Mature Content 17+ || Savage Wolves MC Book Two
In the wake of tragedy, Callie never fails at staying positive. But, after having her brother and the rest of the club nearly taken from her, she's a little more cautious, albeit still upbeat.
So caut...
*Don't take the last chapter too seriously... or should you? Only one person caught the most important part, but I won't say if they commented in the chapter or if they sent me a PM 😉*
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•Gray•
Callie's warm, naked body lays next to me under the cotton sheets. The comforter was pushed to the floor the night before after she climbed on top of me and dug her little hands into my chest while riding me.
My cock jumps at the memory of her slick tightness wrapped around me, her perky breasts right in my face, her deep moans above me as she took her pleasure for herself.
She's still sleeping.
It's early, the sun hasn't even made its daily appearance this morning, but yet, I'm wide awake.
I turn over and watch the subtle rise and fall of Callie's back that's turned towards me. Stroking her hair that's splayed down her spine, I push it out of the way and press a kiss in the center of her shoulder blades before cautiously slipping from the bed, not wanting to wake her.
I step lightly to the bathroom and throw on my clothes from the night before, quickly swiping some deodorant on under my shirt and rinsing my mouth with mouthwash.
My hair is too disheveled to do much to, but it does have that 'just fucked, sexy bed head' vibe going on, so I leave it as it is and grab my room key and money, quietly leaving the suite and heading to the front of the hotel.
A drunk girl in a bathing suit that's slipped off her tits in the middle of the night to reveal her nipples lays unconscious on a sofa in a sitting room near Callie and I's room, her male companion not much better in a pool of vomit on the floor next to her.
My nose puckers at the stench of not only his vomit but from the alcohol radiating from their pores and the empty bottles beside them.
I guess this hotel isn't very family-friendly.
Bypassing the couple, I chuckle when I think about all the times I've woken up early at the clubhouse to see the guys, hangarounds, or Sheep passed out in various places in various ways.
New Orleans really isn't that much different.
Spinning my room key around my finger before stowing it away in my pocket, I jog down the stairs, already being cleaned by housekeeping from the degenerates that came in the night before and trashed the place before passing out in their rooms - or the hallway in the case of the two I just passed.
Once I finally reach the lobby, I take in the silence, wondering how long it'll take for everyone to wake up and the place to get going for the day.
Stalking across the expanse of the open space, you'd think I'd have heard the footsteps coming up behind me, but I only realize someone is following me when a feeble hand wraps around my wrist.
