I woke the next morning to the bellowing sound of an unfamiliar alarm clock. When I shifted in bed and came up against a rock-hard body, the realization hit me that I wasn’t at home. I had stayed the night at Bishop’s. I had broken his rule not only of women not coming to his house but of not staying over.

Today we were rising early to go to Chattanooga on some club business. Yesterday when the secret meeting was broached by Rev, I had immediately felt divided. Part of me wanted to go to see what I could uncover, while the other part of me feared what I might find. I wanted more than anything to believe Bishop when he said his club was going legitimate. It was just incredibly hard to imagine the Raiders going clean after years of illegal dealings.

Bishop cursed as he slapped the alarm clock off. When I turned over to face him, he was furiously rubbing his face and eyes to wake up. “Good morning,” I said.

After a wide yawn, Bishop grumbled, “Morning.”

“I guess it’s safe to say you aren’t a morning person, huh?”

“Fuck no.” He cocked his head at me. “Are you?”

I shrugged. “I’m okay with getting up early.”

“Well, as long as you’re with me, you better not be okay with it.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, I don’t want you throwing open the curtains at the crack of fucking dawn while whistling a happy tune.”

I snorted at his summation. “You have nothing to worry about on that front, trust me.”

Bishop grinned. “I’m glad to hear it.” He stretched in bed and groaned again. “Fuck, I do not want to get up and get on the road.”

Snuggling up to his side, I asked, “So, what’s so important about this meeting that has you getting up early and missing work?”

“It’s just something Rev and I need to do. . . . I guess you could say it’s for Rev more than me, but I need to be there for support.”

As I traced the ink lines of one of Bishop’s tattoos with my finger, the irrational side of me couldn’t help worrying about what Rev needed to do and why Bishop needed to be there for support. It didn’t sound good at all, and that fact made my stomach churn. Of course, I couldn’t imagine why Bishop would ask me along if it were something illegal. Maybe he planned to use me as a lookout or diversion. That thought made me feel like a paranoid fool. More than anything, I hoped that today would give me evidence to support the claim that the Raiders had gone legitimate in their business dealings. I hadn’t yet broached the subject to Peterson because I wanted to make sure I had some concrete evidence to back me up. He had no idea that while I worked on the paper trails of other cases, I was secretly working on the Raiders.

“Are you sure about me going? It sounded kinda like a brothers’ thing.”

“Of course I’m sure. You heard Rev say that Annabel couldn’t go.”

“Yeah.”

“And there will be some other women there.”

“It’s good to know I won’t be the only vagina,” I said teasingly.

Bishop laughed. “You’ll be the only vagina that belongs to me.”

“Yes, Caveman.”

Bishop dipped his head to bring his lips to mine for a tender kiss. “I’m starting to dig you calling me Caveman. Kinda makes me hot.”

I grinned. “Why am I not surprised?”

“Guess we better get up and get going. Rev will have my ass if we make him late.”

“Where exactly is it we’re going in Chattanooga?” I asked as I sat up in the bed.

“You’ll see.”

“You really expect me to just get on the back of your bike and let you take me wherever you want?”

He laughed. “I sure as hell do.”

“You’re such an egomaniac!” I huffed.

Pulling me against him, Bishop nuzzled my neck. “Yeah, but you like it.”

I gave a resigned sigh. “God forgive me, but I do.”

He gave my bottom a resounding smack. “Let’s get this fine ass of yours in the shower.”

We got on the road at a little after six in the morning. After stopping for a quick breakfast at seven, we continued on our way. Just before we reached Chattanooga, we pulled off at an exit. I was wondering if it was for a pee break or gas until we topped the hill and I was momentarily blinded by the gleaming chrome coming off a multitude of bikes. They were parked in a rest stop for truckers.

After we turned in, I noticed that while the men and women were wearing cuts, they were all different. There wasn’t a unified chapter like at the party in Virginia. Several of them had armbands that read BACA.

Instead of turning off the engines and getting off the bikes, Rev and Bishop just pulled into the back of the group. A man at the head of the line waved to them. He then did a count of the bikes and nodded. Once he got on his bike, the others around us started up their engines.

“What’s going on?” I shouted over the roar of the pipes.

“You’ll see,” Bishop replied cryptically.

I didn’t have a chance to try to get any more information out of him because we started out of the parking lot in a two-by-two formation. After getting back on the interstate, we traveled a few miles before taking another exit. I couldn’t imagine what was going on. Was it some kind of hit to be staged on an MC, and all these men were unified together? If anything illegal went down, I was in deep shit with the bureau for not letting them know what I was doing. Even if they were aware, it was bad news for agents to be caught up in illegal action. At least I had my cell phone on me with a direct link to Peterson in case things went south.

As we roared into a residential neighborhood, both my curiosity and my worry reached a fever pitch. I was pretty sure the last thing the residents wanted at eight in the morning was a bunch of noisy Harleys. After winding around a few streets, we came to a stop outside a small frame house with a well-kept yard.

Bishop eased down his kickstand and then cut the engine. Slowly I took off my helmet as I eyed Bishop’s back. In a low voice, I asked, “Are you guys about to do a hit on some unknowing biker?”

Whirling around, Bishop stared wide-eyed at me. “What the fuck did you just say?”

“You didn’t answer my question.”

With a bark of a laugh, Bishop replied, “No, Sam, we’re not here to kill anyone. For fuck’s sake, I told you we were going legitimate. I’m not sure how a club could be legitimate one minute and then killing someone the next.”

“Yeah, well, I didn’t know what all these other guys were up to.”

“I can promise you it isn’t murder.”

“Then what is really going on?”

“You’ll see,” he once again replied.

I grunted in frustration as I hopped off the bike. Rev motioned for us to follow him. He led us over to a walkway where some of the other men and women were forming a line. I wondered if it was some high-ranking biker we were waiting on, or the leader of a gang. It was obviously someone who garnered a lot of respect.

When the front door creaked open, I stood up on my tiptoes to get a good look at who was coming out. A young girl with flowing blond hair appeared in the doorway. Her black-and-white Converse sneakers carried her out onto the porch. When she raised her head to see all of us, she bit down on her lip and nervously tugged at her black-and-white-checked dress. When her parents appeared at her side, I looked from her to Bishop. “Okay, just what the hell is going on here?”

Before he could answer, Rev placed a hand on my shoulder. “The little girl’s name is Ansley. She has to be in court this morning to testify against the man who raped her.”

I widened my eyes in horror. “She can’t be more than seven or eight.”

“She’s eight,” Rev said.

“But she’s just a baby to have been through something so horrible!”

“I agree. That’s why we’re all here. The men and women here belong to BACA, or Bikers Against Child Abuse. We come to lend moral support and physical strength to children who have suffered physical, emotional, and sexual abuse. Sometimes they need someone to walk them home from school, and other times they need someone to go along with them to court. That’s why we’re here today.”

“That’s . . . amazing.” It was all I could murmur in response. After all, how could you put into words what these people were doing? It humbled me greatly just standing there with them.

“Well, a lot of us have experienced abuse in our past, and we want to somehow make it easier.”

Staring intently into Rev’s eyes, I couldn’t help wondering what kind of abuse he had endured. It made me wonder if Bishop had suffered the same fate, and that was why he had also gotten involved. As if he could hear my internal thoughts, Rev lowered his voice and said, “I was raped when I was eleven by a member of my father’s church.”

I brought my hand to my mouth as I gasped in horror. “Oh, Rev . . . I’m so, so sorry. Did you have to testify against him in court like Ansley?”

Rev and Bishop exchanged a look before Rev shook his head. “He never went to court.”

“You mean he got away with it.”

A cold, unfeeling look entered Rev’s usually friendly eyes. “I wouldn’t say that.”

“Then what . . .” I clamped my lips shut as realization of what had happened struck me. Rev’s rapist had never stepped foot inside court because someone had killed him. I couldn’t help wondering whether it was their father. Although I wasn’t a parent, I could only imagine how agonizingly devastating it would be to see your child hurt like that. I would be tempted to put the person six feet under as well. Then it hit me. I had wondered what had driven Preacher Man from his church and back to a life as an outlaw biker. Now I knew the answer.

“Your father killed him. Didn’t he?” I questioned in a low voice.

“Yeah. He did.”

Staring Rev straight in the eye, I said, “Good for him.”

Rev gave me a tight smile. “Thank you.”

Sensing we needed a subject change, I asked, “Where does everyone come from?”

“All over the country,” Bishop replied.

“Really?”

He nodded. “Most are from close by, but there’s some people who ride fourteen or fifteen hours to get here.”

“That’s really impressive they would do something like that for a stranger.”

With a teasing grin, Bishop said, “Yeah, it is hard to imagine us low-life bikers caring about anything other than booze and women, right?”

From the time I was eight years old, I had never felt anything other than disgust and utter hatred for bikers. How could I not? I had just lost my very best friend to a biker’s gun, so surely Bishop would understand how hard it would be for me to think anything otherwise. But in his eyes, and in truth in mine, I hadn’t seen bikers as men who could be trusted or capable of kindness. The Raiders were slowly proving there could be good men and women in an MC.

Heat rose in my cheeks. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

“One day I’m going to totally erase those thoughts from your mind.”

I smiled at him. “You’re doing a really good job. I promise.”

He winked at me. “Thanks.”

I watched as the leader of the group went over to speak to the girl and her parents, then began to introduce the bikers and the women. Each person went around and shook the girl’s hand. While I felt somewhat apprehensive, Bishop barreled forward with a bright smile. “Hi, sweetheart, I’m Bishop.” Motioning me forward, he said, “This is my girlfriend, Sam.”

“Hi,” she said.

“Hi,” I replied. Feeling that I should say or do something more, I added, “I love your shoes. I had a pair just like them when I was your age.”

Ansley’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “You did?”

“I sure did.”

“Hard to believe they made them way back then, huh? Like the dinosaurs might’ve had a pair,” Bishop teased.

When I playfully swatted his arm, Ansley giggled. I couldn’t imagine a sweeter sound in the world at that moment. I had to wonder after what had happened to her how she was able to laugh at all. “Okay, it’s time to load up and head out,” the leader, whose name I learned was Bobby, said.

We waved good-bye to Ansley and headed back to Bishop’s bike. “Surprised?” Bishop asked as he handed me my helmet.

“That this was the meeting you were going to, or that you partake in something like this?” I asked.

“Both, I guess.”

“I would have to say I’m very surprised. But at the same time, I’m relieved to see that this is what you and Rev were up to and not something bad.”

“There is no more bad stuff for us. I want you to understand that.”

Deep down, I wanted nothing more than for that to be the absolute truth. I wanted to be able to take what I had learned to Peterson and have any outstanding interest on the Raiders shut down. But I had to have more concrete evidence than just Bishop’s word. I had to know for sure they were no longer dealing in guns, and I wasn’t sure how in the hell I was supposed to find that out.

“I do . . . or I will. I promise,” I said as I climbed onto the back of his bike.

We left the neighborhood in a perfect formation, just the way we had come in. Except this time, Ansley’s parents’ car was in the middle of the pack, which gave it the perfect protection. After winding our way through the town, we reached the courthouse. The expressions on the bystanders’ faces when we pulled up were priceless. I guessed it wasn’t every day they saw a procession of bikers.

After the bikes were parked in a neat line, everyone started getting off. Ansley and her parents waited until we were all assembled outside the car. Then they got out, and we led them up the courthouse steps and into the building. It took a few minutes to get us all through security. Half of the guys had chains that set off the metal detector. It then took several elevator cars to get us all up to the fourth floor.

After we arrived in the courtroom, we settled in two rows close to the front. We were a somber group as we waited in reverent silence. As part of my job I had been in court too many times to count, but this was the first time I had seen this level of support and unified strength for a victim.

We hadn’t been seated long when the bailiff asked us to rise for the judge. Once the judge was seated, he asked the prosecution to call their first witness.

“We call Ansley Marie Butler.”

Ansley slowly rose out of her chair. Her legs shook violently like a newborn colt’s. As she started down the row, everyone patted her on the back. Some bumped fists and some of the women reached out to hug her. When she got to me, I smiled and patted her back. Although words seemed totally inadequate in that moment, I bit back the tears as I whispered, “You’ve got this.”

After giving me a weak smile, she started up the aisle to the witness box. As she took the stand, I suddenly became overwhelmed with a flashback so intense that I began shaking in my seat. When I stared ahead, it was no longer Ansley raising her right hand to swear to tell the truth and nothing but the truth on the Bible.

Instead, I saw my nine-year-old self as I testified at the trial of the man who killed my father.

Feeling the bile rising in my throat, I clamped my hand over my mouth and bolted out of my seat. I ran down the aisle and burst through the courtroom doors. My gaze spun wildly around to find a restroom. When I saw the sign, I broke into a run. I barely made it into a stall before I emptied the contents of my stomach. Over and over again, I heaved until there was nothing left within me.

When I finally finished, I flushed the toilet and staggered out of the stall. I placed my palms on the sink basin and stared into the mirror. As I was transported back to that horrible place, tears overran my eyes, sending mascara-blackened tears down my cheeks.

The morning I was due in court, my mother had come into my room to dress me. She had put me in a simple black dress that had scratchy material and made my skin itch. My protests about the fabric fell on deaf ears as my mother brushed my hair. She swept it back on the sides with black barrettes. She ignored me once again when I protested that I wanted to wear my usual ponytail. That morning she seemed to be in an almost trancelike state of going through the motions. She didn’t talk to me or my brother or sister. We had exchanged looks among ourselves during the period of silence.

As I eased down onto the hard chair in the witness stand, I kept my head tucked to my chest. I didn’t dare look across to the defendant’s table. I knew if I did I would lose all my nerve, and I wouldn’t be able to give the carefully rehearsed answers that the prosecutor had gone over with me. Earlier that week, I had spent several miserable afternoons reliving in horrific detail the night of my father’s murder.

My stomach twisted tighter and tighter into knots as Mr. Greenly led me through the events of that night. I swallowed hard to keep down the bile rising in my throat. I didn’t want to do anything wrong, least of all throwing up. I knew everyone was counting on me to put Willie away. Most of all, I felt I couldn’t screw up because I owed it to my father to get him justice.

The questions seemed to go on and on. Finally, we got to the one I was dreading the most. Mr. Greenly approached the witness stand. He leaned on the railing and gave me a reassuring smile. “Samantha, is the man you saw shoot your father present in the courtroom today?”

When I stared into Mr. Greenly’s dark blue eyes, he nodded encouragingly. Slowly, I began turning my head to the defense table. All the while, I kept my gaze on my lap, staring at the silk handkerchief my mother had slipped into my hand right after they called my name. “He’s over there,” I whispered.

“I’m sorry, but I need you to repeat that,” Mr. Greenly said.

Raising a shaking hand, I pointed at the table. “He’s there.”

The defense attorney’s voice caused me to jump. “Your Honor, the witness has not visually identified my client.”

I pinched my eyes shut. My body trembled so hard my knee knocked the microphone stand, causing a loud screech to echo throughout the room.

“Samantha,” Mr. Greenly’s kind voice said.

“I can’t,” I murmured.

“Samantha, the court has to have you look at Mr. Bates in order for your testimony to be recorded.”

Tears of agony overflowed from my eyes and spilled down my cheeks. With my eyes still shut, I pictured my father’s smiling face in front of me—the way his strong arms felt when he drew me in for a tight hug. And it was then I felt my father’s strength enveloping me.

I opened my eyes wide and stared at Willie. Sitting in a suit and tie, he looked much different from the way he had that night. But all I had to do was imagine him in the leather vest he had worn before, and there were no doubts.

As he sneered at me, I pulled my shoulders back and once again pointed at Willie. “Him. He’s the man who killed my father.”

I was jerked out of my flashback at the sound of the bathroom door flying open. “Sam?”

Lifting my head, I gazed at his reflection in the mirror. “Sorry. I just needed a minute.”

Bishop’s expression was filled with concern. He closed the gap between us and came to stand beside me. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

“Don’t bullshit me, Sam. You just bolted from the courtroom, and I come in here and find you in tears.” He put his hands on my waist and turned me around to face him. “Please tell me what’s wrong.”

I knew that I had two options. I could concoct an elaborate lie by saying that seeing Ansley had brought back memories of a young girl I had seen murdered. Or I could tell him the truth about my father—or at least the version that wouldn’t out me as an agent.

In the end, it was a no-brainer. I chose the second. “You know how my father died when I was eight?”

“Yeah,” Bishop replied.

“Well, he didn’t just die. He was murdered by a biker named Willie Bates.”

Bishop’s blue eyes widened. “Go on.”

Leaning back against the sink, I told him everything about that night. Then I told him about having to testify at the trial. “When Ansley took the stand, it sent me reeling with a flashback. I had to get out of there.”

Bishop drew me into his strong arms. His hands ran along my back. “I’m so sorry, babe,” he murmured into my ear.

It meant so much to have Bishop’s sympathy, because he knew what it was like to lose a loved one to a violent death. A quiet “Thanks” left my lips, but no other words seemed adequate.

He pulled back to look me in the eye. “Now it all makes sense about the way you felt about bikers. It went deeper than just what happened to Marley.”

“Yes. It does.”

“No one should have to go through what you did as a kid.” Bishop’s hands came to cup my cheeks. “If I could take the pain and hurt away from you, I would.”

Tears pooled in my eyes at his kind words, and I knew he was sincere about taking away my pain. Once again, he was such a paradox of appearing so tough outside and being so tender on the inside. Words seemed inadequate to express my gratitude. All I could murmur was “You really are the sweetest man I know.”

When Bishop started to bring his lips to mine, I brought my hand up to stop him. “Trust me, you don’t want to do that.”

“You get sick or something?”

“Oh yeah. Big-time.”

He gave me a sympathetic smile. “Come on. Let’s get you out of here.”

“What about Rev?”

“I’ll tell him you need to get back.”

“But then he’ll have to ride by himself.”

Bishop chuckled. “He’s a big boy, Sam. He can make it home on his own. He rode all the way to Virginia in the middle of December by himself.”

“What in the hell would possess him to do that?”

“He was going to tell Annabel he loved her.”

“Damn, that’s romantic,” I mused.

“Yeah, Rev’s a deep guy. He’s a hell of a lot more romantic than I’ll ever be.”

“I don’t think that’s necessarily true.”

He cocked his eyebrows at me. “You got some crazy feat in mind to make me prove myself?”

I shook my head. “It doesn’t always have to be grand gestures. What you just did was pretty romantic.”

Bishop gave me a skeptical look. “I just came to look for you. I’d hardly call that really exceptional.”

“But you cared enough to be worried about me, and you came into the women’s bathroom to make sure I was all right.”

“Oh Jesus, I hadn’t even thought of that. Let’s get the hell out of here.”

I laughed as I let him drag me by the hand out the door. “I hate that I didn’t get to say good-bye to Ansley.”

“Don’t worry. She has plenty of support at the moment. Maybe I can get her address and you can send a card or something.”

Once again, I was touched by his compassion. “Thanks. I would like that.”

As we pushed through the plate-glass door, Bishop said, “I just can’t wait for that piece of shit to go to prison. He’ll get tortured in there for being a kiddie rapist.”

“You and me both.”

We spent the rest of the walk to the bikes in silence. When Bishop handed me my helmet, I said, “Thanks.”

“It’s just a helmet.”

I smiled. “No. I mean, thanks for bringing me here today and letting me be a part of what you guys were doing.”

“You’re welcome. And I was glad to have you along.” He planted a soft kiss on my lips. “I always like having you with me.”

“And I like being with you,” I replied. It was the truth. Regardless of the reasons why I had originally started hanging out with Bishop, I genuinely enjoyed his company. At first it had been more about friendship and now it was growing into something much more serious. Although I knew we were on dangerous ground, I didn’t want to worry about it. I just wanted to enjoy the moment.

But in the back of my mind, I knew my secrets couldn’t stay buried forever. You could live a double life of lies for only so long before it caught up with you and you had to pay the consequences.

I just never imagined how hard that would be.

When we got home, I was physically and emotionally wiped. On the ride home, I’d had too much time to relive painful memories from the past of my father and some of Gavin. While I knew I should head on home, I didn’t want to spend the rest of the day alone. Part of me argued that I should go in to work. That at the very least I needed to talk to Peterson about what I had learned so far about the Raiders.

As if he sensed the way I was feeling low, Bishop said, “Why don’t you hang around for a while? Stay the night. You can always get up early in the morning to go home before work.”

Normally, I would have been determined to deal with my problems on my own and not to rely on anyone else to get me through. But I didn’t do that. Instead, I kissed Bishop. “Thank you. I’d really like to stay.”

He smiled. “Good.”

“You’ll let me know when you get sick of me, won’t you?”

“I doubt that will ever happen, but if it does, I’ll be sure to let you know.” As he unlocked the front door, he asked, “Are you hungry?”

“I thought you didn’t have anything in the house to eat?”

“I don’t. But I’ll see if Mama Beth does.”

I laughed. “I think I’ll pass for now. I really just want to take a hot shower and then go to bed.” Bishop didn’t argue with me that it was only one in the afternoon. Instead, he just nodded.

Without another word to him, I cut through the bedroom and into the bathroom. After turning on the water, I stripped out of my clothes and dipped inside. The emotions of the day soon overwhelmed me. Placing my arms on the tile, I buried my head in the backs of my hands and sobbed.

The sound of the shower curtain opening startled me, and I whirled around. Bishop stepped into the shower. Swiping the tears away, I asked, “What are you doing?”

“Getting clean. What does it look like I’m doing?” He picked up the bar of soap and started scrubbing himself for good measure.

“You don’t have to do this.”

“Do what?”

“Pretend so I can save face.”

“I’m just here taking a shower.” He stared pointedly at me. “Unless you want to talk.”

Bringing my hands to my face, I moaned, “God, I hate myself for feeling this way.” As I peeked at him through my fingers, I added, “I hate letting you see me this way.”

Bishop drew me against his chest. “Don’t ever feel that way, Sam. I’m here for you no matter what. Today was a bad day for you. It triggered a lot of long-buried emotions. I totally get that, and I totally get you having some meltdowns today.”

I rested my chin on his shoulder as I rubbed my hands along his broad back. “Even though I don’t want to believe you, deep down I know that you mean every word you say.”

“I do mean it.” He dipped his head to where his breath warmed against my ear. “Now, why don’t you let me take care of you for a little while?”

“Okay. I can try.”

Bishop turned me around to face the showerhead. When he started sweeping the bar of soap over my skin, I glanced at him over my shoulder. “What are you doing?”

“Taking care of you, like I said.”

“You really don’t have to do this.”

“I know. But I want to.”

Instead of continuing to protest, I pinched my lips shut and just enjoyed what Bishop was doing. It felt so intimate having his hands over my body in not just a sexual way. There was tenderness and care in the way he soaped me up. He took the time to massage my shoulders, and he planted tender kisses along my neck before he washed me there. I’d never had a man take care of me before. Of course, I’d never really wanted or allowed one to. But something about Bishop made me want to give up a little control. He made it easy to want to give in to him, since he was so attentive to my needs both in and out of the bedroom.

Once he had finished soaping me up, he took the showerhead off and rinsed me. When he stopped for a moment, I thought he was done, but he was lathering up his hands with shampoo. “Sorry that you’re probably going to smell like a man with this soap and shampoo. I don’t have anything feminine around here.”

I laughed. “It’s okay. I want to smell like you.”

When he finished rinsing my hair, I placed my hands on his chest and pushed him against the shower wall. Looking him in the eyes, I slid down his body until I was on my knees before him.

“Sam, what are you doing?”

“Now it’s my turn to take care of you.” I took his cock in my hand and began to slowly pump up and down. It quickly came to life, growing and swelling in my hand. Darting my tongue out, I licked and teased along the head. Bishop watched me with hooded eyes.

When I sucked the head into my mouth, he groaned, and his head fell back against the tile. I sucked him harder and faster, taking him deeper and deeper each time. His hands came to tangle in the strands of my hair. “Oh fuck, Sam,” he murmured.

As I continued working him with my mouth, I brought my free hand up to cup his balls. At my gentle tug, he hissed and banged his head against the wall. When I felt them tightening in my hands, I knew he was close to coming.

When he tried to pull me away, I shook my head.

“You gotta stop, or I’m going to come.”

I let him momentarily fall free of my mouth, but I kept pumping him with my hand. “But I want you to come. I want to taste you.”

“Fuck me,” he muttered as his eyes flared.

He didn’t argue with me anymore, which was good because I wouldn’t have listened to him. I wanted to give him physically what he had given to me emotionally. Once again, I slid him into my mouth, my teeth slightly grazing him.

“Sam!” he cried as he found his release.

I lifted my eyes to watch him come. He was so beautiful and sexy when he did. When he was finished, I licked him clean.

Bishop leaned down and helped me up. “I really like the way you take care of me.”

I grinned. “You’re very welcome. I was glad to repay the favor.”

“I’d like to pay some favors to you now,” he said as his hand came between my legs.

I sucked in a breath. “But we were even,” I protested.

“Do we really have to keep score?” he asked as his breath scorched the skin along my neck.

“I guess not.”

He bent down to grab my calf before bringing my foot to rest on the faucet. “You should know by now I don’t play fair.” He then sank to his knees before me.

“No. You don’t.” When his mouth dipped between my legs, I gasped. “But you sure know how to play.”

No man had ever gone down on me like Bishop. He had a true oral gift. This time he had me arching my hips and crying out his name without even using his fingers. His tongue was masterful in the way it was able to be soft and hard and gentle and forceful almost all at once.

After I came, I eased him up off the shower floor. I wanted him inside me as soon as possible, and I was glad to see his cock was already at half-mast again. “Take me now,” I pleaded.

“Jesus, I love it when you beg.” Bishop bent down to slide his arm behind my knees; then he swept me up into his arms.

“What are you doing?” I asked as I wrapped my arms around his neck.

“Taking you to my bed.”

“That’ll be a first for us,” I mused. After the many times we had been together over the last few days, we had yet to have sex in a bed. Last night, we had ended up on the floor of the living room after starting out on the couch. I had slept with him in his bed last night, but that was after we had already exhausted each other.

Bishop gently laid me out on top of the comforter. He stared down at me with both tenderness and obvious hunger. I spread my legs wide before him, urging him to take me. He groaned before turning to dig a condom out of the nightstand. Once he had it on, he covered me with his body.

His lips crushed against mine as our tongues battled frantically against each other. “Hurry, Bishop, I want you inside me,” I panted against the corner of his mouth.

Bishop took me by surprise by rolling us over and bringing me up to straddle him. “You take me,” he commanded.

When I took his cock in my hand, he groaned and bucked his hips. I quickly rose and guided him between my legs. Slowly I eased down on the length of him. I had to bite my lip to keep from crying out at how wonderful his filling me felt.

I began to ride him slowly at first. Rising off him and slowly coming back down. Bishop’s hands fondled my breasts. He massaged and kneaded them until the nipples were hardened peaks. As I began to move faster, he rose to take one of my breasts in his mouth. He alternated between my breasts and teased and sucked the nipples as I bounced on and off him.

Changing our position, Bishop sat up in the bed, and I wrapped my legs around him. His hands came to cup under my buttocks, and he worked me on and off him. In this position, we could kiss, which made it all the more pleasurable to me. Sex seemed more intimate when his lips were on mine. It wasn’t long before I was tensing up and crying out his name. He then flipped me onto my back and began pounding in and out of me. He came with a shout.

Later, as we lay tangled in each other’s arms, I knew there was no going back. I had to do whatever was in my power to make sure there were no charges brought against Bishop. Even if I lost my job, I couldn’t risk a life without him. Regardless of how quickly it had happened, I had fallen in love for the very first time.