“Are you okay?” Anger vibrates from his body as he comes up to me and cradles my face in his palms. They’re strong and warm against my cheeks.
I force a smile. “I’m fine.”
“I didn’t want to overstep and I really hope you don’t mind…but I told that fucking bitch to get the hell out of here.”
I gasp in shock. “You told her to leave?”
He nods unapologetically.
“Clinton! That’s my father’s brother’s wife!”
He angles his head to the side. “I don’t care if she’s the Duchess of fucking Uppity Ville. She hurt your feelings. Deliberately. I couldn’t just stand by and let her get away with it.”
My shoulders heave when I push out a loaded exhale. So many feelings swirl inside of me. No one’s ever stood up for me like this. I’ve always sort of been on my own. I’m the oldest of my siblings so growing up, it was my duty to be someone they could rely on. But no one was ever really there for me. My parents weren’t ill-intentioned. They just thought they were teaching me to be responsible. The result was that I never had a soft place to fall. When I needed a shoulder to cry on, I learned to suck it up and put on a happy face. But now, there’s Clinton in front of me, being my person, being my rock. It does something indescribable to my heart.
I lean forward and catch his lips, brushing my mouth on his. He wraps his arms around me and holds me close. I bury my face in his shirt. “Aunt Jean always was a bitch!” Saying it out loud is kind of liberating.
Clinton chuckles, his mouth pressed against my scalp.
“She has no idea how much her words sting sometimes. I already have a complex about turning thirty.”
He steps back with his eyebrow hiked up. "A complex about turning thirty?"
"Y'know...there are things I thought I'd have by this age. And I don't have them."
"Things like what?"
I suck down a deep breath. "A family..."
We stand frozen, staring at each other in the dark, shadowy alley.
"You want a family?" I can't quite decipher the look on his face as he asks the question.
I feel insanely self-conscious but I decide to stand by my truth. "Yes. I thought I'd have a family by now." I drop my gaze to the ground because his penetrating stare has me feeling too unstable.
He nods slowly. "Mmm..."
Whatever the hell that means.
More silence before he says, "You've got a brother and sister. Your parents. Aren't they your family?"
"They don't count."
"They count if you don't have any."
My heart squeezes in my chest at his words. I stutter when I ask, "D-do you not have any family?"
"I do," he concedes as he kicks at something on the ground. "But at the same time, I don't. I don't remember the last time my brother wished me a happy birthday. And my mother? She’s so deep in her misery that she hasn't even noticed me in years."
My brows furrow. "Oh my god, Clinton...I'm so sorry." A long silence sweeps over us. But there's so much noise in my mind, so many questions I want to ask. It takes a while to figure out just where to start. "What happened to your mother?"
He yanks roughly on his tie, pulling it away from his throat. Suddenly, he looks like he's suffocating. "She got trapped in a life she didn't want. She was the daughter of the president of a motorcycle club. She was expected to marry her father's successor. To keep it in the family. She ran away to get out of it but she just landed herself in more trouble—she got pregnant with me." He swallows and his Adam’s apple bobs roughly.
Even in the dark alley, I can see the agony etched in his features. "Oh Clinton..."
"She didn’t know what to do so she went back to the compound. No one asked any questions. They just married her off to a man who was way too old and too hardened for her. Growing up, I just remember her being a robot. No emotion. No feeling. Nothing. Now that I'm older, I see that it was the effect of the drugs and probably the beatings, too."
My heart is splintering for him. "How did you end up in Copper Heights?"
"My stepfather was on his deathbed and I was technically next in line for president of the MC. I was being trained for the position but I didn't want it. Not after the things I've seen. So I went to Prez and told him I wanted out. He paid me off, gladly. He gave me a shit ton of money and told me to get lost so that his son could inherit the ‘family business’. Now my younger brother—the kid I taught to catch grasshoppers, the kid who’d come to me for advice about girls—he’ll inherit the kingdom and sit on the fucking throne of blood..."
More and more questions come to me. I start with the one that seems like the simplest. "Do you know who your biological father is?" My words seem to echo in the quiet of night.
He nods a little. "It took a lot of digging but I figured it out. It's something I'd rather just put behind me now."
“And you said you have a younger brother. Were you ever close?”
“As kids we were close. That changed when he was about fifteen and I was seventeen.” The look in his eyes speaks of unimaginable pain. “Prez has this initiation that he does. All the teenagers have to go through it if they want to become full members of the club. Basically, we were sent on a mission. It was supposed to be just a simple break and enter. Steal a few things. Rough some people up if we had to. Well, that plan went to hell real fast. The target was balls deep in a member of a rival gang when we got there. There were gunshots. One of them was fired by my brother. A child got hit.” Clinton pulls in a breath that shakes his entire frame and my heart breaks apart for him. “I’ll never forget the look in his eyes as that little girl lay there taking her last breath…The blood on his face…His trembling hands…He was never the same after that. That’s the day I lost my little brother. But the Prez?” Clinton laughs bitterly. “The Prez was proud of his son. He bragged that his little boy was now a man.”
It’s unimaginable. Something like that would never happen in my family. Growing up, we were fiercely shielded from the evil in the world. In a place like Copper Heights, in a family like the Hartleys, Clinton’s story would have been nothing more than an urban legend. I immediately feel like an idiot, like the world’s shallowest person, for not being insanely grateful for the family I have. I’m incredibly lucky to have my life and I need to remind myself of that instead of obsessing about what’s missing. “Oh Clinton. I’m so sorry.”
“I don’t want your apology, Vivian. What I want is for you to appreciate yourself and the people around you. That’s what I want. Because life can be cruel. You got lucky. You got amazing family and friends…Aside from that Jean woman.” I laugh a little. He swings his arm toward the door. “You’ve got a brother and sister who set up this birthday party for you, parents who are there for you.” Looking forlorn, he digs his hands into his front pockets. “Me, I’m truly alone in this world. And from my point of view, it sort of feels like your loneliness is a choice.”
His words slice me like a knife. I’ve been so busy feeling sorry for myself that I’ve been overlooking just how good I’ve got it. How childish of me.
“We’ve all got stuff that we’re afraid of, Sunflower. We just need to face the light every now and then. So we don’t get swallowed up by the darkness.”
I throw my arms around his neck and squeeze my body to his, letting his warmth close in on me. I breathe him in, becoming intoxicated in the best way. My heart is swollen with emotion. Clinton just shared a huge part of himself with me. I can tell it wasn’t easy but he did it anyway. To me, that connection is a birthday gift that money can’t buy. “This night is getting kind of heavy. I think we should just get out of here.”
He nods in agreement as he steps out of the hug. His long fingers work on his tie, tearing it off of his neck. “That’s a very good idea.” He carelessly tosses the tie into a nearby dumpster and unbuttons the top of his shirt. He cranes his neck from side to side and I giggle at the look of utter relief on his face.
“I should go say bye to my sister and my friend
s.” The idea of facing them isn’t exactly thrilling but I can’t just sneak out of here after all the effort that Reese put into this night. I turn toward the passageway that leads around the building to the front door.
“Okay. Let’s go say goodbye. Then, we’re gonna go back to your place and we’re gonna celebrate every single old-ass inch of you.” Clinton heads back toward the service exit.
My laughter cuts off as my gaze follows him. “Wait—you can’t get back in through the backdoor,” I tell him. “It locks from the inside.”
He scoffs. “You can’t get in through the backdoor.”
I take a few more steps to close the space between us. “But the county bylaws forbid any person from attempting to gain entry to a business establishment without the use of a key.”
He pins me with a look that is so dark and sexy that my toes curl in my shoes. “Vivian, I don’t care about the rules,” he whispers against the shell of my ear, making me shiver. “But I think you already know that.”
With a little jiggle, a quick poke and a bit of a nudge, he pries the door open. My jaw drops in amazement. So…that was kind of hot. He reaches a hand out to me and pulls me inside.
By the time we get back to the table, most of my guests have scattered. I’m glad that Aunt Jean, Uncle Phil and their damn children are gone. Only my siblings and their significant others remain at the table. Reese fusses over me, apologizing profusely. I assure her that I’m okay and that our aunt’s verbal assault hasn’t left an indelible scar on my ego. I give her a tight hug and thank her for the thoughtful gesture of organizing this dinner. Then Clinton and I say good night to the crowd and head out to my car.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Vivian
Clinton holds my hand on the entire drive back. The ride is quiet but comfortable, a companionable silence. It’s strange how I feel so much like myself with him. There’s no need to put on airs or fill the void with meaningless banter. Being with him just feels natural. Like he accepts me without needing me to put on a show, proving my worthiness.
When my car pulls up in the driveway, he leans under his seat and grabs a small gift bag. I can’t believe I didn’t notice it earlier when he came to pick me up. I guess I was just so distracted by how handsome he looked and how excited I was to be on his arm. It must have thrown me off my game.
“Is that for me?” I ask, my curiosity causing me to crane my neck for a peek inside the bag as he climbs out of the car.
He strides up toward my front door like it’s no big deal at all. “Maybe…”
I loop around the hood of the car, chasing after him as fast as my heels will let me. “Maybe?”
He swings the bag out of my reach when I make a grab for it. “Maybe…”
Laughing, I try to pry it from him again. He ducks out of my grasp.
“Lemme see,” I whine, laughing as he continues to keep the bag away from me.
“Don’t get handsy, woman!” He dashes across the porch and hunches his back protectively as he clenches the bag to his chest.
I’m laughing, loud and raucous, not caring that my neighbors might see or that gossip will start spreading around my tight-knit little cul-de-sac. Despite the fact that I’m in heels and a dress, I hop onto his back and try to wrestle the bag away. He won’t let me win so easy. He fights back, fingers locked around my wrist to keep me from grabbing.
I slide off of his back, landing heavily on my feet. And now, it’s a full-on brawl. Every time I try to snatch the bag, he blocks me and whenever he has the upper hand, all he does is tickle me. Now, it’s not about the bag anymore. It’s about winning. I wanna win!
I make one last lunge for it and I catch it finally…right as I’m falling gracelessly to the wooden floor.
The bag tears apart in my descent and its contents spill onto the deck. Lying there, breathless and flat on my belly, my mouth falls open in shock.
“You got me lube for my birthday?” My eyes dart up to Clinton’s smirking face.
He crouches down beside me to help me up to a seated position.
“You see lube. I see your full and complete sexual liberation, Sunflower.” He flashes a wink.
My cheeks heat up as I look at the paraphernalia scattered across the floor. Along with the tube of female lubricant, there’s a pair of handcuffs, some condoms, a blindfold, edible panties and something that looks like a ping-pong racket made of leather and metal spikes. My heart thumps when I feel his knuckles on my chin, lifting my face to his.
His lips come close to my ear. “You’ll never forget this night, Vivian. I’ll make sure of it.” The rasp in his voice causes my insides to tauten. The air leaves my lungs.
There’s a wicked glimmer in his gaze when he rises to his feet and stretches a hand out to me. I place my palm in his and it feels symbolic, like I’m placing my heart in his care.
As I fumble with my key in the lock, he gathers up the sexy items scattered across the porch and tucks the torn bag under his arm. We step into the house and I hang my jacket on the hook. His hand settles on my hip. The warmth of it ignites lust right beneath the surface of my skin.
My knees shake as I lead the way down the hallway to my bedroom. I want him so bad it almost scares me. It’s not just the sex I’m craving. It’s the connection. When Clinton is inside of me, rutting and panting into the curve of my neck, a fire roars to life like nothing I’ve ever felt. It’s a coming-together, a joining that’s addictive because it fills a void I never even realized was there.
Once we’re standing in the doorframe, I spin around and grab him by the collar, pulling him down so our lips touch. He drops the torn bag and the items tumble to the floor. His lips dance with mine, eager and fervent, soft but needy. Strong arms rope around my back. Thick fingers trace the length of my spine. I angle my head and his tongue laps down my neck, tasting my skin, licking the tender flesh.
He pulls back and leans his forehead on mine. “You’re so beautiful, Vivian. Do you know that?”
I swallow hard as my heart volleys about in my chest. “You make me feel beautiful. No one’s ever made me feel the way you do.” He has this way of looking at me, of touching me that makes me feel that he’s what I’ve been waiting for all my life. This is insane. Merely a week ago, I was wishing I’d never see him again and now, the idea of him leaving scares me so much I can’t even stand it.
He runs his fingers through my hair and my arms lock around his neck. “I want to make you understand. Tonight, I want to make you understand how amazing you are…” His hand goes under my dress and smooths up the back of my thigh before his fingers pinch the lace trim of my panties. His voice is lewd and low. “Will you let me?”
Instantly, I’m throbbing. I squirm when I feel a trickle of wetness rolling down my inner wall and dribbling into my underwear. I want him to explore my body but when I think back to the sex toys he showed up with, my hesitation steps in, determined to ruin the fun.
“I need wine…” I whisper hoarsely because I want to leave my fear out of the equation tonight.
He leans back and grins, running his hands down my tense shoulders. “Sounds like a good idea.”
He trails me into the kitchen. My belly is tight from having him this close, from knowing his intentions for me. He wants to do vile, filthy, dirty things to my body. And I want to let him.
Grabbing a wedge of cheese from the fridge, I set it on the cutting board with a knife. I take a bottle of cabernet from the wine cabinet along with the corkscrew. Clinton is behind me, his erection hot on my back, his nose buried in my hair. He glides his fingers up my sides and then cups my heavy breasts in his hands. Every inch of me sings with desire.
With tingling hands, I angle the wine opener at the cork of the bottle. And right then, Clinton nips at my ear, breathing hotly against the side of my face. For a split second, I lose my composure and my hands slip. The tip of the corkscrew dives into the thick wood of the cutting board and snaps.
I yelp in surprise and Clinton chuckles i
nto my ear. Turning to him over my shoulder, I grunt. “Hey, not funny. I seriously need this wine if I’m gonna get through whatever it is you have in store for me tonight and I just broke the wine opener, thanks to you.”
Releasing his grip on my waist, he laughs. “You worry too much.” He grabs the wine bottle. My fluffy house shoes are sitting on the mat by the back door. He bends over and snatches one up. I furrow my brows in confusion when he slides the butt of the bottle inside of the slipper. Before I can ask him what the plan is, the guy is hammering the shoe on the corner of the wall.
“Oh my god!” Alarmed, I squeak. “What are you doing?”
A few more whacks and the cork pops right out of the bottle. A satisfied smile plays on his lips as he drops the slipper to the floor. Like opening a wine bottle with a bedroom slipper is a normal, everyday occurrence.
I erupt into laughter. He flashes me a look of pride as he saunters past me and opens the cabinet. “Pretty cool, huh?”
I have to admit that it is. “I never knew you could open wine that way. I half-expected that the bottle was about to shatter in your hands.”
“True skill, Sunflower. True skill.”
He grabs two glasses and puts them on the counter. Before he can pour the wine into the goblets, I throw a hand over his wrist to stop him. “Wait—those are the champagne flutes. Let me get the wine glasses.” I edge in between him and the counter and rise onto my toes to grab the correct glasses.
His arm bands around my belly and holds me back. He brings the bottle directly to his mouth and sucks down a long gulp. “Tonight, there are no rules. No guidelines. No etiquette. No instructions. You hear me?” The dark promise in his voice sends a shiver across my skin.
I gasp when he glides the bottle between my thighs and the pressure of the hard glass against my clit makes me hiss. I nod my head. He presses kisses to my neck and to the knots of my spine as he lays down the wine and slowly unties the straps of my halter. The fabric collapses readily and the cool air brushes my nipples. His palms cradle the erect little nubs and he squeezes them. Pleasure fires every which way inside of me.
The Blue Collar Bachelors Box Set: The Complete Blue Collar Bachelors Series Page 54