Grounds for Divorce (4 page)

“Oh, fuck.”

Kayla threw her head back, every muscle locking. She was too wet for friction, but Booker stretched her open, bearing down on her hips like an unstoppable force.

“Look at me,” he bit out. Then, when Kayla didn’t obey fast enough, slid a hand around her neck, thumb and forefinger slotting just under the hinge of her jaw. “Look at me, beautiful. That’s it… Feels good?”

Kayla nodded shakily. Booker had one of her hands in a firm hold, immobilizing her against the bed. The other she anchored in his hair, hanging on for dear life as he began to move.

She’d only ever had two kinds of lovers before—the jack-rabbiting, quick to come and quick to get out type, and the ones who didn’t know what they were doing so they pawed at her as though she were a sex doll. Booker fell square between the two extremes, pistoning his hips at a rough but measured pace, grazing his pubic bone against her clit on the upstroke as his balls slapped against her ass cheeks. It was almost too much, little bursts of pleasure skittering down her spine like electric shocks with every pitch and falter.

She didn’t want it to end, didn’t want Booker to stop looking at her like she was precious, telling her that she was beautiful and sweet. That he would make her come. Her cunt clutched at him whenever he pulled back, nerve endings sparking with overwhelming stimulation. Kayla tried to hold her breath, to force the whirlwind inside her to ebb back as it had with so many partners before. But Booker was relentless.

He bit her earlobe as she cried out, every muscle clenching against the sudden burst of heat racing outward from her core.

“That’s it,” Booker incited. “Come for me…”

Kayla cried out, bucking in his arms. Orgasm rode her hard, blotting out the edges of the room and filling her vision with Booker—rutting against her as he chased his own peak, Booker catching her other hand and holding her down against the bed. Booker using her.

Another wave of pleasure rushed over Kayla, so strong that she couldn’t make a sound.

Booker’s rhythm fell apart with a shudder. He came quietly, panting against her shoulder as he collapsed onto her smaller body. His heart hammered against her ribs, its own lending a discordant echo.

“Fuck…” Without thought, Kayla pressed her lips to his sweat-slick temple. She hadn’t come like that without the use of her trusty vibrator in years.
Fuck
didn’t begin to cover it.

Chapter Three

Booker had pulled out a good ten minutes earlier and had disposed of the condom, but Kayla still felt the lingering throb of him inside her. She pressed her knees together and she hooked her bra back on. Her clothes were scattered around the bed, not quite within reach.

She had to rise to grab her T-shirt and tug it on. Her hips ached pleasurably with every jolt of movement.

“Leaving so soon?” Booker hadn’t bothered covering himself. He looked thoroughly debauched with his pants and underwear riding low on his hips, cock limp against his belly.

“I have errands to run, plus work…” And the impulse to crawl back between the sheets with Booker, while theoretically satisfying, would only make things worse in the long run.

Kayla wasn’t about to get attached to a biker who was only interested in her to make Zach’s life miserable.

“Need a ride?” he offered.

“I’m good.”

“Probably best. Don’t want to be seen hanging around with the likes of us.”

“Trust me”—Kayla snorted as she zipped up her jeans—“there’s nothing your reputation can do to make me
more
of a pariah in this town…”

Booker flashed her a smile. “Maybe you hang out in the wrong part of town.”

“Pretty sure your Hound brothers share the same view.” Kayla picked up his leather kutte from where it had slid off the bed.
Hell Hounds
lay emblazoned across the back above a patch featuring a slobbering three-headed dog with canines as long as her index finger. “And if they don’t, their old ladies sure as hell do.”

Booker caught her hand, folding his fingers around hers on the leather vest. “Don’t write us off just yet. Times, as they say, are a-changing.”

It was cryptic enough that Kayla couldn’t dismiss the request out of hand and appealing enough that she still felt compelled to try.

Hackby didn’t believe in change. They’d resisted supermarket chains and fought off the grubby hands of out-of-town condo developers. The only businesses that remained flourished thanks to local investment—including what came out of the Hell Hound accounts.

Kayla extricated her hand. “What do you want me to tell Zach?” The sooner she slammed her feet back on the ground, the better.

Booker probably went around making promises to women up and down the interstate all the time. He had that look about him.

He’d fucked like he’d had a lot of practice.

His smile dimmed. “Twenty K in by the end of next week.”

“Or you’ll take the rest of his girls for a ride?”

“Or,” Booker said, sliding a hand up her jean-clad thigh, “we’ll take the club.”

Kayla didn’t bother telling him there was no way Zach could scrounge up the cash in so little time. It was written in the heft of Booker’s gaze, the stroke of his hand up her hip. She let him touch her and told herself it was for Zach, for the Grounds. To buy them time.

She kissed Booker goodbye because it was smart business practice—nothing more.

* * * *

Tamra was at home, safe and sound, with instructions to keep all the doors locked and call if anyone showed up. She had freshly-made lasagna for dinner, the freezer stocked with ice cream.

Overcompensating wasn’t enough to make Kayla feel like she knew what she was doing as a mother, but she’d been muddling along for sixteen years. She was beginning to accept her limitations. Tonight, they didn’t even bother her all that much. She felt somehow lighter in her shoes, like a weight had been lifted off her shoulders.

We’re on a short leash. I fucked a stranger and my kid is home alone for another night.

The bout of mental self-flagellation did little to temper her good mood as she killed the engine of her Mercedes in the parking lot.
Grounds for Divorce
flashed in gaudy pink neon over the concrete rectangle of the strip club. A number of cars were already parked out front, but Kayla’s gaze immediately snagged on the trio of Harleys not far from the club entrance.

The resident dealers were conspicuously absent from their usual spot by the busted out streetlight on the corner. So, too, were the hookers. It should have been a relief.

Inside, business was already in full swing. Francine had the stage, the highlights in her straight red bob flashing like a lit flame. Her legs squeezed the pole as she hung upside down, tassels bouncing when she shimmied her shoulders.

The audience was patently entertained.

“Where have you been?” Zach snapped, as soon as he caught sight of Kayla.

She whirled around in time to see him approach, cigarette in hand and a wrinkle set on his brow.

“I had the afternoon off—”

“Did you do it?” Zach leaned in, lowering his voice. “Are we good with the Hounds?”

“Did I sleep with Booker, you mean?”

Zach flicked his wrist, the burning end of his cigarette like a sniper’s bead, a sort of
whatever,
as though he didn’t care to put a name on what he’d asked of Kayla.

It was a little late to take umbrage at his flippancy. Kayla ran a thumb under the long strap of her handbag. “It’s done.”

“That better be the truth… And the rest of the money?”

“Jesus Christ… you’re not even gonna ask if I’m okay?”

Zach took a deep pull from his cigarette then blew it out to the side. “You look okay.” He rolled his eyes when Kayla scoffed. “Oh, don’t give me that shit. You used to do half a dozen guys like him in a night… And unless you did this one right, you might end up back in the gutter.” He pressed in close, his breath acrid-sweet. “That what you want, Kay? You know I can’t help you if I’m out of a job.”

Under the flashing lights, with The Doors struggling to
Break On Through
from the speakers, it was as if she were seeing him for the first time. “That’s what you’re doing here, is it? Helping me?”

“What else?”

Kayla shook her head. “I’ve got work to do.”

She made to stalk away, but Zach grabbed hold of her arm.

“Kay?”

Whatever Zach had meant to add was sharply arrested, as Lou called her name from the bar. Two bikers stood watch, conspicuously interested in Zach’s little domestic. Lou refilled their glasses.

“What?” Kayla shot back, her arm still in Zach’s clutches.

“You got a private dance. Blue room.”

“Now?” Kayla groaned.

Lou nodded ruefully. “He already paid.” Her gaze flickered to Zach. “I can take it if—”

“No, Kayla should do it,” Zach said, releasing her. “Everyone needs to pull their weight around here. We’ll talk later.”

Kayla pressed her fingernails into the meat of her palms.

“You okay?”

Lou’s question wasn’t as easy to answer as Kayla might have liked. “I was,” she admitted after a beat. “I hate private dances.”

“I know… Want a drink?” Lou offered, holding out her tray. Shot glasses filled to the brimful gleamed under the gaudy spotlights. “Biker boys’re already on their third round.”

Kayla slanted a glance to the broad-shouldered contingent. “Watch yourself with them.”

“They’re not makin’ any trouble—”

“I know,” Kayla sighed. “But they’re here to stir Zach’s pot. Don’t want him thinking you’re being
too
friendly. You know how he gets.”

Lou pursed her lips, her angular face pinched as though she’d smelled bad fish. “I know it’s none of my business and you like it…rough or whatever. But you don’t got to let him walk over you like that, sweetheart. Tell him when he’s being a jerk. Or better yet, don’t fuck him until he straightens up.”

It might have been good advice, if withholding sex still qualified as punishment. Kayla bit her tongue. She couldn’t see herself telling Lou that Zach seemed more bored than aroused by her these days.

She didn’t want to confess to faking it with him for the past two months, either.

“I better get ready. My client’s probably wondering where I am.”

Lou sighed, but didn’t press the point. Kayla felt her gaze like a pair of lasers. Lou meant well. She had to believe that.

In the dressing room, she decided on a silver brassiere with pearly tassels and a thong that barely covered her labia. Her high-heeled pumps were both impractical and painful, but she wouldn’t be on her feet for long. Smoky eyes and natural lips finished off the look. Kayla didn’t feel like herself as she stood from the makeup table. That was the whole idea.

The lights were low at the rear of the club, the better to conceal what went on in the shadows. According to the letter of the law, anything short of sexual contact was admissible, but local cops had started frequenting Grounds for Divorce
way back before Kayla had started working there. They knew to turn a blind eye—or ear.

It was just as well. The muffled echo of male grunts and exaggerated female moans left little to the imagination.

Kayla sucked in a breath and turned the doorknob. The blue room was of the nicer ones on offer. Lou had done their patron a favor. Kayla’s heart damn near stopped when she saw who it was.

“Was wondering if the pretty blonde tipped you off,” Booker said.

“What are
you
doing here?”

He cocked an eyebrow as though it should have been obvious.

Of course.
Kayla shook herself and closed the door.

Why did this feel like a betrayal? Booker had every right to enjoy the full range of her talents. Zach should’ve told her he was back. It was on him to prepare Kayla, not on Lou.
Definitely not on Booker.

And yet it was Booker she resented for showing up at the Grounds without warning, for strutting around like he—well, like he owned the place.

“You want another beer?” she asked, stalling just a little.

Booker shook his head. On the right side of his leather kutte, Kayla spotted a new patch.
President.
She didn’t remember seeing that this morning.

“So the rules are simple. You can look but you can’t touch or those cameras up there bring the good times to a close.” Although how likely it was that Zach would throw out his moneylenders even if the cameras had been hooked up, Kayla couldn’t say and didn’t want to find out. “We clear?”

“Crystal. You wanna sit?” Booker patted a spot on the half-moon loveseat not far his side.

“I can do that,” Kayla replied. She sauntered over with swaying hips, making sure the tassels swung tantalizingly for his viewing pleasure. The leather stuck to her feverish skin as she knelt down beside Booker with legs lightly splayed. “What else?”

Booker smiled. “Beer?” he asked and held out his sweating PBR.

“I don’t drink on the clock.”

“So take a break.”

“You already paid.”

“For your company,” he retorted. “How I choose to spend it is my business. Go on, take a load off… Think of it as a weird fetish, if you want.”

“You get off on seeing good little girls hammered?”

To hell with it.
She snagged the bottle out of Booker’s hands, smirking. The urge to numb herself after her last chat with Zach was strong, pulsing through her with festering hurt.

“You know, I remember you,” Booker said out of the blue.

“What?”
I sure as hell hope so. You’re the best lay I’ve had in months
.

“Ms. Dominguez’s English class. You were a little know-it-all.”

Kayla nearly choked on her beer. She coughed demurely, wiping her lips with the back of her hand. “You went to school in Hackby? But the Manmouth patch…”

“I was born here,” Booker reported, grinning with half a mouth. “After Mom got in some trouble, state shipped me off to Nevada at thirteen. My grandparents raised me.”

“Huh…” Thirteen was just three years short of everything in Kayla’s life going wrong.

“Wasn’t that bad. They’ve got a pig farm—”