UnCage me (Savage Beast MC Book 8) - Hayley Faiman (rooftoppers TXT) 📗

widening at the sensation and I wonder if she’s ever done this before, then I shake my head because I know that answer—she hasn’t.

Pamela was being saved for one thing and one thing only, to be used for the Donkey Punchers and especially as the princess of the club, she was kept completely and totally untouched. Fuck that. I may not be able to give her much, but I can at least give her an orgasm for her birthday.

Her hips jerk, her entire body shudders and I watch in pure amazement as she searches for her orgasm, with nothing more than my fingers playing her clit, something that I don’t think she’s ever even given herself. It’s sexy as fuck, she’s completely going off of pure animal instinct and it’s the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen before in my life.

When she comes, it’s with a look of complete surprise and awe. My cock aches so bad, I don’t think I’ll ever get rid of the blue balls I’ll be sporting in a few hours. My body hurts too, but it’s worth it, it’s all worth it to see her come.

“Dylan,” she whispers, her fingernails digging into my shoulders.

Shifting forward, I rest my forehead against hers. “Happy birthday, Pammy.”

Lifting my head, I touch my mouth to her forehead before I help her so that her feet are stable on the floor, then I take a step backward. Her eyes are wild and wide, I doubt I’ll ever see her with this look on her face and my cock buried deep inside of her, so I relish in the moment and I memorize everything about the way she looks right now.

“Dylan,” she calls, but I turn around and leave her alone in the room.

I can’t stay. If I do, then I’ll completely lose what little control I have and I’ll ruin her. Not only her virginity, but her entire fucking life. I walk away, even though every single part of my body is aching to stay.

Chapter Twelve

JAGUAR

Every day I wake up and my body protests a little less. I feel like I’m healing, though it’s excruciatingly slowly. Oddly, I am fine with that. My body hurting only serves as a physical reminder of my betrayal.

Walking toward the main room, I have no other motive other than a cup of coffee before I start my workday. The packages have all been done, and today I’m loading up the truck for transport. It’s going to be hell on my body, but I’m looking forward to it.

Hopefully, it will take me all day and well into the evening so that I can avoid Pamela. Pouring myself the coffee, I stay in the kitchen longer than I should. It’s quiet in here, and I’m enjoying the silence.

“You look good,” a female voice purrs.

Turning around, I smile at Pinkie. She’s wearing a pair of panties and a see-through white tank top. Her makeup is smeared, and she looks like she had a rough night. Judging by the taste of the coffee, she wasn’t the one who made it either, which is unlike her.

Pinkie is usually awake before everyone here and has her thick as fuck coffee percolating before anyone can get a chance to start a decent pot. But this morning is different. The coffee tastes decent and Pinkie looks like absolute hell.

“Wanna talk about it?” I ask.

She shakes her head. “Not really.”

I don’t move and neither does she. Pink wants to talk about it, she just doesn’t want to admit it. I watch her, waiting for her to speak. When she stays silent, I pour her a cup and hand it over, after adding in some cream and sugar.

“It’s the anniversary,” she whispers.

Taking a step toward her, I lift my hand and wrap my fingers around the back of her neck. Dipping my chin, I touch my forehead against hers.

“Babe,” I rasp.

She doesn’t say anything, but I know her soul is crushed. The incident isn’t something she talks about often, the anniversary even less. But I’ve known Pinkie since she landed here at the clubhouse, and I know exactly what she’s talking about. I’ve seen her go through it all and come out as best as she can.

“Usually, it doesn’t bother me too much,” she admits.

“It’s been eight years,” I say, finishing her thought.

She hiccups, then takes a step back, wiping her eyes with one hand and clutching her coffee to her chest with the other.

“It’s been eight years,” she whispers.

“C’mon out to the warehouse with me. We’ll spend the day together. You can talk about it, or you can just watch me whimper like a big fuckin’ baby because I ain’t healed quite right yet.”

She lets out a giggle, her eyes shining with wetness and she shakes her head. “I’m just going to take some pills, maybe smoke a little and sleep it all away.”

“You know you shouldn’t be doin’ that. You should be talking, you know that,” I say, reminding her of the last time she held it all in, bottled it, and went on a bender. Fucked herself up really good. She doesn’t need that at all, not again.

Her gaze shifts to the side, then comes back to meet my own. “They don’t know you like I do, Jag. Just like they don’t know me, like you do. I like that we have that.” Her voice is soft, almost meek sounding and I hate it.

Pinkie is the strongest bitch I know, no way should she ever sound weak and sad. Closing the distance between us again, I wrap my hand around the back of her neck, not wanting to let her go and drown herself in her shit.

“C’mon to the warehouse with me, Pink. Don’t want you to be alone.”

She licks her lips, her eyes lifting to meet mine. She doesn’t say anything right away, but she watches me, her eyes searching my own.

“Yeah,” she sighs. “Okay.”

My lips curve up into a grin and I feel like I’ve won some kind