Sam’s on me, her head on my chest and her leg twisted around mine like a fucking anaconda. Couldn’t move her if I fucking tried. “You okay?” I ask her, tugging on a strand of her blonde hair, already knowing the answer to the question but asking it anyway.
It’s raining sideways, hitting the house like a fucking hurricane. The wind’s howling, trees are swaying, and she’s clinging to me, holding on tight, refusing to let me go. I’m okay with it.
She nods her head, her cheek rubbing against the skin on my chest. “I think so.”
Think so? I call bullshit. Her voice gives her away—hesitant, distant. “Don’t think I believe that shit.”
Scoffing, she sits up and gives me a sassy look down her nose, hiding her uncertainty. “You don’t believe me?” The princess is gearing up for a fight. Even with a wobble in her voice, she’s down for a go with me. The bitch is nuts.
Fuck no, I don’t believe her. Seeing a bloodied and beat guy, even for the toughest female, can’t be easy. As much as she wanted that fucker dead and buried, I know that shit bothered her. I know she’s seen a lot, know damn well she’s a tough bitch, but I don’t believe for a second that tonight didn’t shake her up a little.
“No. I know you’re tough as hell, but also know tonight didn’t sit well.”
She rolls her eyes, leaning back against her headboard. “I mean, I didn’t enjoy it,” she huffs, staring at her nails, picking at the polish.
“No shit.”
I watch her. Watch the way she takes deep breaths, steadying herself. She’s beautiful, and broken.
“I just feel bad,” she tells me, finally looking back at me. “What if he had a family? I don’t care about him, but I care about the people that might’ve cared about him.” She traces the tattoo on my arm, the one I threw over her lap now that she’s sitting and not laying damn near on top of me anymore.
“Can’t think like that.” You can’t care. Can’t think too much about shit like this. In this life, caring will get you killed. Vulnerability is sign of weakness, and weakness won’t get you very far. If I cared about every motherfucker I dealt with or ran across, I would’ve ended up in jail or buried in Buck’s back yard years ago. I don’t give a fuck, and it’s not just because I don’t have much to care about, it’s because I’d rather survive than care.
“I can’t help it. Don’t you think about?”
She’s fishin’, wanting to know more about me and the shit I do. “Think about what?” I ask, wanting to hear where her heads at, what she’s thinking.
“The people you take care of.” Take care of? Makes me sound like a goddamn fifties gangster or something. I suppress a laugh.
“The only people I think about are lyin’ in this fucking bed and wearin’ a Disciples patch.” And that’s the truth. Couldn’t give a fuck less about anyone outside of this room or one of the Disciple clubs. Like I said, caring is for the weak.
Sam smirks, her face changing, morphing into something a little more blissed out. “You thinkin’ about me?” she teases, leaning down and kissing my lips. She tastes sweet, something like strawberry.
“Not often,” I joke, grabbing her around the back of her neck and keeping those soft lips on mine. Jesus, I could devour the bitch.
Honestly, I think about her more than I’d fucking like to. Think about her more than it’s healthy, that’s for goddamn sure.
“Not often?” She pouts. “You’re cold-hearted,” she accuses, pulling those plump fucking lips away from mine, and that’s got me growling.
“Honest,” I correct her. The princess doesn’t like my answer, even though I’m lying through my fucking teeth because she pulls away, frowning at me.
“Too honest,” she snaps back.
“Want me to tell you I think about you every day? Every fucking second of those days?”
Now she’s rolling her eyes, scooting her lace covered ass away from me. “No, but you don’t have to be so blunt.”
Blunt is who I am. I’m a dick. A cold-hearted asshole. I am who I fucking am, and I make no bones about it. She knows it. “Want me to lie to you?” I ask her instead. I can lie to her if she’d rather, tell her all the shit she wants to hear, true or not.
“No.” She’s mad at me, sitting halfway across the bed in her little bra and panty set, arms crossed, poutin’. Difficult little shit. Beautiful, but difficult.
“You know goddamn well I think about you. I fucking must if I keep coming back here to see you.”
That makes her smile, the crazy woman. The bitch is beautiful when she smiles. Looks like a goddamn model. Long legs, nice tits, tan, smooth skin and perfect face, she knows she’s everything. She’s more than I fucking deserve, but she’s self-centered and fucking mouthy, and that shit just makes me like her even more. Don’t know what that says about me, but I couldn’t give a fuck less.
“You’re the hardest man in the world to read.”
“Good,” I tell her, getting out of bed and grabbing her ass from the opposite side. “Now get your ass back in the bed.”
Sam laughs, hitting the bed with a bounce. “How did this go from working through my night to arguing over how much you think about me?”
“Fuck if I know. The ins and outs of your female mind aren’t my thing. I’m good with your body, but your mind eludes me, baby,” I tell her, crawling between her thick thighs. “I’m done talkin’.”
She sighs, her eyes closing when I peel her panties down her legs and bury my face in her cunt. “I wanna fuck you, baby. Fuck you and get some sleep.”
Licking her pussy, she nods, agreeing. “Okay.”
“Good.” The princess’s pussy and sleep, two of my favorite goddamn things.