On Your Knees, Prospect (Kings of Hell MC 3)

“Nah, your timing is perfect. Jake was about to suck my dick next.”

Jake didn’t miss the frown on Gray’s face, and the disappointment in that expression was so obvious Jake couldn’t bear it. Gray was trying to coach him through the transition from prospect to member, and Jake was failing him again.

It was all Vars’s fault. If Vars hadn’t pulled Jake into the game—no, Vars hadn’t. It had been Jake’s stupid fucking idea to play with the guys. He’d wanted to show Vars he wasn’t just a boot-polishing, dick-sucking slave to the club, and where had that led him?

To sucking Vars off when he’d specifically told himself that was off the table. And now that he’d given head to Vars, how was he supposed to say no to Joker? He’d shown everyone he was available for fucking.

Vars zipped up his pants with a final-sounding screech of metal. “Why, are you up for a game as well, Joker? If Jake feels like playing another round, that is,” he said loudly enough for everyone to hear. There was a firmness to his voice that commanded such respect the lusty smile dropped from Joker’s face as he briefly met Jake’s gaze. He laughed and pushed his hand between Blackstar’s thighs, under her very short skirt.

“Nah, I think I’m good.”

Gray walked over to the sofas, moving like a tense wild cat about to pounce, and the fact that Jake knew Gray was surely both angry with him, and wanted to protect him, was the most shameful part of it all.

“Am I understanding this correctly?” Gray asked. “You’re playing with Jake as the stakes?”

Jake’s face flushed even hotter, and he was left unable to face Gray. “No! No, I was playing too. I just… I lost. It’s all right.”

Knight lazily zipped up as well, and he gave Elliot a quick kiss. “Jesus, Gray. What got your panties in a twist? We’re having fun. Join in or stop being our mom.”

“It was a fair game. We both bet a blowjob for the winner, and Jake lost,” Vars said calmly. Jake shuddered when Vars rubbed his thigh as if they were lovers, not members of the same club who’d gambled over sex.

Gray exhaled and pinned Knight with his gaze. “How about you act responsibly for once? You’re the VP.”

Knight’s face stiffened, and he stretched on the sofa, presenting his muscles like a rooster trying to intimidate its opponent. “And what do you mean by that?”

“That you shouldn’t be encouraging situations where our prospect is put on the spot like that.”

Joker rolled his eyes. “They’re both prospects. And they clearly like it, so back off and go back to fucking your own hand.”

Nobody laughed at the joke.

Jake realized being fought over was even worse than staking his lips. It meant he wasn’t able to stand up for himself, and a real man—a member—would not need such protection.

“It’s all good, I can handle it,” he stated, but it fell somewhat flat, and the concerned look in Vars’s eyes told him so.

Gray slowly circled the sofa, approaching Joker, and at least this time his attention was off Jake. “You wanna say that again?”

Behind Gray’s back, Knight shook his head to Joker in warning, but it didn’t work, and Joker got up after a brief glance at Blackstar, who frowned at him when he hadn’t immediately reacted to the threat.

“I said stop policing us. Maybe if you got off once in a while, you wouldn’t be so stuck-up. Remove that stick out of your ass and replace it with a dick.” Joker pointed both his crotch with both hands, but his movements were stiff, as if he were ready for combat. “I’d be happy to serve a brother in need.”

Gray ducked, as if about to punch Joker’s gut, but the moment his opponent’s hands followed the movement, Gray’s entire body shot forward, and he landed a blow in Joker’s face. The thud made by his fist meeting bone made Jake recoil even before Blackstar, who rolled off the sofa with a loud scream.

When molten hot bile rose in Jake’s throat, he knew he couldn’t wait around to see how the fight unfolded. Gray would win—as he’d won every single fight since Jake became a prospect—the only question was how. But the threat inside Jake deserved way more attention.

In the days since the fit he’d experienced in the garage, Jake had worked out a foolproof way to fight the fire raging inside of him. If he could stick with that, chances were he’d never end up in the position of the poor Roger from the diaries.

Ice. Lots of ice or very cold water. He had three bags of ice cubes stored in the freezer, so he instantly headed for the kitchen. They kept the tar-like monster down in his gut. Done and dusted.