Viper (Hell's Handlers MC 9)

Sure, she loved Gumby in his Clark Kent glasses, but Screw was the one who really lost his shit over them. He’d often talked about how much he loved when the other man looked up at him from the ground, mouth full of cock, glasses on…

Well, shit, if she hadn’t been turned on before, she sure as hell was now. “Yeah, Gumby, come play with us.” She fingered her nipples as she spoke, drawing a tortured groan from Screw. “The game’s just getting started.”

As though he’d barely noticed them before they spoke, Gumby stopped and stared, blinking through his glasses. Need burned in his gaze and in the way his body went rigid, especially behind his filthy jeans, but instead of shucking the denim and throwing himself in the ring, he shook his head as he lifted his hands.

“You two go for it. I need to take a shower. I’m filthy from work. Got grease everywhere.”

Jazz’s heart skittered to a stop. He wanted them. It was clear in his swirling gaze and tight jaw. And of course the poorly hidden boner. So why the hell wasn’t he inviting them into the shower with them? Why was he turning her down for the third time in as many days? And why did it hurt more than she’d expected it would have?

Screw snorted out a laugh, but the way his fingers tensed against her legs let her know he wasn’t buying the bogus excuse either. “Seriously, babe? Since when has a little motor oil stopped us? We’ll need lube eventually.” He bobbed his eyebrows.

The next shake of Gumby’s head had Jazz’s stomach clenching and not in the way it had been when Screw had been sucking her tits. This was with dread.

“Nah, you two have fun. I’m beat. Raincheck.” Then he gave them a fake smile and walked out the door.

Screw faced her. “Raincheck? Did he just fucking say he’d take a sex raincheck? Since when does that fucker say no to playtime?”

Jazz swallowed as her entire body grew cold, especially her heart. “He did,” she whispered. “Something isn’t right with him. This isn’t the first time he’s turned me down recently.”

“Fuck.” Screw rose to his feet and extended a hand for her.

When she grabbed it, he hauled her off the couch and against his bare chest.

Heat immediately transferred from his body to hers, warming her and providing much needed comfort. “Let’s give him a few minutes to shower. Clear his head. Then we’ll go talk to him, okay?”

Cheek pressed against the broad plains of his chest, she nodded. “Do you think—”

“No.” His harsh answer made her smile despite the worry in her heart. “No, I do not think and I don’t wanna hear that shit from you. That man fucking loves you and since he’s crazy, he fucking loves me too.”

“I know,” she whispered. “You know I love you, right Screw?”

“Sure as fuck do, baby. Not as much as I love you though.”

That was an argument they’d had many times over the past few months. One that always ended in sweaty romps. Screw was right, though. They all loved each other very much.

But was it enough? Were they enough for Gumby?

SCREW

SCREW WASN’T SURE which desire he wanted to give into more. The urge to drop to his knees—once again—sucking Gumby off until the man screamed out his commitment to them or if he wanted to strangle the asshole for making Jazz stress over the status of the relationship.

Jazz only, of course. Screw wasn’t worried.

I’m not fucking worried.

Of all of them, Gumby had the hardest time coming to terms with his feelings. Both in the physical and emotional sense. Not for Jazz, that was easy, but for Screw. Gumby’s father had been a wicked son of a bitch who spent years and years drilling his hatred into Gumby’s head using both his words and his fists. For a young teen struggling with same sex attraction as well as being attracted to women, his father’s homophobic bullshit had been the worst kind of toxicity. Gumby had spent the majority of his life closeted and feeling some sense of shame for his desires.

In a complete one-eighty, Screw had grown up loud and proud of his bisexuality. He’d never experienced the mental anguish Gumby had when discovering who he was. Even now the smart as hell man sometimes lost himself to the complicated workings of his big brain. The one between his ears. Had they just been talking about the typical male brain between his legs, the problem would have been far easier to solve. As it was, Screw hoped to solve this problem for all three of them.

“Come on, pretty girl,” he said as he pressed a kiss to the top of Jazz’s head. “Let’s go wait for him in our bedroom. You know how he is; too smart for his own good. Sometimes he thinks himself in circles.”