Chapter Eleven

“I’m heading out,” Sean utters low, toting an overstuffed laundry bag down the stairs as I refill my coffee cup. He searches my expression for a verdict on Clint, and I shake my head in response that I don’t have one yet.

My guess is that his excursion for clean clothes is his excuse to escape club business for the day. He’s been sulking since we watched Clint’s taillights disappear a few nights ago. He hit the bottle hard when the headline popped up of a local missing man whose car was found in a busy shopping center. I decide to make it a priority to let him know one way or another as soon as I’ve done my due diligence. As often as Sean and I have collectively pulled the trigger on the deserving, it’s completely different when a fellow bird’s fate is at stake.

“Want some help?”

At the front door, he tosses a hesitant look my way, and I gather that he’s already got help lined up. Dipping my chin, I give him the out he needs. If he wants to bury his grief and dick in Cecelia, it’s his prerogative. When he opens his mouth to speak some useless excuse, I wave him off. “I’ve got shit to do.”

He pauses just after he opens the front door, searching for words that might mean something to me. Just after he realizes they won’t, the door snaps shut behind him.

Taking the stairs two at a time after a late shift at the garage, intent on returning to my passion project, I stop mid-step when a raspy moan reaches me. Through the rails at the top, I find the source pinned to the small patch of wall at the end of the hall between Sean and Tyler’s bedroom doors. Head thrown back, eyes closed, one of her legs is draped over Sean’s bare shoulder as he greedily eats her pussy.

My blood simmers at the sight of it. Just as I predicted, Sean medicated his feelings with Cecelia. In his decision to drown in her, he also opened his bed and our fucking home, which changes things. Fury starts to boil just beneath my skin as I speculate about his motivation. Sean’s Nova wasn’t in the drive when I rolled up, and neither was hers, so how the fuck did they get here?

My guess is Tyler, who probably dropped them off and had sense enough to leave just after.

Sean had to have heard me pull up, but by the way he’s eagerly feeding, he might not have. It’s Cecelia’s cries that break up my circling theories when she grips Sean’s hair and starts to buck against his mouth. Eyes still firmly shut, Sean pulls back, tilting his head up at her while spearing her with his fingers, giving me a glimpse of her exposed flesh.

My cock jerks at the sight of it, of the ecstasy etched on her face. Blood pounds in my ears as the rest gathers below. No matter how much I want to, I can’t fucking look away—so I don’t. Knowing that if her eyes open, she’ll catch me, I remain where I stand as she gets lost in Sean’s coaxing.

“Want to come, Pup?” Sean utters, his voice coated in lust.

“Please,” she whimpers as he coats his fingers with her arousal before massaging her as she bucks into his hand.

Sean dives back in, and Cecelia erupts, face flushing as she pants out his name, her thigh shaking around his head as she digs her bare heel into his back. The sight and sound of her coming unleashes a desperate fucking need inside me. Hairs rising on the back of my neck, my angry dick pulses in my jeans, demanding attention, and I refuse it.

Unshackling myself, I hit the bottom of the stairs just as Sean’s door closes. Paralyzed where I stand, Cecelia’s muffled moans resume from behind it. Senses acute, my cock threatens a revolt as I catch the sound of the running refrigerator along with the tick of a tiny clock on a nearby shelf.

Refusing to entertain the obnoxious throb in my jeans, I stalk toward the sliding door and into the side yard. I glance around as if something nearby might bring me some relief.

Taking the bench seat, I lift the bar and start a dead press. Mentally warring, I continue to press in an effort to erase the images of her lust-covered features—the sight of her landing strip and dripping pussy, and the fucking sounds that came out of her as she orgasmed.

Even if he wanted me to see it—to face my attraction for her—he couldn’t have manipulated the timing that much.

Then again, we’re masters at deception.

Sean doesn’t do anything without thinking it through. Maybe he’s fighting her effect on him, desperate to believe the lies he’s telling—and losing. Perhaps this once, when it comes to her, he doesn’t have the fucking answer.

None of us do.

Instinct guides my every move and decision at this point in my life. Always has. It was not until I reached adulthood that I could fully recognize it for what it is. As faithfully as I follow, I sometimes wish it was more subtle. It’s anything but—always thrumming through me with unexplainable force while, at times screaming at me to obey. Refusing to give me any fucking peace.

Like now, as I’m roused from a much-needed dead sleep with the familiar inkling that I’m being watched, and without opening my eyes, by who.

That knowledge jolts me alert, and my eyes pop open to see her standing just outside the guest bathroom. Even feet away, it’s easy to make out the lust in her expression. Seeing she’s just as turned on as she was hours ago, I remain motionless, conveniently but unintentionally spread out for her viewing pleasure.

Taking her time, she soaks in every bared inch of me before settling her gaze on my cock. A cock that’s already betraying me as it stirs at the sight of her looking freshly fucked, lips swollen, wearing nothing but Sean’s T-shirt.

Her own alarm bells kick off as she senses my stare just before her desire-filled blue eyes fly to mine and widen. The now familiar electricity passes between us, my answering stare full of dare as I flick my gaze to my cock. A cock that now stands full fucking mast. I lift my chin a fraction just as she sputters out an apology before scurrying away like . . . a fucking mouse.

As Sean’s door quietly closes due to Cecelia’s hasty retreat, I can’t help but feel for the son of a bitch for his latest bold move. Intentional or not, he’s been baiting me with her since she got here. It’s past time for his wake-up call and hers.

Gloves off, sweetheart.