“Lots going on,” I countered, returning to my bashing the cinnamon roll dough I was making at the moment.
“Sure is.” She huffed. “And I’m in the dark.”
“For your own good, baby doll,” I replied instantly, feeling no shame at the words. It was true—no way was I telling her anything that might frighten her.
“Mebbe.” She fell silent once more, and again, I started to figure she was sleeping. I didn’t mind being used as a vertical bed. It felt quite good actually.
Would she have done this before? Before I’d agreed to be a part of this madcap relationship?
I didn’t think so. She definitely wouldn’t have pressed her arms around my bare belly like she was and, if I turned around, I knew she’d be half-undressed, which was also something she wouldn’t have done before.
Not that a vest tee and short shorts was exactly going overboard…
A smile curved my lips at the thought. “Remember when you used to wear girly dresses?”
She snorted. “What? When I was six?”
“Yeah. You used to play tag and shit in them too. Was cute as fuck.”
A disgruntled noise escaped her. “Don’t care what your kinks are, babe, I’m not wearing frilly dresses again.”
Laughter escaped me, so hard that I leaned forward jerkily and accidentally knocked her away. Spinning around to face her, I saw her crumpled self and beamed a grin at her. “Well, hell, if I’d been in a bad mood before, I sure as fuck ain’t now.”
“What did I do?”
I reached up and purposefully pressed my flour-laden fingers to her cheek. “You were just yourself.”
She blinked up at me. “You’re being nice.”
“I’m always nice,” I retorted easily, leaning back against the counter to stare at her. “It’s a part of my character. In fact, it’s an integral part.”
“Sounds like you’re trying to sell shit to a farmer,” she pshawed. “You’re never nice.” Her eyes narrowed into slits. “Now I’m really worried.”
I snorted. “Nothing’s wrong.” I lifted my hands. “I swear.”
A hum escaped her, then she peered at the counter and the mess I’d made. “You haven’t cooked for me in ages.”
“Thought since you’re my woman now, it would be a nice way to start the day.”
Her gray eyes grew big and round. As big and round as the perfect ‘O’ her mouth made as she gaped at me. Her throat bobbed as she whispered, “Your woman?”
My lips twitched as I nodded. Slowly.
She gulped. “I love the sound of that.”
Fuck, I did too. And her response to it? Shit, that just made things a thousand times better.
“Been wanting to call you that for a long time, sugar,” I rasped. It wasn’t like me to feel awkward, but I did at that minute. I wasn’t sure why. I wanted to haul her against me, tuck her into my side, but I didn’t. Even though I wanted to.
“Been wanting to be called it for a long time,” she instantly countered, her eyes flaring with heat as she stared up into my eyes.
Something settled inside me at how quickly she responded. There was no prevarication, no games, no hiding from me.
I loved that about her. Hell, I just plain loved her.
She reached up and cupped my jaw, and I couldn’t stop myself from tilting my head and leaning into her touch.
“You remember that first day?”
“The first day ever? Where my momma threatened you?”
“Yeah, that one,” I said with a grin. “You were mine that day. You know that, don’t you?”
A harsh sigh escaped her, and in an explosive movement, she pressed herself into me and slipped her arms around my waist again, but from the front. As she burrowed into me, I saw she was wearing my tee from yesterday, and the scent of us mingling together with cinnamon and yeast notes tinging everything was like the best smell in the world.
They said, didn’t they, that sensory memories were more powerful than a regular one. Well, this was going to be glued into my brain for the rest of my fucking life.
I pressed a kiss to the top of her forehead, inhaled her scent again, and just enjoyed the moment. I didn’t get much peace in my life. It was a personal choice. I’d joined the MC without a shotgun at my back. I was proud to wear my cut, to ride as a Rebel, but this? Fuck, this was priceless.
“Still don’t get why you’re baking,” she murmured into my chest. “Don’t you have to go on a run?”
“Got back in late. Your daddy gave me some time to rest.” Considering I’d been riding all night, I needed the break, but out here in the boondicks, there was shit like birds to wake a man up. I wasn’t used to that. Was more used to the noise of the clubhouse as I’d been living there since my prospect days. That meant nights were noisy and mornings were silent. Here, it was the other way around. “Anyway, road to a woman’s heart’s through her stomach, ain’t it?”
She snickered and squeezed me. “Thought that was the way to a man’s heart?”
“You’re lucky you already have mine then. I’ve tasted what you call spaghetti. Fuck that. Prefer to eat pig shit.” No word of a lie. Food was important to Ama, not that she ate all that much in comparison to me and Keys—hell, Ink too now I’d seen what he scarfed down.
“Well, lucky for you I don’t wanna be barefoot and in the kitchen for the rest of my days.”
“Aw shucks. Just how I like my woman.”
Pulling back to look at me, she narrowed her eyes. “Don’t mess with me.”
I knew what she meant, so I dipped my chin and pressed my lips to her temple. “Ain’t messing. Been yours for longer than it took for you to get around to claiming me, and don’t give a fuck if you can’t cook. That’s what diners are for.”
“I turned eighteen a few months ago,” she pointed out.
“Exactly. You waited too long. A few months was too long.” And God, how I meant that. What the hell had we been waiting for? Life was so goddamn short. Lucifer’s Knights were rotting in a jail, Rodeo was in a cell too. This life wasn’t easy, it was rough and ready, and even though I knew that, I hadn’t lived that way.
I’d fucked sweetbutts, had slutted around with the whores, and for what? Almost to get trapped by Bubbles? Fuck that.
She pressed her face to my cut and murmured, “I’m glad I’m eighteen.”
I laughed. “Can guarantee I’m gladder.”
When she wrinkled her nose at me, those gray eyes of hers twinkling, I sighed at the sight of her. Even sleep-rumpled and tired, she was gorgeous.
“What’s all the fuckin’ racket?”
I cut Keys a look, unsurprised to see him scratching his belly, his hair all over the place, his faux hawk all fucked up thanks to his pillow, as he stepped into the kitchen. His nose tipped up. “That cinnamon?”
“Making cinnamon rolls.”
He groaned. “Perfect.” Then, he cut Ama a look. “You never saved me a cookie.”
Ama shrugged. “You shouldn’t have gone on the run, should ya? Ya snooze ya lose.”
“What cookies?” I queried, because Ama could burn water when it came to the oven.
“The ones my momma makes,” she answered. “The day you came back from the run, she made some with me.”
I snorted. “You mean, the packet shit?” My chest puffed up. “I make the best cookies.”
“Fuck me, it’s a regular British Bake Off in here,” Keys grumbled. “I don’t care who makes what, but where’s the fucking goods?”
“Needs to prove.”
He shook his head. “It’s messed up that you get a kick out of baking,” he grumbled.
“Why? When we get to reap the benefits?” Ama replied, peering over her shoulder with a frown.
“Because dude’s a Rebel.”
“So, what? Needs to be killing shit and blowing up crap all the time? Dude, even John McClane needed a break.”
I grinned. “Love that Die Hard is one of your favorite movies.”
Key
s grunted. “No taste, that’s what.” He clapped his hands. “Get moving. I want some treats.”
Ama gave me a final squeeze then headed to the fridge. As she moved in that direction, she shoved Keys out the way, and a little tussle ensued—just like it would have if she hadn’t claimed us. I grinned at the sight, relieved to see that, to be honest. It was natural and playful and how we usually were together. I didn’t want that to change, and it seemed like it hadn’t. Except this time, they were both half naked, and when she did shove him, he jangled.
Staring at him with rounded eyes, she blurted out, “Where the hell did you shove the keys? You’re naked save for your boxers.”
I rolled my eyes when he grabbed his junk. “I’ll only reveal my secrets under strip search conditions.”
A startled laugh escaped her, and she tilted her head to the side, cocked her hip like she was a pro, and told him, “Honey, you wouldn’t be able to handle it.”
And fuck if she wasn’t wrong.
❖
Keys
Five days later
When I woke up, I saw her. She was the first thing in my line of sight, and I had to admit, it was worth anything to get this uninhibited view first thing.
She literally was a sight for sore—in this case—tired eyes.
With her blonde hair spread all over the pillow, her eyes closed, and her long lashes fluttering faintly and covering the shadows rimming them, it was like watching an angel sleep.
I didn’t want to wake her. Couldn’t. She needed the rest. Before I’d moved out of her parents’ home and into the clubhouse when I was seventeen, I’d heard her nightmares. Every fucking night.
I hadn’t forgotten, but I just…
I sighed.
I’d forgotten.
Out of sight, out of mind.
But now that I was here, back with her and sharing a bed, I heard them every night and it killed me. Knowing she had demons in her sleep I couldn’t vanquish? It slaughtered me.
Releasing a deep breath, I refrained, barely, from reaching over and cupping her chin. She needed the Z’s, and I did get a kick out of watching her rest because these moments were unique to us. Thanks to the time I’d lived with her and her family, I’d seen her at every point of the day, even early in the morning, but I’d never seen these moments.
She was innocence and sex combined—that mix should have been impossible, but here she was. Walking proof of it.
I didn’t have to lift my head to know we were alone. For the past week or so, ever since we’d started sleeping over at Ink’s home, I always woke up with her last, and I enjoyed these silent moments. Especially enjoyed the way she was curled into me when I woke up.
Sure, not even the AC could stop our skin from sticking together in the muggy heat, but I even appreciated that. I loved the closeness, loved the intimacy, and I didn’t give a fuck if that made me sound like a pussy. I knew some of the brothers would really get a kick out of making me suffer for some of my thoughts, but that was because they weren’t lucky enough to have a woman like Ama to wake up to.
“You’re thinking.”
Her sleep-slurred words had my lips twitching because it was something Saint, Ama, and me tended to accuse each other of a lot. With contentment in my veins, I reached over and ran my hands through the tips of her hair that lay between our heads on the bright blue pillows. In contrast, her hair looked even more like spun gold.
“I have a brain. It’s what brains do.”
“Not at this time of the morning,” she grumbled. “It’s way too early for thinking.”
That had me smiling for real, and I leaned over and pressed a kiss to her forehead, loving her scent, loving her warmth against me as she tilted her head and smooshed her face into my chest.
By comparison to Saint and Ink, I felt kind of small. We were the same height, roughly all over six feet, but I had a smaller build. I pumped weights but I figured it was due to my age more than anything else. They looked like real men, and I felt like a fucking kid, but when she moved slightly, her lips trailing down over my clavicle and heading toward the split skin on my chest where my pecs were finally beginning to bulk up, I didn’t feel like a kid.
I just felt like hers.
I signed when her mouth traced over my nipples, and I reached over to run my hand through her hair again. “You sure you’re ready?”
“Stopped being sore yesterday,” she mumbled. “Stupid vagina. What else takes so long to heal from being poked and prodded?”
Snorting out a laugh, I replied, “Definitely stupid, but it belongs to you, so I guess I can’t be too mad at it.”
Her eyes sparkled when she tilted her head back and laughed with me. That diamond-bright glitter stunned me even as it reeled me in, and when the laughter stuttered in both our chests, I cleared my throat and, in a husky voice, inquired, “You sure you want this?”
Her eyelashes fluttered, and her smile? Fuck, I knew without words she did, because that smile was every woman’s weapon against a man. It was sleepy and sexy and loaded with secrets. It told a man she wanted him anyway she could have him. It was knowing and cunning and reeled a guy in faster than the speed of light.
I had to taste that smile. Just had to. No alternative, no options. I dipped my head and pressed my mouth to hers, before I traced my tongue around the curve of her lips. The divot of her Cupid’s bow required multiple investigations, until she was giggling a little.
“That tickles,” she whispered, her eyes darkening.
I just hummed and, nipping at her bottom lip, tasted her for real. I didn’t let her escape, didn’t let her pull back. I just cupped the base of her skull and tasted her, made her know what it felt like to be kissed by me.
From what she’d said, I knew the crush she’d had on Ink all this time hadn’t been singular. She’d had one on Saint and me too. But crushes and attraction weren’t the same thing, and I had to admit, with those two around—two bikers who had half the sweetbutts’ tongues wagging—I did feel a little insecure. Not with the clubwhores. Hell, they fucked even the ugly motherfuckers, but with Ama? She was different.
She mattered.
And I was half terrified she was going to turn me away because the crush she felt for me didn’t run as deeply as the ones she had for them.
Maybe that was why I went slowly, leaving her sleep shirt on, why I was content just to kiss her. Just to let her taste me and be tasted in return, happy to explore her and have her explore me.
The morning light turned from gray and dark to warm. The brightness in here didn’t shift thanks to the curtains, but it pooled us both within its spotlight, and as I rolled her over onto her back, I felt relief swirl inside me as she parted her legs and lifted them to ride my hips.
The press of my dick to her pussy had us both shuddering, and when she began to rock her pelvis, grinding herself into me, her heat scorching me through my boxers? Fuck, it was a wonder I didn’t take off like a rocket.
With a grunt, I pulled away from her lips and pressed my forehead to hers. I rocked my hips and ground back just as hard as she did, and the friction was better than the sex I’d had with another woman.
Yeah.
Mind-blowing.
I gritted my teeth against the urge to cum. That was how she wrecked my control. I’d stopped being a two-pump-chump back when I was fourteen. I was actually pretty decent in bed—if I said so myself. But Ama messed with my head and my body, and I thanked God for that.
I grunted against her lips, checking, “Are you ready for this?”
“Hell, Jamie, can’t you tell I was born ready for you?” she whimpered as her words had me rocking faster against her softness. Her head fell back, making her throat arch.
Taking advantage now, I slipped down and reached for the hem of the shirt she wore. It was an overlarge tee with tits and a pussy on it—her idea of both a joke and a negligee, presumably. Last night, we’d all burst out laughing at the sight of it, and she’d beamed at us before snuggling
between Saint and Ink and falling immediately asleep.
Shoving the hem up high, I revealed creamy skin, soft curves, and tits that made my mouth water. I lifted one hand and cupped her, molding the softness in my fingers, loving how she mewled when I grazed a digit over her nipple. She bit at her lip, vulnerability blending with need in her eyes as she stared at me, letting me touch her, responding infinitesimally to that touch by the flaring and dilating of her pupils, the soaring wave of gooseflesh that made an appearance wherever I pressed my fingers, and… fuck, the sweet scent of her desire that made itself known to me.
I hadn’t realized she was panty-less. Had to figure the others didn’t know as well. But now that she was bare to me, and when I felt her cream through my boxers? I needed a taste.
Shuffling down, I pressed kisses to each of her nipples, then with my tongue, tasted between the mounds then glided down over her stomach. I left a line down the center and then headed toward the fluff that covered her pussy. She wasn’t bare, not like I was used to, but she was neat and trimmed and I figured I could work with that.
Her scent was addicting. I pressed my nose to her belly for a second, smiling when I felt her nervous laugh and the rake of her nails over my scalp as she ran her fingers through my hair.
“Jamie?”
I grunted. “Just savoring the moment.”
“I understand,” she whispered. “Been waiting a long time for this too.”
Interest flickered inside me at that moment, and that it had nothing to do with my cock, which was leaking pre-cum, was close to a fucking miracle. I looked up at her, and asked, “How long?”
She hummed. “Remember when you beat the shit out of Will Adams?”
My brow puckered. “The first or second time?” Dumb fuck hadn’t realized I meant what I said.
“The first.” She smiled at me. “I knew then I wanted you.”
“Hell, Ama,” I complained. “We were thirteen years old when he did that.”
Thanks to that cunt Sanchez, she had two bumps in her nose from where he’d broken it. Adams had decided to mock her for it, and I’d decided to mock him for it too—by giving him a matching set.
Their Saint: Hell’s Rebel’s MC Part II Page 16