Kinkaid (Bad Boys of Retribution MC Book 2) (2 page)

He glared at me with his cloudy eyes then took the mug in his hands. It was only half-full. His hands shook so bad nowadays, I didn’t want him to get burned if the coffee sloshed over the sides.

He was still a big man despite his years. Well over six feet tall and broad as a southern pine. Wasn’t anything wrong with him but frailty—a delicate-sounding word for the worrisome burden of old age.

Grampa Dean’s mind was sharp as ever. After he finished his breakfast, he pushed the plate away and tapped his fingers until I placed a sharpened pencil and the daily large print crossword in front of him.

His lips curled up at the sides as he stared at the first clue. “You’ll make someone a good wife someday, son.”

“You old good-for-nothin’ coot,” I slung back.

He crowed with laughter, scribbling in the first crossword answer, holding his wrist steady with his other hand.

I took care of Grampa as best I could. As for Sadie, I hadn’t had to go all big brother over her yet. Just a few fistfights through the years to protect her from the usual jackasses. Nothing I couldn’t handle. For that I was thankful. Even the guys at Retribution had been respectful toward her so far. It was a good thing, too, because I’d hate to have to pull a knife on a brother.

My so-called other brothers—
“
From a different mutha
”
as Jamal always said—pounded me on my back as I headed toward the stage.

“Shake that fuckin’ money-maker.” Jack The Stripper spanked me on the ass, having just finished his dark BDSM routine.

“This one right here?” I riffed, grabbing my junk.

“
Bom chicka wang wang!
” Hiro shouted.

“You need some new material, my friend,” I said.

“And you need less on that big white honky ass.” Jamal reached out to squeeze my rear in both steering-wheel-sized hands.

“It’s called class, J-man. Somethin’ you wouldn’t know about.” I pulled away from his grabby hands, tugging at the seat of my pants.

As soon as I entered the pitch-black stage, their wisecracks drifted away. I was immediately centered. I got into place as my sight adjusted to the dark. Sitting at the desk inside a massive metal cage used only for my routines, I checked the angle of my fedora one last time. Then I dropped my chin down, looking out into the seething sea of women impatiently waiting in the crowded, smoky-lit room beyond the darkened stage. I watched them through lowered eyelids.

As far as strip clubs went, The GQ was upscale. But the deluxe surrounds didn’t fool me. No amount of expensive décor, upholstered seats and sofas, or pricey wine and liquor could disguise the fact ladies came here for one reason and one reason only.

S-E-X.

They wanted to be the center of attention, to feel important, wanted, attractive . . .
hot
by some of the most jaw-dropping, eye-popping, impressive men in the lowcountry.

Horny plus honeys plus good booze and a sexy stud equaled
cha-ching
. Cash money.

A shiver of excitement raced through me. The fact I loved this vibe was what made me the best at what I did. I could be whomever I wanted for the length of one song. I was
whoever they wanted me to be.
And that gave me power over my life I had in no other area.

“
Aaaand
next up tonight! The man y’all have been waitin’ for! Showstopper, bed-hopper, babe fucker . . . KINKY KAID!” Micah hollered from his standpoint at the very front of the stage. The answering roar from the sex-rabid women resounded through the room.

“Now, he don’t do full frontal.” Micah’s voice registered low.

“BOOOO!”

“Wanna know why?” he yelled.

“YEAH!”

“Kaid’s cock is too big to cover with his hands. Boy ain’t small, if you know what I mean, and we don’t wanna get busted. Am I right, ladies?” Micah raised his arms, lapping it up.

“HELL YEAH!” The post-Christmas crowd went wild.

Well, at least Micah the cowboy boot-wearing, chaw-chewing emcee and owner of The Gentleman’s Quarters had one thing right.

He backed away from the stage with a bow, one arm extended behind him.

At that precise moment the lights blazed on, beaming down on me in a white shimmer.

There was no music at first. There didn’t need to be. The women went whole fucking hog wild, shrieking at the top of their lungs.

I sat statue-still behind the desk, the fedora shaded over my face. Continuing to look at them, my lips a firm slash in my face, I slowly splayed my hands on top of the desk I sat behind. Tonight I was a severe businessman, one who wanted to fuck the hell out of his naughty secretary. The suit I wore was jet black, and it wasn’t an off-the-rack POS either. I’d bought it from that huge Italian tailor downtown everyone seemed to know, Frankie Burelli. It had thin gray pinstripes and a few extra modifications. Cost a mint, but it was an investment in my career.

Music grinded from the high-end music system. Tove Lo’s sexy, raunchy “Talking Body” began. The chicks fucking loved it, so I was gonna work it hard.

Still I sat poised, waiting for the ladies to grow quiet. One by one, a hush circled through the throng. They stared at me and me alone.

When I was their sole focus and the music really kicked in, I stood and knocked the chair away, rounding the desk, face hidden, features stern.

“OH MY GOD!!!” A blonde woman screamed, standing right at the front of the crowd with her nose pressed against the bottom edge of my cage.

I pointed at her, and she clapped a hand over her mouth with a second squeal.

Loosening my tie, I slid the pale gray silk from around my neck. Keeping my eyes locked on the middle-aged screamer, I ran the tie between my legs, up to my groin, and rode it back and forth between my legs. You didn’t need sex-ray vision to get a solid view of my balls and cock as the tie pushed my package up and out.

The woman fanned herself once then fell back into a heap of arms.

She might’ve fainted.

The rest of the chicks were foaming-at-the-mouth frenzied.

Job well done.

I whipped off the belt with a loud
SMACK
against the stage from side to side as I moved forward to the rhythm of the song.

GASPS, EVERYWHERE.

I slapped the belt against the shiny steel bars of the cage before I flung it aside.

Turning away, I hooked one shoulder out of the suit jacket then the other. Rolling my body in a sinuous rhythm, I dropped the jacket. The muscles in my arms pulled at the seams of the bright white shirt. I turned my head to the side and bit my bottom lip with a wink.

Ate. That. Shit. Up.

Dancing across the floor, I released the tails of the shirt from my tight pants. Making eye contact with one squeeing, flushed woman after another, I popped button after button down the front of my dress shirt. It rippled open. I flicked the cuffs apart, waiting for several beats of the music before letting it fall to the floor in a snowy pool of fabric.

My first fainter was not alone.

Grooving to the desk, I stood directly in front of it, facing away from the howling audience. Muscles fanning all along my back, I hooked my fingers into the waist of the fitted black pants. My tat showed, and I heard more than a few women swear in loud voices. The tattoo wrapped from my shoulder blades along my sides before curving inward to my ass. Twin cobras in black ink hissed at each other across the top of my spine then snaked to my lats. Their tails disappeared inside my pants, the ink elongating onto my left ass cheek and down to my thigh.

The women
hissed
with one giant intake of breath when I swiveled around to face them.

I flicked the button at my waist, bunching all my muscles.

They waited for me to rip off the breakaway pants.

Silence. Held breaths. Pink cheeks. Parted lips. Parted legs. Heaving tits . . .

I didn’t give them what they wanted, not yet.

I glided forward, dancing to the unstoppable beat. Button popped. Eyes hooded. Face in shadow. Bare-chested. Zipper down. Screams from the crowd. Undulating to the floor and back, I grabbed both sides of my pants.

“DO IT!!!!”

Fists pounded on the stage.

Money fluttered down, green rain.

I shredded off the pants and slung them away.

The fainting count went up to half a dozen.

Like Micah said, no full Monty, just the tight black mesh pouch sheer enough to make all the chicks’ eyes bulge like my more-than-a-handful package. My blond pubes peeked over the top, trimmed and tidy. The V-cut of my pelvis arrowed right down to my cock. And there was no mistaking how large I was.

To go buck naked you had to cup your junk with your hands, and even though I had large hands, they simply weren’t big enough.

“Still got my hat, ladies.” It was the first time I’d spoken since my show had begun and my voice came out deep and hoarse.

“Give it to us!”

“Think you deserve a piece of me, do you?” I rubbed against the front of the cage, my cock in the thong rasping against it.

Women licked their lips and waved money in the air right in front of me.

I returned to the desk. My muscular ass and back laddered in muscles on show. “You got it.” I nodded to Micah who stood offstage, grinning like a maniac.

The cage rattled up, up, and away. Ladies rushed against the lip of the stage the instant they had a free pass.

I hung back, building excitement. I bent over the desk and peered behind me. In this position, the women got a prime view of hard glutes and a hint of balls.

Total hysteria exploded from the audience.

I faced the throng, and slid across the floor. The rhythm propelled my feet. My arms rising above my head, I rolled my big shoulders, my huge ripped chest. Close to the edge of the stage, I dropped to my knees, leaned back, spread my thighs, giving a bird’s eye view.

Holy Marys
and
Hell Yeahs
and
Holy Fuck Me
shouts splintered the air as the green rain fell faster.

As soon as I gained my feet, I sailed the fedora out across the women. Then I jumped off the stage and into a het-up sea of horny ladies.

Hands all over me.

Screams in my ears.

Aroused mania surrounding me, I made it to Glen the Noob’s frat brothers at the bar. They were busy circle-jerking each with tales of the last babe they’d bagged.

I latched onto the first Greek-letter-wearing schmuck and turned his stool around with a screech. I split his thighs with my hands on his knees then went heavy breather routine in his ear.

“How’s about we find a free room?” I was well aware my dick was not all that covered up and the frat boy had to feel it pressed against his leg.

“What the fuck, man?” He tried to push me away.

I straddled him in one smooth athletic move and nudged my crotch against his lips. I was beginning to feel queasy, but fuck it. Glen had more balls than these guys so I guessed I could rub mine in their faces. I didn’t want them to give Glen a hard time. The scrawny little dude had earned my respect.

“If you give Glen a break, I’ll take my scrotum out of your face.”

“Deal!” Frat-fuck squealed just like one of the ladies.

Jumping to my feet, I landed on the floor. I laughed while the Greek dudes fled for the door.

I accepted a stiff drink from Rebel-Mae, the funky punk bartender with the glow-in-the-dark pink fauxhawk, forgetting for a moment I was the Grade-A beef in the joint. No sooner than I took my first sip of Jack, women surrounded me, pressing against me, panting all over me.

I couldn’t very well leave the clients out in the cold. I slung an arm around one of them and smiled at another, raising my eyes in a help-me expression across the bar toward Rebel-Mae when something familiar snagged my gaze.

I did a double take. Then a triple look.

Then my legs almost collapsed out from under me. My heart went sluggish. My body felt cold. My gaze stopped on none other than Sadie my-motherfucking-best-friend Grace.

Holeeey Shit.

She stared at me with unblinking eyes and pink spots on her cheeks.

EVERYTHING GOT REAL HOT, real fast. I hadn’t been this nekkie in front of my best girl since . . . oh yeah . . . never. I was acutely aware of that fact as Sadie’s eyes coasted painstakingly from the top of my head all the way to my toes like she was taking inventory.

My heart returned to its normal rhythm then it decided to go one better and jackhammer in my chest. I returned Sadie’s stare with the same scrutiny. No wonder I hadn’t picked her out in the crowd. Sitting about five feet away from me, she looked like a complete stranger . . . a very sexy stranger.

Sadie usually wore paint-splattered coveralls, torn jeans, and baggy T-shirts with her thick hair braided down her back. Tonight her hair hung loose and straight as a sunbeam. It reminded me of the beach at Isle of Palms—a mixture of white gold and sun-spun brown, little sparks of red filtered in. Soft and silky and silty.

It wasn’t just the hair that blew me away. Sadie had curves all of a sudden. Where the hell had those come from? The killer dress was the same turquoise blue as her eyes and made her irises stand out all the more. The dress? Oh man, it was silk or something, cinched at her waist with a straight skirt that didn’t go low enough on her thighs as far as I was concerned. And the top? That was no better. The neckline needed to be a lot higher, turtleneck high, come to think of it. As it was, the damn thing hugged what looked like perfectly round tits, a suspicion supported by the fact a tight V of tawny cleavage was very, very visible.

Finally—dear Lord—her long willowy legs ended in inappropriately strappy, high heels. Not her standard, sexy Fox Racing Moto-X boots. This was not the regulation Sadie uniform I was used to. Her outfit definitely affected the blood pounding through my body—loudly in my ears and coursing lower at an alarming rate to my cock. My cock that was barely covered in black mesh. Yeah, it was about to bulk up.

Sadie only glanced away from me when one of her group tapped her on the shoulder. The chicks giggled and whispered, and
my worst fears were soon confirmed. It was a bachelorette party. Yep, one of the babes wore a veil and a white sash that read:
Bridezilla!
Tall glasses littered the table, and out of each one popped every bride-to-be’s favorite party favor: a plastic penis straw. The women were well lubricated, well on their way to Happyville with a trip to Hangover City in the morning.

Sadie didn’t look happy. Not one bit.

I’d thought her discovering my dirty little secret was the worst of it.

I was proven wrong in the next instant when Sadie’s crazed posse pointed at me, chanting, “LAP DANCE! LAP DANCE! LAP DANCE!”

You have got to be fucking kidding me.

But no. It got a million times worse when Bride-fucking-zilla (that shit was no joke apparently) got up, drunk-swayed over to me, and pushed me at Sadie.

“With her!” Bridezilla shouted as I stumbled in Sadie’s direction.

“WHAT?” I caught myself moments before I face-dived between Sadie’s legs, rocked backward, and then quickly moved clear to the other side of the table. Where my ass was immediately pinched.

Bridezilla looked expectantly at me then Sadie.

“What?” Sadie echoed my question.

“Well, you two can’t keep your eyes off each other,” said the blonde wifey-to-be. “Might as well get your hands in on the action too.”

This can't be happening . . .

Jesus fucking Christ.

Yahoo!
said my cock.

That thing needed a choke on it.

Older brother/best friend? I felt none of those things all of a sudden, especially when Sadie looked in my direction and slowly wet her lips.

Maybe shock and horror wasn’t quite what she was feeling after all.

I was definitely hot-faced, and no way did I want to give my best friend—my hottie hot best friend—a freakin’ lap dance. Unfortunately the rules were the rules.

“Gotta go change first,” I mumbled.

I didn’t dare look at Sadie as I rushed away. Hell, I almost ran straight into a three-top table where a woman thrust her breasts at me like she wanted to smother me in them. Maybe suffocation by mammaries was a better way to go rather than facing a fiery death of complete and utter humiliation.

Backstage, guys slapped my ass. Common reaction whenever someone bagged the bachelorette gig. The women were known to be big tippers. I smiled through gritted teeth and a flaming face, fleeing to the dressing room.

It was empty inside, everyone working the floor while J-man took to the stage with his Ying Yang Twins “Wait” dance. The low octane sex beat followed me all the way to the dressing room.

I wasn’t thinking about the tips one damn bit, but I was hoping my dick went down. What I wouldn’t give to trade with one of the other guys. I paused while skimming off my jockstrap. On second thought . . .
hell, no.
I didn’t want any of the other dancers looking at Sadie, let alone pumping their barely concealed cocks all over her.

My hands shaking, I grabbed a towel and gave myself a quick rubdown. I wasn’t gonna go out to her all oily and greasy. I swiped my hands across my short fade and considered wardrobe options. Nothing for it. G-strings for lap dances were the rule. I chose one that at least adequately covered my balls, tucking everything inside the pure white cotton pouch.

At least I knew I looked good. I didn’t need the testimony of a mirror to tell me so. Working out five times a week, dancing my ass off three nights a week gave me a body fit for an athlete. My face wasn’t half bad either. No one had ever asked me to wear a paper bag.

I couldn’t put off the inevitable any longer. So this was what it felt like walking to the gallows. And I’d pitied Glen earlier.

Except part of me—a secret part of me—hummed with excitement.

I made my way up the short corridor and slipped into the main room of The GQ. The bridal party spotted me immediately, waving frantically. Bridezilla herself stood up and forced Sadie’s chair around so she faced away from the table, then she wolf-whistled at me.

I danced toward Sadie, ignoring every other person in the place. I wasn’t going to cheat her out of what her friends were paying for. They wanted her to get a top grade lap dance? I was all-in.

“Lapdance” by N.E.R.D. kicked up pace, and I stayed with it, moving closer and closer to Sadie. She stared at the motion of my hips, which I kept loose and rolling. The bachelorette entourage hooted and hollered, but I didn’t pay attention to them. My focus was on my girl, and she didn’t say boo.

Not until I straddled her chair and gyrated slowly up with my hands braced on the back of her seat, my knuckles brushing the silky strands of her hair.

My cock practically wagging in her face snapped her out of the trance. “Kinkaid Ryder! Just what the hell are you playin’ at?”

I crouched down, balancing just above her lap. Placing a fingertip on her soft lips, I said, “
Shhh.
You’re not supposed to know my real name.”

Irises the color of sultry seas narrowed, and she bit the pad of my thumb. Her nip sent a hot surge of longing down my spine and into my groin.

“Well I’m not callin’ you Kinky Kaid like all these other . . .
hussies
!”

“Do you want to?”

I circled my hips, barely brushing her belly with my dick. I raised my hands, linking them behind my neck. The muscles in my chest and arms swelled and clenched while my abs rippled and flexed. My thighs looked massive on either side of her, and that was saying nothing about the jut of my cock in the tiny G-string.

I thought back to the first time I’d ever felt any frisson of tension with her—that day we played b-ball and she’d straddled me on the playground.

Things were a whole lot hotter now. I was in charge for a change.

“What the hell are you doing?” she hissed.

“What the hell are you doing
here?
” My body slowly grinding against her lap, my chest coming into contact with her breasts, I slid my fingers into her hair and lightly pulled.

“I asked you first.”

“What does it look like?”

“Stripteasing.”

“You always were smart.” I bent my lips to her ear. “No more talking.”

I looked her in the eye, swiveling my pelvis, making the barest contact with her. My fingers traipsed down her neck to her wildly fluttering pulse point. A trickle of sweat coursed down the center of my chest into the divot of my belly button then lower until it met the low waistband of the G-string.

Sadie’s eyes followed the path. Her gaze landed between my thighs. Nestled in the shiny white fabric, my cock responded, visibly pulsing. When her eyes returned to mine, they were heavy-lidded and a darker shade of blue than I’d ever seen.

She wasn’t my tomboy best friend anymore.

“C’mon, babe.
Feel
me.” I slinked off her lap, turned around, and slid back against her. My thighs trembled. My ass slid against her legs. I rested my back against her tits; they jiggled softly.

When I turned my head, I breathed in her ear. “I’m giving you what you want. What I want.”

So suddenly, it was true. It hit me in the chest like a freakin’ Cupid’s arrow. How long had I wanted to touch her, taste her,
be with her
, and
fuck me
, fuck her . . . How long without ever acknowledging it?

“I don’t—” She clamped her lips shut, but they fell open as soon as I changed position.

Facing her, I prowled toward her. Gripping the top of the chair, I leaned over her. I thrust at her in a long slow sensual rhythm, stretching above her, surrounding her with my body.

One thing about Sadie, she couldn’t lie for shit. Neither could her body that rose to meet every languid thrust. Her cheeks turned pink. Her lips bloomed open. Her nipples tightened as my chest slid against her.

I was dimly aware of her friends screaming their heads off in the background.

I was so hard, so goddamn hard for her my cock hurt. It was wet with precome.

I didn’t get erections with the clients. Never had. I couldn’t stop it this time. Sadie was all-woman tonight. The dress, the little bit of makeup, her lips moist and kiss-ready.

To top it all off, she smelled like peaches and spice, which immediately made me think of a particular peach-shaped part of her body. I wondered how slick her pussy was and what she’d feel like if I ran my finger down her center and slipped it inside.

“Fuck me. This song needs to end.” Horny as hell for her, I was very close to kissing her and saying fuck it to all the
just friends
shit.

“Why, Kinkaid? Feelin’ a little hot?” Her voice was breathy, her smile flirty, and that made everything ten thousand times worse.

Or better. I couldn’t tell anymore. She’d never so much as batted her ridiculously long eyelashes at me before.

“I would ask if you’re feelin’ hot under the collar.” Her voice purred near my ear and chills rose on my skin.

Her hands drifted up the sides of my ribs over my pecs, across my nipples, which contracted. Finally her fingers lightly scratched my neck. “But you’re hardly wearing anything at all, and definitely not a collar.”

“What about you, darlin’?” I dragged a hand through the shimmering sheaf of her long hair, cupping her at the nape of her neck.

With no subtlety at all, I grinded my aching cock against her pussy through the thin dress. Heat rose from her like a bonfire, centering where our bodies connected.

“Gettin’ hot and bothered? I can feel it.”

When her hands slid up the outsides of my thighs and across my ass, I bit down on a ragged groan.

I heard a crisp rustle and felt sharp edged paper sliding into the sides of my G-string.

“I’ve paid you off, now get off
me
.” Sadie pushed at my shoulders.

She’d paid me all right. Dollar bills ringed my hips. It was clear what she thought of me in that moment. A cheap thrill. Nothing more.

I peeled off of her, sweating, panting, wanting what we’d never had. I was flushed, erect, ready. I wanted to kiss her plump lips, but she craned her face out of my reach.

I called bullshit on that one. She sat there, eyes never wavering from my body as I stood and bowed—stiffly, really fucking stiffly. And her beautiful eyes? Unfocused with must-fuck lust.

With my mouth close to her ear, I rumbled, “You can never tell anyone about this.”

She reared back as if my touch disgusted her. “Don’t you worry. I won’t breathe a word of it, because I’m never talking
about
you or
to
you again!”

Sadie shoved out of her seat and marched toward the exit, her head high, her shoulders straight, her back rigid as a flagpole. Bridezilla and the bachelorettes scrambled after her.

Unfortunately for me when she turned one last time another woman with a wad of cash already slithered all over me.