CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
We had so much heavy conversation over dinner that I try for lighter talk once we move to the living room under the guise of watching a movie.
“I’m sure you’re able to get into any pair of panties you want. Whenever you want. So why’d you come here tonight? Besides to show off your awesome cooking skills.”
He runs his hands through is hair, his frustration heavy between us. “I wanted to see you. What I’m feeling for you is very real, Charlotte.”
I want to understand how Marcel is so sweet with me, sweet to his sister and baby niece and still be part of an MC. The little I’ve been able to glean about his reputation is rather distasteful and seems at odds with what I’ve witnessed personally. Not that it should surprise me, my uncle isn’t known for having the most reliable relationship with the truth.
“Why?” I ask.
The sharp stare he gives me softens and he reaches out to run the back of his hand over my cheek. “I like you. I like being with you. I like being around you. I want to know you. Is that so hard to believe?”
“You already know me quite well.” I wiggle my eyebrows to ease the rising tension, but it doesn’t work.
“Not like that. Don’t do that. I mean I want to know everything about you.”
“But why?” I’m pushing him. Even if I believe him about the friction between his club and my uncle’s has nothing to do with us, before we get more involved I want some assurance I’m more than a fun puzzle for him. That I’m not some momentary relief from club life and once he’s had a good time he’ll be on to the next.
“Why? You want a reason why I like you?” He shakes his head. “Jesus. Why.” He rests his chin on his hand as if he’s trying to come up with a serious answer. “It feels nice.” He taps his chest and then his temple. “In here. It feels easy.”
“Easy, huh? Even though I’m kind of a bitch to you all the time?”
He swivels his head my way and a ferocious grin lights up his face. If I didn’t already trust him, it would be terrifying. In a smooth move, he maneuvers his big body onto the couch, pushing me down into the pillows piled at the end. “That’s my favorite part.”
His fingers tease up underneath my shirt, then dip down under my pants, running over my underwear. Inspecting. “For example,” he whispers. “I asked you to keep that sexy shit on for me and I’ve been excited all night to find out whether you did it or not.”
I gasp when his fingers graze the tops of my thighs. “You’re not disappointed that I took the stockings off?” I’m annoyed with myself for caring so much about the answer.
“Nope.” He hooks his fingers into the waistband and drags my pants down my legs, tossing them on the floor. “Either way I win.”
“Really?” I clear my throat, hoping to stop the quivering in my voice. “I thought all cavemen liked their women obedient.”
He shakes with laughter as he slides his hands under my shirt and works it up over my head. “You’re obedient where it counts.” He uses my own word to tease me and probably to piss me off, unfortunately for both of us it only turns me on.
“No fair. I’m mostly naked and you’re not,” I protest while sliding my hands up under his shirt.
He sits up and strips off the shirt. “Better?”
“Oh, yes.” I reach out and trace my fingers over the Lost Kings MC on his chest. “You love your club a lot.”
“Yes. That’s my family. But we’re talking about you right now.”
“We are?”
His fingers skim up my sides, stopping to cup my breasts. He lowers himself over me, teasing my nipples through the black lace. Gentle at first. Slow enough to drive me mad, he trails his lips down my body. Stopping to lick and kiss lots of spots along the way. “What are you doing?” I whisper.
He tips his head up, a wicked smile curving his lips. “Whatever I want.”
“Staring at my problem areas isn’t a big turn on for me.”
His brow wrinkles. “Problem areas? What the fuck does that mean?”
“I could probably stand to work out a bit more,” I say, poking a finger into my leg.
Why the hell did I say that? I’m not usually one to focus on my flaws. Or put myself down to fish for compliments. Then again, I don’t usually have men who look like Marcel study me so closely.
He shakes his head and presses a kiss to my thigh. “I’m the only workout you need.”
“Oh, really? How’s that?”
“Riding my dick counts as cardio.”
“Is that what you used to tell your clients at Furious?”
He nuzzles my inner thigh and bites at the strip of satin between his face and my body, pulling it away from my skin then letting it go. “No. That’s what I’m telling you,” he answers, his voice gruff with desire.
While I’m busy laughing he drags my underwear down my legs. “Hey, I need those.”
“No, you don’t.” He tucks my underwear in his back pocket. “In a few seconds, I’m burying my tongue in your pussy.”
“What makes you think I’ll let you do that?”
“Because you want it as much as I do. Any more questions?”
By the tone of his voice, I think question time is actually over. He nudges my thighs apart and my leg drops to the floor.
“That’s nice,” he murmurs. He reaches up and slips a throw pillow from the pile underneath my head. “Lift up,” he urges, wedging the pillow under my hips. His palm lands on my inner thigh, opening me wider.
I hold my breath, waiting for what he plans to do next.
My eyes close the second the hot, wet velvet of his tongue slides over my sensitive skin.
“Fuck!” My back arches, practically shoving my pussy in his face. Begging for more of his wicked tongue. Gripping my thighs tight, he holds me where he wants me, tastes me slowly, licking and taunting me. “Please, please.” I’m not even sure what I’m begging for. Everything feels good, but I still need more.
His lips circle my throbbing clit.
“Oh my…” I can’t finish the thought and the words trail off into a moan.
The flat of his tongue teases over the sensitive little pleasure point and my breath catches. His grip on my legs is tight but he feathers the lightest touches to my most sensitive places.
My hands. I don’t know what to do with them. I cover my face, moaning against my fingers. He makes a humming, encouraging sound then licks lower, pushing his tongue into me.
I draw in another shuddering breath. Never. No one has ever given me this much pleasure or focused so intently on me before. And every. Damn. Time. He does it.
My entire body tenses, so close to exploding. Except, I’m greedy and don’t want it to end too soon.
Behind my head, there’s a scratching, rattling sound, but I’m too far gone for it to register.
Marcel’s so into what he’s doing to me he doesn’t notice either.
“Char? Oh, fuck!” The door slams shut and Marcel jumps off the couch, pulling a gun from his waistband and pointing it at the floor. “You expecting someone?”
My brain’s spinning, trying to make sense of things. One second I was close to a really fantastic orgasm the next—
“Do you always carry a gun?”
“Yes.” He jerks his head toward the door. “You always have people breaking into your apartment?”
“No.” I struggle to sit up, ignoring the wetness between my thighs.
“It’s me, Char,” someone calls from the other side of the door.
“It’s Carter,” I explain, struggling to wiggle into my sweatpants and T-shirt.
“Fuck,” Teller mutters.
My eyes land on the bulge behind his fly but he snaps his fingers, drawing my attention to his face. He nods at the hallway. “I’ll…” his voice trails off as he leaves the room.
Running a shaky hand over my clothes, I take a few steps to the front door and open it. “Hey, bro. What’s up?” I ask a little too brightly.
He peeks at me from between his fingers. “I need a lobotomy.”
“Can’t help you there.” I stand back and open the door wider.
Like the little jerk my brother can be, he makes a big show of poking his head inside my apartment and looking around before stepping over the threshold.
“Don’t you have a bedroom?” he asks, nodding at the couch.
“Don’t you knock? Or you know, call?”
He waves his cell phone in my face. “I did call.”
“Oh.” I glance around not sure where my cell phone is. “I was—”
“Getting serviced. I know. I saw.”
“Shut up.”
Carter glances around, his gaze landing on the television. He fidgets and I can tell something is weighing on him. He wouldn’t have come over for no reason. Before we get into whatever it is, I want to check on Marcel. “Give me a minute, Carter.”
I hurry down the hall and tap on the bathroom door. “You didn’t come down here to rub one out did you?” I ask when he pokes his head out.
The look on Marcel’s face is priceless, but he recovers quickly. “No. I wanted to wash up. Thought it would be rude to say hello to a guy while his sister’s pussy juice is all over me.”
“You’re disgusting.”
He grips my arm and pulls me closer. “Yeah, but you like it,” he whispers against my ear.
Feeling brave, I press my fingertips to his chest and rise up on my tiptoes. “You’re definitely going to use that talented tongue on me some more. I didn’t quite get there.”
He growls. A low sound I can only describe as animalistic, and squeezes my ass. “Can’t fucking wait.” He slaps my ass and nudges me out of the bathroom. “Go see what your brother needs. I’ll be there in a second.”
Christ, if any other guy talked, touched, or bossed me around the way he does, I’d probably slice his balls off.
Carter’s still standing by the door when I return to the living room.
“You two didn’t just do it did you?” he asks, nodding in the direction of the bathroom.
“No, we didn’t do it.”
Marcel chooses that moment to saunter into the room. Shirtless. “I don’t know about you kid, but a real man needs more than two seconds to take care of his woman.”
Did he just refer to me as his woman?
Carter, my sweet, brave, stupid brother, crosses his arms over his chest and glares while Marcel plucks his T-shirt off the back of the couch and slips it on.
A slight smirk tugs the corners of his mouth up as he takes in my brother’s expression. He holds his hand out. “Hey, Carter. Good to see you again.”
My brother eyes Marcel’s outstretched hand. “I don’t know where that’s been.”
The humor drains from Marcel’s expression. “Watch yourself.”
Since my brother has no sense of self-preservation, I step between them. “What’s wrong, Carter?”
His nervous gaze darts to Marcel, who doesn’t seem in a hurry to give us any privacy. He finally shrugs and focuses his attention on me. “Mom’s a bit out of control. Had some friends over. I had to get out of there.”
My poor brother looks so damn miserable. I’d pull him in for a hug, but I don’t think he’d like me babying him in front of Marcel.
“You’re always saying I should move in with you. Is this the kind of depravity I’d have to witness?” he says, gesturing at the couch.
Marcel snorts. “You should get out more. We hadn’t gotten anywhere near depraved yet.”
“Do you want coffee? I’m going to make coffee,” Charlotte says, practically running to the kitchen.
I move to stand and follow her, but Carter—the little shit—blocks me.
“You and my sister?”
“Are none of your business.”
He pokes his finger in my chest and I sort of admire the balls on this kid, even though I really want to kick his fucking ass right now. “I know how you guys treat women. My sister’s not some—”
Knocking his hand away from his chest, I move into his space, pushing him back a few steps. “You don’t know shit about me.”
“You know who our uncle is, right?” he asks in a low voice. I don’t get the feeling he’s trying to threaten me with the information. It’s more of a warning.
“I know.”
After a quick glance down the hall, he drops the cocky attitude. “You willing to protect her?”
“From who?”
“Anyone.”
“Is someone bothering her?”
“Just answer the question, King.”
“Of course I would.” I stop to think about his words. Combined with what Charlotte told me earlier, I don’t like where this is headed. “Is your uncle a threat to her?”
“He’s a useless piece of shit.”
Okay. That’s direct. Still didn’t answer my question.
He lowers his eyes. “I know she seems like a tough cookie, but please don’t hurt her.” After a second, he meets my eyes again. “She’s really all I have.”
Who the fuck am I to make promises to anyone? “I don’t want to hurt her.” I mean every word, but my voice sounds hollow because deep down, I know, eventually, no matter how hard I try not to, one way or another, I end up hurting everyone I care about.
“Where do you think this can go?” His question has a begging quality to it that only intensifies the guilt lodged in my chest. “Your club’s never gonna trust her. She has a career and you’re a career criminal.”
“I’ve been humoring you since she’s your sister. And I totally get the protective brother thing, trust me. But you’re starting to piss me off.”
“Do I look like I give a shit? Go ahead and kick my ass. It won’t stop me from worrying about her.”
This little fuck is frustrating the hell out of me. I step back and scrub my hands over my face and decide to be truthful with him. “I get what you’re saying. You’re not telling me anything I haven’t already thought of.”
“All right. Good. That’s all I’m asking.” He does that rubbernecking, looking down the hall thing again. “She seems to really like you, so I guess you can’t be a total douche.”
“Gee, thanks.” He laughs when I sneer at him and follows me to the kitchen.
Charlotte ignores us as she finishes making the coffee, setting out cups, spoons, cream, and sugar. “Carter, do you want something to eat?”
“What did you have for dinner?”
Charlotte meets my eyes and a quick smile passes over her lips. “Marcel made stir-fry.”
“Scary biker-man knows how to cook?” Carter asks.
“I have lots of talents, little man.”
“Gross,” he mutters, looking away.
“Anyone ever tell you you’re an obnoxious little shit?” I ask.
Charlotte snorts, but Carter just grins. “Yeah, she says it all the time.”
As annoying as he is, I respect the reckless way he cares about his sister. Pulling a gun on me, getting up in my face, warning me not to hurt her. If I were a different guy, that behavior might’ve gotten him killed by now.
Still, his devotion to his sister is admirable, sort of. I haven’t decided if he’s loyal and brave or really fucking stupid.
“You ride, Carter?” I ask.
He and Charlotte share a look. One that suggests I walked into uncomfortable territory.
“No.” Suddenly he’s fascinated by his coffee cup, staring at it and turning it in circles in front of him.
“Our dad died in a motorcycle crash,” Charlotte explains quietly.
For a second, I can’t breathe. I’m thrown back to the night of the crash with Mariella. Losing control. Losing the feeling in my legs. Blacking out. Under the table, I absently run my hand over my leg, thankful the sensation registers right away.
“I’m sorry,” I finally mumble.
When I glance up, Carter’s staring at me. “Uncle Chuck thinks I’m a pussy because I never wanted to prospect for the Wolf Knights.”
Jesus. How am I supposed to respond to that? “Club life isn’t for everyone, kid.”
“Nah, I’m just not a big enough knuckle-dragger for him.”
I shrug. “No shame in admitting you’re not interested. Was your dad a Wolf Knight too?”
Charlotte’s busies herself with taking things out of the refrigerator and as much as I want to watch her curvy little ass wiggle around the kitchen, I keep my gaze on Carter.
“Yeah. That’s why the club still takes care of my mom.” He rolls his eyes. “Sort of.”
“That’s good,” I answer carefully.
“Yeah, it’s a ball when they throw parties at our house and get her liquored up.”
“Carter,” Charlotte warns.
“What? You two aren’t at the sharing-family-dynamics stage of your relationship yet?” he asks, using air quotes around relationship, which pisses me off.
“Watch yourself,” I say in a low voice. My gaze strays to Charlotte. “She already knows all about my family dysfunction.”
Carter raises an eyebrow and glances at Charlotte.
“Mind your own business, Carter.” In a gentler voice she asks, “Do you want pancakes?”
His eyes widen and there’s a happy twitch at the corner of his mouth. “Yes, please.”
Tired of not being able to see what she’s up to, I take the chair next to Carter so I can watch Charlotte work.
“I have blueberries or bananas,” she says over her shoulder.
“Blueberries.” He glances at me. “She makes the best pancakes.”
When she finally brings his plate over, he tips his head back and flashes an almost childlike smile. “Thank you, Char.”
At least the kid is polite to his sister. Otherwise I probably would’ve taken him out back and kicked his ass by now.
Some girls cry at the drop of a hat. I’ve never been one of them. My mother used to say it was because I was cold and had no heart. But if Marcel keeps being so nice to my brother I might break down and sob all over myself.
“Do you want pancakes too?” I ask Marcel.
“Sounds like I have to try them.”
“Thought you ’roid-heads watched what you ate better?” Carter mumbles, earning a glare from Marcel.
“Carter,” I snap.
Sure, every time my brother opens his mouth and says something obnoxious, Marcel’s eyes gleam like he’d enjoy teaching Carter some respect using the fist-to-mouth approach. But he never does anything more than issue a low warning.
Marcel flexes his arm in Carter’s face, patting his bicep. “No ’roids, you little shit. Just hard work.”
“Put that away before you hurt yourself,” Carter says, brushing Marcel’s arm out of his way.
Marcel’s eyes widen, but when he tips his head my way, his lips are curved in an amused smile.
He’s putting up with Carter out of respect for me. Maybe it’s a ploy to eventually weasel information out of me about my uncle’s club. But let’s face it, that’s not a very efficient plan. While my uncle has always spouted off catchy biker sayings about respect and loyalty, he’s never practiced them.
Marcel seems to live those words.
“Since you know so much about everything, what do you do, Carter?” Marcel asks.
“He’s a very talented artist.”
Carter lets out a sardonic laugh. “Artist is stretching it. I paint houses and walls.”
“What kind of art?”
“Murals mostly.” He shrugs. “But I enjoy any type of illustration.”
“He’s good at all of it.”
“She’s exaggerating because she can’t even draw a stick figure.”
“True. All the artistic talent went to Carter.”
“And all the useful skills went to you.” Carter flashes a smile, but I know there’s a lot of pain behind it. Surprisingly, my dad didn’t care about conventional gender norms and encouraged Carter’s interest in art when he was little. After he died, Chuck urged my mother to take all of his “faggy”—his word, not mine—stuff away.
I was the one who kept buying him pencils, pens, sketch pads, anything that was easy to keep hidden but still allow him to express himself.
“I really like glass blowing but the equipment and space is expensive.”
I turn and point to a set of glasses with cobalt blue swirls. “Carter made those for me.”
Marcel glances at them and nods.
Carter smirks. “You never use them.”
“Because I don’t want to break one,” I explain.
“That’s challenging work. You need a kiln or something, right?” Marcel asks.
“Yeah. I’m really best with a sketch pad and pencils.”
“You ever think of tattooing?”
Carter lifts his shoulders, uncomfortable with Marcel’s full attention on him. “I don’t know if I could sit still long enough to repeatedly stab someone with a needle. I’d need to take lots of breaks.”
“If you’re good enough, clients won’t care what your process is.”
“I don’t know if my stuff’s worth permanently sticking someone with.”
“Well, if you want to talk to someone about doing an apprenticeship, let me know.”
My brother eyes him suspiciously. “Yeah, thanks.” He glances at the table and starts cleaning up the dishes.
“Leave it, Carter. I’ll do it later.”
“No. I’m not leaving you with a messy kitchen.”
“Do you want to take the rest of those home?”
“I think I’m gonna go see Bianca.”
“Girlfriend?” Marcel whispers to me.
I lift one shoulder and roll my eyes. “Friends.”
By the time the kitchen’s cleaned up, Carter seems to have recovered from whatever sent him running from Mom’s house. He wanders out to the living room, leaving Marcel and I in the kitchen.
“Sorry,” I mutter.
“Stop apologizing.”
Unsure of what to do with myself, I get up and make more coffee. “Want some?”
Marcel doesn’t answer right away. I turn to ask again and he’s staring at me with so much intensity, my heart skips. “I want something all right,” he says in a low voice.
A full body shiver of desire works through me.
The coffee finishes and I set two cups on the table in front of us and take my seat. While he’s stirring cream in his, I lean in closer to whisper in his ear, “Your balls must be pretty blue.”
He chokes on his laughter and drops his spoon on the table. He hooks his hand behind my neck, pulling me closer for a kiss. “You’ll fix me later,” he says against my lips.
“Christ, I was gone for a couple minutes and you’re already molesting my sister?” Carter says, stomping back into the kitchen.
Marcel holds his hands up. “Hard not to, kid.”
Carter just snorts and slaps a piece of paper on the table in front of Marcel.
“Thanks for dinner, sis. Later, Teller. Try to contain yourselves until I’m out the door.”
I stand and follow him to the living room. “You sure you’re all right?”
“I’m fine.”
I can’t help it, I rub my hand over the top of his head. “Tell B I said hi.”
“I will.” He lifts his chin toward the kitchen. “I’ll tell her you’re shacking up with a scary biker dude too.”
I give him a playful shove out the door. “Get out of here.”
As Charlotte leaves the table to see her brother out, I grab her hand. Our eyes meet for the briefest second and I let her go.
My fingers curl around the edge of the blank piece of paper Carter laid in front of me.
Except it’s not a blank piece of paper.
The other side has a quickly sketched cartoon portrait.
The kid’s definitely talented.
In the few minutes he was in the living room, he drew a decent likeness of Charlotte and me. My—jacked up and inked—arms around her protectively. Charlotte’s head tipped up, staring at me with affection.
What catches my breath is the way he somehow managed to capture the way I feel about her with a few quick pencil lines.
Is this some sort of approval from her little brother?