Page 9 of Piston

They also have to dress appropriately, and if one tries any shit with a brother and his old lady, they’re out.

Every patched brother has a room on the second floor, with a bathroom between every two rooms, while the prospects and clubwhores double up just off the common room, between the kitchen and the backdoor. They all share the two communal bathrooms halfway down the hallway on either side.

On the other hand, the officers have larger rooms to the back of the common room, between the church and the prez’s, VP’s, and Treasurer’s offices.

I’ll be moving into the rooms next year while the log house I designed is being built. Katie, the waitress working at our bar, who happens to be in interior design school, is already making plans to decorate it for me. It is a mile away from the clubhouse but still on club land.

Acid already has his house built right next door to Canine’s, but he doesn’t stay there much, preferring his room at the club.

Maybe if he’d just get his head outta his ass and finally claim Perrie, then he’d be there more.

It doesn’t take me long before I get to campus, diverting left, three streets over to Memory Lane, where Nat found an apartment.

It’s only one bedroom, with a small living area and kitchen, but she’s happy, even got herself a fucking cat, Bluebell.

I’m not sure about her financial situation or her home life, we don’t go that deep with conversations, but I do know she works her ass off at school and works part-time at Cora’s Day Care Center, and part-time at the local diner.

My aunt did offer her a job at Huntsmen Grub, but Nat, thankfully, declined.

We’re just sex, that’s it. No friendship or feelings are involved, and that’s how it needs to stay. As soon as she shows signs of wanting more, I’ll ditch her, and vice versa. We agreed when I showed up at her dorm two years ago after our night together.

I don’t know why showed up, especially when I was so fucking adamant I wouldn’t see her again after I snuck out, but I just couldn’t get enough of her; I needed more.

And even now, two years later, I still haven’t had enough of her.

Sighing, I guide my pure black Harley into the space next to her car, parking and looking around.

I fucking hate this neighborhood.

The Killers, a nasty gang that thinks it owns New York, deals their drugs over this side of campus, and knowing Natalie is living here, it is bringing out emotions I refuse to decipher, and besides, it'sher choiceto stay here. I won’t offer to help her. Not only won’t she take it, but I’m not her man.

We just fuck, that’s it….

Shaking my head, I climb off my bike, knowing no one will fuck with it—The Killers are stupid but not that stupid—and head to the apartment block that looks ready to collapse.

I ignore the smell of piss as I get into the stairwell, and take it three steps at a time until I get to the fourth floor.

A guy is sitting upright, passed out, just inside the hallway, and I shake my head, go to the dark gray door, and rapidly knock.

My cock is already twitching, and I grab the doorframe to try and control myself, refusing to understand why she has such a hold on me, why my stomach tightens at the thought of seeing her.

The door opens within a few seconds. Her eyes widen when she sees me, and I scowl, seeing her face red, tear stains coating her cheeks.

Who in the fuck made her cry?

I push off the doorframe and cup her cheeks, gently running my thumb over the tear marks.

I furrow my brows when she grips my wrists, and rasps, “I’m so sorry, Piston. I totally forgot about today. Can we reschedule?”

I raise a brow, confused, my cock suddenly weeping with the thought of not getting his tight heat, not wanting anyone else.

Again, I won’t look too deeply into why.

Ignoring my sudden disappointment, I hum and gently catch the tear that’s just fallen, mesmerized by it. I utter, “It’s not your period, right? That was two weeks ago, so what’s happened for you to cry like this, Diamond?”

“It doesn’t matter,” she says as she tries to get out of my hold, but I tighten my grip, and then wrap my right arm around her waist, my hand going to her bare back. I have to hold in my groan.

Fuck, I love when she wears tops that look like normal t-shirts from the front but are completely bare at the back. It normally means she’s braless.