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

But this visceral need was in such stark opposition to what Jake’s intentions had been when he decided to be his own man and face the others in a game of equals. He was the one with something to prove here—that he could win, that he could be the one getting the blowjob, not the one on his knees, hungrily slobbering over another man's dick.

Gray was right about one thing, Jake needed to become his own man, yet when he stole a sneaky glance between Vars’s legs, all he wanted was to have his head between the muscular thighs and Vars telling him what a good boy he was.

Shame climbed up Jake’s chest and lodged itself in his throat. Damon’s number remained in his phone, unused, even though Jake had had many opportunities to inform him where Vars was. Maybe he was lying to himself? Maybe he liked it all, even Vars’s merciless teasing?

“Oh, come on, Jake. Play a card already,” Joker moaned loudly from the side. Easy for him to say. It wasn’t his mouth at stake.

“Unless you want me to go first,” Vars said, watching Jake from across the table.

Joker laughed. “Go on, Vars. You have no idea how much you want his mouth on your dick.”

Jake snarled, trying to ignore the cold shudders raining down his back at the shame of that comment. He didn’t want Vars to hear about this. “You’re distracting me!” And this game was hard enough already with all its rules made up by Knight and Gray when they got bored once. It was based partially on poker, and partially on some obscure game from the early nineteenth century, which—of course—Knight got a hard-on for. The end result was the easiest of chance games, which Rev once called “Russian roulette without bullets”. Also, the hands were named after motorcycle brands, and using different terminology meant instant loss.

“Watch your tone, prospect,” Joker said. As if that weren’t enough of a humiliation, Elliot burst out with laughter, like he’d never heard anything funnier.

“Let them play, Joker,” Knight said, pulling Elliot close so rapidly one might think he wanted to shut him up.

Jake swallowed and made his decision. The cards he had now could amount to a Ducati, but if he made the gamble, there was a chance to up that to a Rokon. Or lose even what he had now. Then again, Vars could only possibly win if he had a Harley in his hand.

“I’ll exchange one.” He struggled with keeping his fingers from trembling as he swapped cards, but his hand ended up looking even worse as a result. It was still possible Vars’s cards only amounted to an Epulse or nothing, which would mean a win for Jake.

Vars assessed his hand and came up with a single card, which he placed on the table facedown. A bold move meaning he’d be willing to exchange that one for whichever card Jake chose.

Like Jake would fall for that. Vars had nothing and was bluffing. Or had already won and was toying with Jake like a lion with a mouse before eating it whole.

Jake couldn’t take the pressure anymore.

“Finish line.”

Vars distributed his cards into a neat fan, and placed it on the table.

It was a Harley, obviously superior to Jake’s random collection of cards.

The sound of Joker’s laughter drummed in Jake’s empty head, causing an echo of trembles that trailed all the way down to Jake’s groin and vibrated all over his dick.

Across the table, Vars swallowed visibly, his face steady as he continued sitting in the same position, without outright asking for his reward.

“I think we all know what that means,” Blackstar said, reaching out to pet Jake’s knee.

Was it wrong that despite this being framed as defeat Jake couldn’t wait to be on the floor? He put his own cards on the table faceup, confirming what everyone else knew already. His eyes locked with Vars’s and the air between them became blurry, as if it were dancing over hot asphalt. Or maybe it was just the floor cooking under Jake’s feet.

He’d done this in public so many times, and yet it felt different now that it wasn’t King or Knight waiting to be serviced. It was Vars, a new prospect. The taxes man with arms stronger than half the Kings’. A man who’d fucked Jake in a way no one else ever had. Now Jake owed him tribute.

Knight leaned back on the sofa and wolfed down a pile of popcorn Elliot had pushed at his lips. His gaze followed Jake, as if he wanted to make sure Jake honored his commitments.

Jake would. He wouldn’t pussy out now. He gave a curt smile and rolled his eyes to pretend he was chilled out about this when in fact he felt everything but. When he rose, his knees were weak, but he still walked around the coffee table without ever looking away from Vars’s handsome features. Jake couldn’t help that he liked older guys so much. Maybe it was because King was the one to give him his first fuck? But then again, he’d already crushed on older men before that.