy since I had barely been around it.

I dropped her off at the clubhouse and didn't bother stopping in myself before I headed home. I'd had enough of other people for the night. My stomach growled as I pulled out of the compound, making me curse when I realized I'd forgotten to grab the cookie tin from the counter before I'd left Ella's place. I smiled as I remembered why I'd been distracted, and my cock started to chub up at the memory of her luscious lips. I reached down to adjust myself, wincing as my swollen knuckles grazed the steering wheel. I flexed my hand gingerly, satisfied that nothing was broken. I'd be sore for a few days though, yet one more reason to be pissed off at the filth that was Steven Paulson.

It didn't take long for me to get to my house, the same three-bedroom ranch with a basement that I'd bought when the boys were toddlers. My ex-wife, Christy, had hated it, of course. It wasn't fancy, but it served its purpose. I'd never seen the need to buy anything else and had briefly considered selling it at one point a few years ago, since I usually spent a few nights a week in my room at the clubhouse anyway. It had seemed kind of pointless to keep a house just for myself, but in the end, I'd decided I was too damned old to bunk at the clubhouse full time. I enjoyed having the time to myself, without being surrounded by the noise and the drama and the general hell-raising that went on there.

After removing my boots, then slipping out of my cut and hanging it on the hook by the back door, I thoroughly washed my hands at the kitchen sink, made myself a couple of sandwiches, then grabbed a beer along with an ice pack for my hand before flopping down on the couch.

The urge to talk to Ella hit me as I ate, and I cursed myself when I realized I hadn't asked for her phone number. It hadn't occurred to me, probably because I never, ever did that shit. I didn't call or even text women. I met them at the bar, or at parties at the clubhouse, they either sucked me off or we fucked, and then went our separate ways. There was no cuddling afterward. There were no sleepovers. There were no promises to get together again. I never asked for their numbers. I rarely even asked for their names.

Yeah, it could be awkward when I approached a woman, only for her to mention us hooking up before. I'd learned to play it off, so they didn't realize that I had absolutely zero recollection of even talking to them before, let alone fucking them. I'd also learned when to proceed with a second hook-up, and when to offer up an excuse for why I needed to cut the evening short and walk away. I'd developed a sixth sense for which women would turn into stage-five clingers, and which ones were fine with an occasional fuck with no expectations of anything more. It was a good skill to have.

What I didn't do was ask for their phone numbers or sit in my own damned living room thinking about how good they tasted. My lips didn't tingle as I replayed our kisses – hell, I rarely did much kissing once the sucking and fucking commenced. There didn't seem to be much point in it once the clothes came off.

I tossed the remote down on the couch next to me, pissed at myself for sitting here mooning over a woman I barely knew like some weak-ass pussy. I cranked my neck from side to side, the resulting pop releasing a bit of the tension that had begun to build up. I glanced down at the growing bulge in my jeans. Fuck it, I needed to release a different kind of tension before I did permanent damage to myself.

I quickly turned off the TV and the lights, double checked that the doors were locked, and the security alarm was set, then hauled ass down the hall to my bathroom. I stripped off my clothes as I went, leaving a trail of cotton and denim on my bedroom floor. As I waited for the water to heat in the shower, I looked at myself in the mirror over the sink.

It was always a little bit of a mindfuck whenever I caught a glimpse of myself these days. It seemed like every damned time I looked there was a little more gray in my beard, a few more wrinkles around my eyes, and a few more lines on my forehead. I sure as hell didn't feel older, but the proof was staring me in the face. Literally.

I flexed my muscles and turned this way and that, satisfied with the way my pecs and biceps bulged. The six-pack I'd had for most of my life wasn't quite as well-defined as it used to be, and I'd grudgingly accepted the fact that I needed to go up one waist size in my jeans a couple of years ago. My stomach was still flat though, even though I was a little thicker around the middle now. Luckily, my hair was still thick and full, even if it was sprinkled with a little more salt than pepper these days. The hair on my chest still drove women wild, although I'd spotted a few grays mixed in there, too, not to mention the ones I'd sprouted a little further south.

I winced as I remembered the manscaping incident from a few years ago, when I'd noticed one single stark white hair mixed in with my pubes as I was taking care of a little grooming. After I'd recovered from the shock, I'd had the bright idea to pluck the damn thing, which was highly visible on my groin next to the base of my dick. Easy solution, or so I'd thought.

Never fucking again. I'd shave myself completely bald before I ever put a pair of tweezers anywhere near my junk. I didn't care if I looked like Santa Claus in the middle of a winter wonderland down there. That shit was never fucking ever happening again.

It hadn't helped that I'd pulled not only the white hair, but several of the dark hairs surrounding it, too. The resulting pain had nearly caused me to black out, and for one horrifying moment, I'd been afraid I'd somehow ripped a chunk of flesh out of my dick. I'd been sure I'd look down to the sight of blood everywhere, and my poor cock barely attached to my body. But no, the spot had barely even been red. It had just been that fucking painful. It had taken hours for my asshole to unclench, and I'd been afraid to try to use my dick for almost a week, in case I suffered a trauma-induced flashback, and it refused to work.

All in all though, I still looked pretty damned good, especially for a man my age, I thought as I stepped into the now-steaming shower. I stood for a moment, just letting the water pound against my back and shoulders. I started to imagine Ella in the shower with me, as I had that morning, and my softening cock perked up again. In no time, I was rock hard, ignoring the pain in my hand as I fisted my length, picturing Ella bent over in front of me. I thought of those flour-coated handprints I'd left on the seat of her pants and imagined them as reddened handprints on her bare skin. As the warm water sluiced over my skin, I swore I could still taste her sweet pussy, and imagined how good it would be to taste her juices straight from the source.

Remembering the sound of her moans, and the tight heat of her cunt as she clamped down on my fingers, I felt my balls drawing up, and the tell-tale tingling at the base of my spine. I pumped faster, bracing my left arm against the tiled shower wall. My head fell back, and I shouted Ella's name as I came. My body trembled with aftershocks as I stood there, chest heaving, willing my heart rate to go down. As soon as I was sure my knees would support my weight, I turned the shower head so that the water washed away the white ropes of cum I'd shot all over the tiled wall.

I felt so relaxed, almost boneless, as I slipped bare-assed into my bed ten minutes later. My last conscious thought before sleep took me under was that I needed to get Ella's number tomorrow morning.