Reaper's Stand

Christ, her mouth was right by my nipple. I felt the heat of her breath touch me through the thin fabric of my shirt, and something like panic welled up in the back of my throat. I had to get the hell out of here, because no fuckin’ way I’d be able to keep my hands off her much longer. Respect only went so far.

The brothers would laugh their asses off if they saw me now.

“Okay, sweetheart,” I muttered, cradling her as I sat up awkwardly. “Let’s get you to bed.”

London snuggled deeper into me, making protesting noises. She really wasn’t very big, despite those fabulous tits of her. I lifted her easily enough and carried her back toward the bedrooms. Her door was open, revealing a neatly made queen-size bed. The room was decorated in what was probably thrift shop furniture, but it’d been polished up and laid out in a way that looked put together and purposeful.

Nothing like my bedroom.

“Still pissed at you,” she muttered as I tugged back the covers and tucked her in. Well, look at that. Sleeping Drunky was waking up, and I didn’t even have to kiss her first.

“Do I wanna know why?” I asked. She frowned, eyes still closed.

“You know why, Nate. But you can spend the night anyway …”

Nate? She thought I was Nate Evans?

That fucking cockwad was not getting credit for this good deed.

My good intentions disappeared in an instant, brain turning off as instinct kicked in. Didn’t matter that I’d decided to keep my hands off—she didn’t get to dream about Deputy Dick while I held her. That was a straight-up deal breaker, something both I and my cock felt very strongly about.

“This isn’t Nate,” I growled, sliding my fingers into her hair, gripping her head tight. She woke with a jerk, eyes wide and confused.

“What?”

“I’m not Nate,” I growled. She blinked at me.

“Reese? What are you doing here?”

Holy shit. I’d brought her food, listened to her cry, and then held her half the night—and she didn’t even remember. Karma could suck my ass. I dropped down on the bed, shoving a knee between her legs, covering her with my body. My dick found her pubic bone, and I rotated my hips.

Finally.

Fucking hell that was sweet relief, even if it wasn’t a money shot.

“Oh my God …” she whispered, eyes wide. “Reese, what are you doing?”

I groaned, grinding against her so hard it hurt. She bucked back, whimpering, and I completely forgot about keeping things simple. I needed inside her. Now. The rest could wait. I caught her lips with mine, nipping them before thrusting my tongue deep in her mouth. Her hips bucked again, her hands digging into my chest.

Then she bit my tongue.

“What the fuck?” I gasped, jerking away from her. Her eyes were wide and full of shock, which was right about the time I realized her hands weren’t digging into my chest to rip off my shirt.

Nope.

They were pushing against it.

“I can’t do this,” she whispered, shaking her head. “Nate and I agreed not to see other people. I’m still with him.”

“If you’re with Nate, why the fuck wasn’t he here when you needed him?”

London closed her eyes, taking a deep breath. Unfortunately that forced her breasts up and into my chest. I thought my cock might actually explode, and not because I blew my wad. Nope, it might split from the sheer volume of blood trapped in there.

“He and I need to talk,” she said, and I growled. Talk? She looked almost as frustrated as I felt. I rotated my hips into hers one more time, both of us gasping in need.

“Fuck that. Your cunt wants me inside as bad as my cock wants in.”

“I don’t like that word.”

“I don’t like Deputy Dick,” I growled. “But you don’t see me putting a bullet in him, do you? Stop bitching and let me fuck you.”

Her eyes narrowed and she shoved at my shoulders, hard. I rolled off her, chest heaving as I tried to make my brain work. Almost impossible, what with the complete lack of available blood. My cock throbbed. Literally. I felt each pulsing heartbeat hit it like a sledgehammer.

I wanted to kill her. Fuck her, then kill her. Then kill Nate Evans for putting me through this. Teach that cocksucker to move in on a Reaper’s woman.

“I’m really sorry that I got drunk and made an idiot of myself,” London said after a long pause. “You didn’t deserve that.”

“Damned straight.”

“Is there anything I can do?”

“Blow job would be nice.” Throw in a fifth of vodka and a pole dance and maybe I’d reconsider killing her … but I wouldn’t be happy until I’d split her cunt wide open. I slammed my fist down on the bed. Fuck!

She squeaked. Like a mouse. It was cute, which pissed me off even more.

“Anything else?”

“No, I think you’ve done enough,” I said, closing my eyes and trying to think of something—anything—to distract me from the pain between my legs.

“It was really nice of you to come over and bring me dinner.”

Nice.

Fucking bitch thought I was nice. If she thanked me for being her friend, it was over. I’d have to go on a killing spree.

I gotta get out of here.

Jackknifing off the bed, I stalked out into the living room, looking for my keys. They were on the kitchen counter, right next to the empty take-out containers. She could buy her own fucking dinner and cry alone next time.

I heard her bare feet padding up behind me.

“So I guess this probably means our deal is off?”

Her voice sounded uncertain, almost scared. Still a little slurred, too. I turned to glare at her, taking in her tangled blonde hair, the curve of her generous hips in those tight jeans, and the way her shirt drooped low enough to show plenty of cleavage.

“Not if you want to keep the club accounts,” I growled, wondering why the hell I didn’t just fire her ass. My cock reminded me that we weren’t finished with her yet. “I’ll see you out at my place on Tuesday. Make enough food for leftovers and maybe we’ll have a talk about getting a crew into The Line.”

“Thank you,” she whispered.

“Eat shit,” I said, and then slammed out the door.

Seems like a bit of an overreaction, Heather gloated as I climbed into my truck.

She could eat shit, too. Fucking women. Even dead, they stuck together.

CHAPTER SIX

LONDON

“So, where does this leave us?” Nate asked me Monday night. We sat at a table in the back of the restaurant¸ where the light hardly reached and the flickering of candlelight was supposed to make everything look romantic. Instead it felt claustrophobic and damning.