Demented Souls Collection: Books 5-8

Chapter 9

Today had been s**t. Sadist woke up to a call from Stephanie, his receptionist. She couldn’t make it in. That meant he had to go in early to make sure everything was ready, then he had to pull double duty today. He didn’t even know what the schedule looked like, for all he knew he had three back to back long ass sessions and he would barely have time to answer phones, much less deal with people who walked in. And he’d had such high hopes for today after last night.

Just thinking about Beth made his c**k stir. Damn she was hot. He’d love to get his hands, and mouth, on her. But she was a good girl. He couldn’t just f**k her and walk away. Sadist had more than his share of meaningless s*x, but not with women like Beth.

What he should do is walk away, let her find someone more like her, a good guy that fit into her world, the 4H, the FFA. Let her find a good guy, get married and have the kind of life he had no doubt she deserved.

Sadist shook his head and scrubbed his hand over his face as he staggered into the shower, wondering what in f**k had sent his mind off in that direction. He wasn’t a bad guy, he knew that. Not that the real bad guys thought of themselves as bad, but that wasn’t the point. He didn’t look like most people’s idea of a good person. He stared down at his arms and hands with a critical eye. He’d never fit into the kind of world Beth was used to. People gave him looks because of his tattoos. Sometimes they were odd looks, sometimes they were scared ones, but they were looks all the same. He’d never cared about them before. He loved his tats but for the first time, he wondered if he might have made a mistake with them.

Damn, there was something about her. Sadist didn’t know if it was her innocent look, though that had never done things for him before, or what, that drew him to her but just the thought of Beth made his d**k throb and ache to be inside her.

If he wasn’t bored with the ongoing one-night-stands, the club whores who were only there because of the bike or the prestige of sleeping with a Demented Soul, he might not have pursued Beth. He’d been tired of the revolving door of women who would sleep with anyone in the clubhouse for a while. Tired of the whores looking to be upgraded to ol’ ladies or even wives.

He closed his eyes and tipped his head back until the hot spray of water ran over his face. The memory of Beth’s face the night before flashed through his mind. Her half-lidded eyes as he pulled away from her kiss. The sweet, honey taste of her mouth and her flowery scent. He wrapped his hand around his c**k and slid it up and down, imagining it was the wet heat of her mouth sliding over the sensitive flesh instead. Her pretty lips stretched around him, long lashes shielding her eyes that were the same light gold as a fine whisky. Between the sensations of his hand working up and down the length of his c**k and his mental images of Beth on her knees in front of him, it didn’t take long before fire raced up his spine.

Sadist cried out as he couldn’t stop the orgasm that ripped through him. He finished his shower and got dressed, wondering if he’d get time to call her, hopefully after she got off work so they could talk, even for just a few minutes.

It was after ten p.m. when Sadist stepped out the back door of the Sadist Den and locked it. His hands ached and his back throbbed. He wanted a drink but wanted his bed more. At his bike he sat astride it before putting on his helmet and just sat there a moment.

Shit.

He’d been so busy from the time he’d gotten to the shop that he’d forgotten to call Beth until just now. He pulled his phone from his pocket and sent a quick text message.

Sadist: You still up? Sorry, I planned to call earlier but today was crazy. He hit send, put his phone away and started the bike. As much as he wanted to wait for her answer, he needed to get home before he was too tired to drive, and things got dangerous.

You still up? Sorry, I planned to call earlier but today was crazy.He made the normally twenty-minute trip in fifteen, without speeding. It’s amazing how fast things move when there’s less traffic. Not to say there was no traffic, there was, but it wasn’t like daytime traffic.

Pulling up in front of his house, he pressed the small button attached to the handlebars that Gizmo had rigged for him, and the garage door rolled up. After easing the bike inside, he hit the button again and killed the engine. While the door closed behind him, Sadist took off his helmet, shook his head to loosen his hair the helmet and sweat had plastered against his head, and sat there a moment. Home.

The tiny flashing green light on the security panel next to the door into the house told him nothing had been disturbed since he left.

Good.

He stepped off his bike, left his helmet behind and went inside. In the kitchen, he took a cold beer from the fridge, opened it and took a long pull before going into the living room and turning on the TV. He might be able to catch the tail end of the news. Remembering the text he’d sent Beth, he checked his phone. Nothing. Sadist turned the TV to channel 4 and found there was still a few minutes of news left before Jimmy Fallon.