Rev
WAY TOO EARLY, my phone goes off somewhere near my head. Still naked, Eve’s curled up against my side, her mouth pressed against my chest. Call had better be goddamned important.
“We’ve got company,” Hawke says when I answer. “Think it’s go time.”
Hawke’s the kind of man you follow because, wherever he’s headed, it’s either the right place to be or some special kind of hell that needs to be blown sky-high. I’ve done both with him. He’s tall and rangy, dark ink covering both arms. A scar wraps around his neck like some kind of sick necklace—the most popular rumor is that someone (ex-wife, turncoat traitor, enemy soldier) tried to garrote him with his own dog tags. You can take two things as gospel. First, Hawke’s hard to kill. Second, if you try to kill him, you’d better succeed or die in the attempt. Hawke doesn’t do forgiveness—or second chances.
“Thank fuck.” We’ve spent the last couple of days hunting for Sachs and floating plans to pull him out of the Black Dogs clubhouse without losing any other brothers. None of us would hesitate to lay down our lives for him, but as Hawke points out, two-for-one is only an upside when you’re stocking up on beer and chips.
If Rocker and his club were smart, they’d have handed Sachs over. Fuck, they wouldn’t have touched him because starting a war between the clubs isn’t in anyone’s best interests. We’ve had a couple of tense, go-nowhere meetings discussing possible exchanges, but nothing concrete yet. Looks like things are finally changing.
“Twenty minutes,” Hawke says.
“You planning on offering them tea and cookies?”
Hawke laughs. He’s never been the nicest son of a bitch. “Thought I’d leave ’em at the front door. Let ’em think things over.”
“Got a corner you can put them in,” I volunteer. Beside me, Evie stirs and stretches. Waking her up is one more thing I can put on the Black Dogs’ tab. I spread the fingers of my free hand over her belly.
“I assume you’ve got Evie close to hand,” my president says drily.
I look down at my hand on her ass. Couldn’t get much closer than that.
“She’s right here.”
“Get her ready,” he says. “We’ll make the swap and then we’re in a better position to clean house.”
“Promise me she’s gonna be safe. I need to hear she’s not walking into anything bad.”
Hawke gives a bark of laughter. “Sounds like someone got too close.”
Not too much I can say, since it’s true.
“Rocker’s her goddamned brother. He wants her back—you think he’d go to all this trouble just so he could hurt her?”
“I’m more worried about the rest of his club,” I admit. “They could decide she’s a liability and all this Colombian shit gives them a good cover story if they decide to make a move.”
“You think they’d screw one of their own?”
“How do I know how they run their club? Seems clear they’re not thinking straight, though, what with snatching Sachs and all.”
“We make the trade,” Hawke says. “If it looks like shit’s headed south, we can step in. You want to go after her when Sachs is free and clear, that’s your business and we’ll have your back. You tell me if you’re serious about her and we’ll make it happen.”
I’ve never thought about making a woman my old lady. Calling it a huge step is an understatement. I think about it for a moment, but we’re under the gun here and I don’t have the luxury of time. “Gotcha.”
Hawke hangs up and I toss the phone onto the bedside table. Evie’s still cuddled up next to me. She looks relaxed and soft, like a princess just waiting for me to wake her up with a kiss. Pretty sure I read a story like that once, but the reality’s even sexier. I brush a kiss over her forehead and start moving lower. Not sure how Prince Charming stays hands-off because my dick has plenty of suggestions to make.
I plant a kiss on her shoulder. “We have to get up.”
“Right now?” Evie’s voice is warm and sleepy, her mouth grazing my chest. Another inch and she’d be tonguing my nipple.
Twenty minutes isn’t much time. I’ve never had a problem getting up, putting my pants on and heading out the door, but this is Evie. As soon as I get her in my arms, I start thinking about staying. And yeah, banging the hell out of her because she’s so damned sexy. She’s also strong, which would make her a fucking amazing old lady. Not just because she’s the hottest thing ever in bed (she totally is), but because she smiles when she sees me and she won’t take my shit. Doesn’t matter that I’m bigger, badder and could hurt her six ways to Sunday (not that I would, but she can’t fucking know that, right?). She’s still fighting for her asshole brother—and I’d like her to fight for me that way.
“Fucking love waking up next to you,” I say roughly.
She sucks in a breath. “Not much for pretty words, are you?”
If she wants poetry, she’s in bed with the wrong biker. I roll her onto her side, ease her leg forward and...shit. Can’t take her bareback, no matter how much I want that. I grab a condom from the bedside table, roll it on and slip my fingers between her legs. She’s warm and slick, but I need to hear her screaming my name so I press my thigh between hers. Glide my fingers over her soft lips, from her ass to her clit. It’s like the world’s best fucking happy trail. I could play with her all day.
“Rev?”
“Give me a minute.” She’s so soft, I could fucking come just grinding against her ass.
When I stroke my thumb over her clit, she moans and tenses up. She’s wet, and that’s good, but it’s not enough. I cup her, pressing in with my fingertips, drawing slow circles on her slick flesh. Squeeze carefully.
“Come for me,” I whisper.
She whimpers something. Doesn’t sound like a no, so I stroke her some more. When I pinch her clit gently, she arches back into me, demanding more.
She can fucking have whatever she wants.
I thrust inside her slowly. Don’t stop until I’ve filled her up. And then I hang onto her hips, guiding her, letting her ride me as I move faster and faster, the two of us headed straight for the same goddamned wonderful place. Perfect. She clenches down hard, her fingers twisting in the sheets, and I drill into her one last time. Fuck, but she owns me.
I hold her tight, breathing hard. I’ve never felt like this, but I’m damned sure I want to do it again. And again. I look down at her, lying relaxed and boneless against me, and I’m pretty sure she feels the same way. Can’t stop touching her, either. My fingers trace the soft undercurve of her spectacular tits, smooth down her belly, head south.
She wriggles away.
“Have to pee,” she whispers, sounding a little tense. I can appreciate she’s not used to sharing her space like this. We’ll get used to it together. Not sure how to tell her what I’m feeling, but I’ll figure it out.
I roll over onto my back, letting her go. By the time she gets back, I’ll know exactly what to say to her. There’s got to be a way to tell your woman that she’s so perfect she’s divine. And I’ll find those words—in the ten minutes before our asses have to be downstairs and ready to roll—and somehow I’ll get it right. Yeah. It’s ridiculous, one of those long shots you see on TV when some world-class gymnast falls ass-first off the balance beam and is staring at those four inches. Knowing he has to get back up, get back on and kick ass. Somehow. With the whole goddamned world watching and armchair quarterbacking.
The bathroom door closes. I cover my face with my arm, because I’m happy living in the land of denial. Weather’s awesome, scenery’s great. This is absolutely all gonna work out. Evie brushes the side of the bed. Didn’t hear the door open—woman moves like a ninja.
There’s a soft, metallic click. Not a biker alive who doesn’t know that sound of the handcuffs locking into place.
The fuck?