“I... I didn’t mean it that way. I guess it’s hard to look at Maddie and see her as an adult. I’ll always be her mother and think of her as my little girl. Seeing Angel... Knowing...” She sighed. “It just opened my eyes, is all. Reality just smacked me upside the head. Maddie’s twenty and in college. She’s not a little girl anymore, as much as I hate to admit it.”
“Still hard,” he mumbled, heading toward a steel door at the back of the barn area.
“Yes, eye-opening for sure. Where are we going?”
“Show you the bunkhouse. Maybe it’ll get your mind off Angel and all that shit. Got about twenty or so before we hit the road.”
“The club has a bunkhouse? Is that where you live?”
“Yeah.”
With a barn and a bunkhouse, this place really did remind her of a ranch. Though, she seriously doubted any of them knew how to rope cattle, wore silver belt buckles the size of platters or line-danced. “Do you all live here?”
“Some in the bunkhouse. Majority on the property. Trip and Stella live in the farmhouse you drove past.”
Interesting. She wondered if it was normal for most MCs to have their members live on the same property. Another question she should research.
“The bunkhouse is beyond this door?” she asked as he opened it.
“Yeah.”
“Am I going to see your room?”
“Yeah. Bathroom to the left if you need it before the—” He stopped walking suddenly and since Chelle was busy looking to the left at the door he indicated, she slammed right into him.
She caught her breath after losing it and, with a hand to the small of his back, stepped around him.
And realized why he had stopped.
Oh.
Oh shit.
“This shit happens on the regular. You ain’t good with walkin’ by them, we’ll go elsewhere.”
“I...” The air she had sucked in, after it had been knocked out of her when running into him, went rushing back out again.
A barrel-chested man stood with his back pressed against the wall in the long corridor, not even a dozen or so feet from them. The profile of his salt-and-pepper-bearded face was tipped downward and his fingers fisted handfuls of long, platinum blonde hair belonging to the woman on her knees in front of him.
Whoever it was didn’t seem to care he now had an audience as was evidenced by his continued thrusting into the woman’s mouth.
If the woman cared about being watched, it was hard to tell since the man was holding her in place by that grip on her hair while he fucked her face.
What she was witnessing was the actual definition of a face-fuck, if someone did a Google search.
Chelle, still stuck in place, couldn’t tear her eyes from the scene before them, even though her brain was screaming that she shouldn’t be watching.
“That’s it, girl, swallow it whole. That’s a good girl. Open that throat, take it deep. That’s it. Like a pro.”
Why did that gruff voice sound familiar?
The fine hairs on the back of her neck prickled.
“’Bout to give you your present for bein’ a good girl,” came the low, gravelly grumble. With one more deep thrust, the man’s loud grunt filled the corridor and Chelle didn’t need Google to tell her what happened next.
Why wasn’t Shade getting her out of there? Why was he okay with standing there watching this?
More importantly, why was she?
As shocking as it was to see someone getting head right out in the open, where anyone could watch, it also affected her in a way she hadn’t been expecting.
She was all for adults doing whatever they were into as long as it was consensual. And children weren’t around.
She’d never been a voyeur before, but...
But then, she’d never really had the opportunity to explore that.
She guessed it was no different than watching porn. Except this was in person.
When he was finished, the man’s head tilted back against the wall and he patted the top of the woman’s head. “Thanks, baby girl.”
The blonde pulled her head back, the man’s still-hard cock now out flapping in the breeze, and she used her hand to wipe the saliva—and whatever else—clinging to her lips. “Anytime, Dutch.”
Wait.
That disturbing prickle crawled from the back of her neck down her spine.
Wait. Wait. Wait.
Dutch?
Oh shit!
She hadn’t recognized him at first because the lighting in the hallway was dim and he wore a leather head-covering like Shade did when he rode his “sled.”
A skullcap was what he’d called it when she asked him why he didn’t wear a helmet. Why he thought a skullcap was sufficient instead of a helmet, Chelle didn’t know, but that was not the current issue. No, the current dilemma was, Chelle knew the man who just...
Who just...
The woman used Dutch’s cut to haul herself to her feet. Chelle realized right then and there, she wasn’t even sure she could call the platinum blonde a woman. She might be as old as Angel, if that.