A week later, I find myself kissing my wife goodbye. She’s still sleeping in bed, but her eyes flutter open as she looks up at my seated position. She looks at me with confusion and then realization dawns on her. I won’t be back until tomorrow sometime.
Tonight, I’m driving up to Humboldt to load up the truck with merchandise. Normally, I would try and come back the same night, but MadDog warned that this shipment is double the size of the last, so I have a feeling it’s going to take twice as long to load.
“I’ll miss you,” she murmurs.
Looking at her face, there is still some light bruising, but most is yellowed. It’s almost completely cleared of the horrors she suffered. I reach out and touch my finger to her nose, then drag it down to her lips, tracing them. Lips that were wrapped around my cock last night; lips that sucked me completely dry. Lips that are mine.
“A prospect will be outside the front door all night long. You need anything, you fear anything, you tell him,” I rumble.
“Okay,” she breathes before her tongue peeks out and tastes my finger. Shaking my head, I lean down and press my lips to hers.
“Gonna be late. Can’t fuck you, sunshine.”
“When you get back?” she asks on an exhale, her lips still touching mine.
“Yeah, when I get back,” I grunt.
It takes everything inside of me to stand up and turn away from her. She’s warm, curled into the sheets, and I know that she’s still naked from last night. Goddamn, my woman knows how to make me smile.
Swear to Christ, I don’t think I’ve been this happy my entire life. I don’t think I’ve ever allowed myself to be this happy, either. Wish I would have found this inside of me, this strength, this ability to allow her to love me and me love her, a lot fucking sooner.
“Don’t go inside. Your job is to watch the outside. I want you going on a perimeter check at least once every hour to check the doors and windows. My wife may or may not leave while I’m gone. If she does, you follow her at a distance. You don’t talk to her and you sure as fuck don’t look at her,” I growl.
“Yes, sir,” the prospect says, grinding his teeth together.
I lift my chin and leave him on my front porch. Maybe I’m being a dick, but we’ve all been there. I don’t give a fuck if this guy was a staff sergeant for the army or not; to me, he’s just a fucking boot—green, a new recruit, and not yet worthy of my respect.
Driving to the clubhouse, I don’t bother going inside of the bar. I walk out to the warehouse where the truck is. Torch and MadDog are already waiting for me, and it takes about ten minutes for MadDog to go over our route again. Once we’re finished, he slaps me on the back, then does the same to Torch before he wishes us luck.
“Ready?” he asks.
I can’t help but remember the last time we were together like this, I ended up in prison for three years. I smile to myself, knowing that no way in fuck is that ever going to happen again.
“Fuck yeah,” I grin as I start the engine.
We drive a little way out of Shasta and are on our way to Humboldt when I see cop lights behind me. I furrow my brow and look to Torch as I pull over. I watch as he walks up to the truck and I recognize him immediately. It’s Houston, the fuck.
“Know I don’t have to ask this shit, but you clean?” he asks.
“Haven’t touched anything other than beer since I’ve been out,” I state. He grins.
A different California highway patrol officer walks up to Torch’s side and asks us both to get out of the truck, our information in hand. Luckily, my gun is stowed, as is Torch’s, in a hidden compartment, so I don’t have to worry about that. I hop down from the truck and walk around the back, also thankful that we haven’t picked up our load yet.
“You boys headed out of town?” he asks, looking at our cuts.
“Yeah, helping a friend move,” Torch states nonchalantly.
I listen to the officer call out for wants and warrants for both of us, and he narrows his eyes on me when the dispatcher says we’re clear. He walks over to his car and sits in the front seat, typing some things on his computer before he walks back over to us.
“Gonna need to talk to Mr. Huntington alone, please,” he says.
Torch looks between us, confusion etched on his face, but he backs up and away from the officer and me.
“You obviously have a hard on for me. What can I help you with today?” I ask, taking him in.
“I’m still just waiting for you to fuck up. When you do, I’m going to take you down,” he rasps.
I roll my eyes. “I’m not going to fuck up. Bayard isn’t paying you anymore. You need to get the fuck on with your life.”
“Not Bayard paying me anymore,” he quips. “Mr. Stewart is a very determined, man you know?”
“Why, because my father-in-law paid you too?” I ask, arching my brow.
“Scum like you are the reason I became a cop,” he spits.
I shake my head with a grin. Then I pin him with my eyes. “Better the devil you know, cop. My father-in-law has a reason to shove my ass back in jail, I’m sure—none of those you would probably agree with. In fact, you knew them, they’d probably make you sick to your stomach, unless you’re a sick fuck just like him. Which, based off of your obsession with my wife, I can assume you are,” I shrug.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You do know he tried to force Imogen into marrying someone who beat her. When she told him, and showed him the evidence, he didn’t bat an eyelash. In fact, he didn’t give a fuck and told her she needed to marry him anyway,” I inform him.
I watch as he blinks and cringes before he fixes his features. “Who his daughter marries is none of my concern. I’m concerned with you and your illegal activities.”
I snort. “Women getting beat because they refuse to fuck a guy they’re dating isn’t your concern? Good to fucking know the law is on the side of the citizens. You want to rape her though, right? So why would you give a fuck about her being hurt. Man, I could give a fuck about my father-in-law, about you or anybody else, but someone lays a hand on a woman? I take major fucking issue with that. Are we done here?”
“You talk to your probation officer?” he asks with a smirk.
“Check in every week. Saturday’s, sometimes Sunday’s, whatever works for his schedule. I haven’t popped dirty once,” I shrug.
His jaw clenches hard, and I watch as a muscle ticks in his cheek. Then he lets out a puff of air, lifts his chin, and turns to walk away from me. He doesn’t even say we’re free to go. He tosses our ID’s out the window of his cruiser and speeds off.
“The fuck?” Torch asks as he rushes after our flying paperwork to keep it from going into the street.
“My father-in-law is trying to get my ass landed back in jail so he has full control over my wife,” I mutter.
“Shit,” he curses as he takes his phone out of his pocket.
I hear him talking, and I assume it’s to MadDog but all I can think about is Imogen. What her fate would be if I was locked up again. She’d leave me, assuredly, and her father would try to control her.
Odds are, he would win. I can’t let that shit happen—not to my Genny. Though Graham is gone, he’d just find some other man and get into some kind of scheme with him, using Imogen to sweeten the deal. Fuck that.
“MadDog says to continue as planned, but instead of leaving in the morning we need to leave either as soon as we’re loaded or tomorrow night. Try to fly out under the radar.” I nod in agreement and walk back to the truck, hopping inside and starting it up.
“You okay, brother?” he asks.
“I’ll be fine,” I grunt.
Fuck that, I won’t be fine.
I’ll deal, but as long as I’m breathing free and Imogen is at home waiting for me, I’ll be okay.
I stretch and climb out of bed. I wish I could stay beneath the warm sheets all day. I could, if I really wanted, but I’m not going to. Today I’m going to bake a cake. It’s Sloane’s birthday tomorrow, something he probably thought I’d forgotten.
We haven’t celebrated birthdays together in years. He would choose to be with his club on his, and I would leave and go shopping in the city for mine. I can’t even remember the last time we bought each other birthday presents.
Since he’s out of town for the day and all evening, it’s the perfect opportunity to make a cake and have it ready for tomorrow. He’s already informed me that the club is doing a birthday thing on Friday, but I’m glad that I get to spend his actual birthday with him.
Just me and him.
After I’m showered, I dress in a pair of low slung, holey jeans and an oversized shirt, letting it drape off of one shoulder. I throw my hair up in a messy bun and forego my makeup, knowing my face looks better but still not completely healed. Since I’m home alone, it doesn’t matter.
Once I’ve gathered all of my cake ingredients, I flip the television on and look for something to watch while I bake. I settle on Friends reruns. They’re doing some kind of marathon, and I’m excited to have something light and funny in the background as I make my husband the first birthday cake I’ve baked since I was eighteen years old.
While the cake is baking, I remember that Sloane said there would be a man guarding the door all day long. I pour a glass of ice water, knowing he’d probably appreciate a beer instead; nonetheless, he’s getting water.
Once I make my way to the door, I open it and look to the side to see him. He’s younger, probably mid-twenties, and I find myself curious as to how he’s ended up in this life. Clearing my throat at him, he turns to face me and I step outside of the house as his eyes widen.
“I’m sure you’re hot, or bored, or both. I wanted to at least give you some ice water,” I say with a shrug.
“Thank you, ma’am,” he mutters.
“Ma’am?” I say, scrunching my nose up. He winks with a smile as he takes the plastic cup from me.
“I’m not going to be heading out anywhere, today; just wanted to let you know,” I smile.
He nods and turns his face to the street. I let him be, knowing Sloane probably told him not to talk to me, or to focus on his job. Who knows. Turning, I make my way back inside of the house right as the timer goes off, informing me that the cakes are finished.
Another episode of Friends comes on as the cakes cool and I start the frosting. I take out a crystal blue cake stand and place the cake on top. Then, I add a thick layer of icing for the filling before I pop the top layer directly on top.
I decorate it simplistically. Nothing fancy, just a thick layer of buttercream icing, keeping it light and clean. I find a decorating bag and dye, coloring a small amount in blue and write, Happy Birthday Sloane in the middle.
By the time I’ve finished, it’s late in the evening, so I set the cake in the center of the kitchen island. Then I make my way to bed, my dinner being cake batter and buttercream frosting. Unhealthy, but delicious. I shower and dress for bed, crawling beneath the sheets and not realizing how tired my legs are after spending all day on them, until now.
I check my phone before I fall asleep and don’t see any missed texts or calls. I decide to send Sloane a text, letting him know I’m going to sleep and that I love him. He texts me back just a few seconds later saying he loves me. The goofy smile that tips my lips is ridiculous.
It seems like I’ve just fallen asleep when I feel something heavy pressing me into the mattress. My eyes fly open and they’re met with familiar green ones staring back at me. I gasp in surprise and then smile.
“Sloane,” I murmur, my voice husky with sleep.
“You made me a cake,” he states.
I nod as he lifts his hand and cups my cheek while his body presses me a little more into the bed.
“Happy birthday, baby,” I whisper.
“Fucking, shit,” he groans.
I open my mouth to say something, but his lips are on mine and his tongue fills me. Moaning, I reach up and wrap my hand around his wrist at my cheek.
“Sloane,” I murmur against his mouth.
“I’m going to fuck you, then we’re eating that cake in bed, naked,” he announces. I feel my belly heat at his words.
“Okay,” I grin.
Sloane sits back on his haunches and quickly removes my clothing and then his. I wait for him to pounce on me, but he doesn’t. Instead, he traces my entire body with his fingertips. He circles each my nipples, then following the side of my breast down to my stomach.
I hold my breath when his fingers make their way to the crease of my thighs. By the time he’s finished touching every inch of me, I’m a whimpering pile of need.
From his knees, he guides his dick inside of me and yanks my bottom half up, so that my lower back rests on the tops of his thighs. His eyes watch as he fills me over and over with his glistening cock. Sloane’s teeth sink into his bottom lip on a growl.
“The way you take me, fuck sunshine, always so goddamn pretty,” he growls.
“Baby,” I whimper as my body breaks out into a sweat. I’m so close to toppling over the edge, I feel like I might actually weep.
“Fuck, Imogen. I could stay inside of you forever, baby.”
“I need to come. Please, Sloane,” I practically beg.
He releases my hip with one hand and presses his thumb against my clit as he continues to slowly fuck me. It’s too slow, but with the added pressure of his thumb, I shiver at the sensation. Licking my lips, I ask him for more. Harder. Faster. Anything.
Pushing me up the bed, he shifts so that he’s above me, and then he slams inside of my body. I throw back my head with a cry as he does what I’ve asked him to do. He fucks me, hard, fast, and with raw determination.
“Oh, god, Sloane, holy shit,” I cry as I come, my hands flying up and my nails digging into his biceps.
He grunts a few more times and then lets out a cry of his own as he fills me with his release. Sloane slumps against me, his face going straight to my neck and nuzzling me as he works to catch his breath. I take the moment, feeling his weight against me, and loving it completely as I catch my own breath.
“Fucking hell, sunshine,” he murmurs against my neck.
“I could say the same,” I laugh.
Sloane moves his hands under my back and rolls us over so that I’m straddling him, keeping us connected. His hands run up and down my back, and I swear I purr at the sensation.
“You okay?” I ask after a few beats of silence.
I lift my head so that I can hear his answer, and he tries to shake his head. I arch my eyebrow, and he lets out a breath.
“Your dad paid off that CHP officer to try and nail me in something illegal and send my ass back to prison. I thought it was only Bayard, but apparently it’s your father in on it, too,” he finally admits.
“How do you know it was my dad?” I ask in surprise.
“I asked him why he had such a hard on for me. Told him Bayard wasn’t paying him anymore and I was clean as a whistle. His reply was that Bayard may not be paying him but Mr. Stewart was. Fucking shit, sunshine,” he curses as he pulls me a little closer to him. “I just got you, I just got myself, and we just got back to us—a better us than we’ve ever had before. Last thing I need is to be thrown back in there.”
Pressing my lips to his, I kiss his nerves away, or at least I try. I don’t know what my father is doing, or why, but I aim to find out. I can’t tell Sloane that. He’d probably try to stop me.
No, I’m going to find out exactly what my father’s problem is once and for all. This isn’t about me being a rebellious teen and marrying a man he doesn’t approve of; this isn’t about me at all. I have a feeling it’s about much more.
Sloane smiles widely, “Let’s get some of that cake, sunshine. Smells so fucking good, baby.”
We spend the rest of the early morning hours of Sloane’s birthday naked, in bed, eating cake. Sloane whispers that it’s the most perfect birthday morning he’s ever had before. We don’t fall asleep until well after five in the morning.