"Don't go setting fires when there's nothing to burn."
A sick turn of events sees Isla Telford thrown in at the deep end, battling to govern the sudden pressures of all that her father's club decidedly bestow upon her.
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Tig Trager x Fem!OC...
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warnings: smut <3
Amidst the chaos and unrest inside of the clubhouse, Clay was still able to heed his sergeant at arms stalking toward the bathroom with his signature steadfast determination, and a devilish grin that stretched from ear to ear.
Tig was about to do something—or, someone—that could've potentially jeopardized his position, and the president's heart was in his throat.
Though, even if his suspicions were proven to be plausible, he wasn't entirely sure what step to take next in confronting the plight—that had the propensity to blow up into an actual issue—without drawing too much attention to it.
Because Clay wasn't stupid, and Isla wasn't exactly the chariest of the bunch.
She had woven through the crowd with her beautiful smile and that interminable luster, greeting each person as she saw fit. Clay had received his daily peck on the cheek as she passed him by, too.
But her spritely nature, and abundance of cheer, seldom took away from the fact that she was terrible at masking the truth. At being at all discreet.
Isla had sauntered to the bathroom—while simultaneously watching the sea of faces change—mere moments before Tig had started to amble her way.
Though, he wasn't entirely bothered by the thought of his right-hand man and Chibs's daughter sleeping together.
So long as that liaison didn't irritate his business, then Clay didn't care.
But, the absolute juncture—the mere fucking second—that it became more than just a casual fling, he knew that he would have his work cut out.
To pull Tig away from her, more so anything else.
"Isla?" He spoke against the wood and twisted the doorknob a couple of times, frantically looking from left to right in order to spot any potential dangers.
Aside from Clay—which, he was utterly oblivious to—nothing had transpired, and Tig was simply waiting for her to let him in, now.
"Isla, it's me—"
"Shh!" She hissed, grabbing at his hand and pulling him into the bathroom. "Did anybody see you?"
Tig shook his head while simultaneously drawing her in, hiking her dress to the middle of her thigh as she reached over his shoulder and secured the lock on the door.
"This has gotta be real quick." He mumbled, kissing licentiously across her jawline. "Bobby gets back in, like, twenty minutes."
It was more than reasonable to assume that Isla had shirked the real reason for the party, tonight. She had, not-so conveniently, forgotten about Bobby's nearing homecoming after finding herself wrapped up in Tig and everything that she wanted him to do to her.
