by Jc Emery
He straightens his arm and brings it closer to his side. Instead of staying in place, I take the opportunity to move closer to him and rest my head on his upper arm. He doesn’t say anything, so I go on. It doesn’t matter how stupid I sound. It only matters that I help him work through whatever’s going on in his head, even if it means more uncomfortable honesty.
“I don’t like how you keep disappearing on me. You’re not doing that anymore. You’re also going to start ordering your coffee how you like it so you’ll actually freaking drink it.”
“My coffee?” he says quietly. He turns so that we’re not side by side anymore. I miss his touch for a moment before he’s facing me, his hand cupping my jaw. Not like before when he would wait for me to instigate touching. No, his warm hand just cups my cheek, and it feels right. It feels perfect.
“You always get black coffee, but you don’t drink it unless it’s sweet and creamy.”
He smirks and lowers his face. He’s so close that our noses brush against each other. I suck in a deep, excited breath and hope beyond hope that this is really happening. He doesn’t respond to my coffee comment. Instead, he purposefully brushes his nose against mine. My stomach flutters in response.
“Are you giving me rules?” His breath is hot and chocolatey in smell. I bet he tastes delicious. I love chocolate and I love him.
Well, I think I might love him, but my relationship with chocolate is solid.
“Yeah, I guess I am,” I say. His thumb rubs circles into my cheek, and his other hand cups the other side of my face. He runs his nose up from my jaw to my temple and breathes me in deep. My breath catches and my eyes flutter closed. Holy shit, this feels amazing.
“Tell me who I belong to, Melinda.” His lips ghost over the corner of my mouth, and my heart is beating so fast in response that I’m worried I might pass out.
“You belong to me,” I whisper and turn my mouth toward his. Our lips touch, but just lightly. He applies more pressure, and so do I. I get so lost in the feeling that the next thing I know, we’re hanging on to each other for dear life and panting as our lips slide over one another. He’s relentless and demanding as he holds me in place, right where he wants me. I try to move my head the other way, but he won’t be budged, so I submit to him.
And it feels incredible.
And powerful.
And perfect.
Chapter 16
It’s day five of working at the clubhouse to try and keep it clean. I never did find out what that fight was about, but I don’t care anymore. I’ve been a little preoccupied by a certain man who’s been at my kitchen table every morning since the day we kissed. He greets me with a kiss on my forehead and says goodbye with one on my lips. I definitely prefer the latter to the former, but I don’t complain. The one time I tried to go for a kiss on the lips when he greeted me, he whispered something naughty in my ear that I’m just not ready for.
Don’t be greedy. Greedy girls get a spankin’, and I don’t even know your limits yet.
And the night after he said that was the second time I’ve used that sex toy. It wasn’t as scary as the first time, but I still panicked when I inserted it. Progress is progress, though, so I guess I can’t beat myself up too much about it.
I drag the soapy rag over the bar top and scrub at the sticky spots that refuse to get clean. Keeping this place even remotely clean is ridiculously hard. I’ve worked alongside Chel twice now, and she’s even cooler than I thought she was the first time I met her. Every day it’s a new damn mess in this place. I asked for this job, so I don’t say anything about how messy these guys are.
“You’re not coming, Ma. You’ll be distracted,” Ian says as he enters the room.
I stop what I’m doing and peek over my shoulder to get a look at him. He said he belongs to me, so I’m calling dibs on him as my man. The more kisses I get and the more mornings he drinks his sweet coffee, the more determined I am to make this thing between us grow.
“I will not,” Ruby says as she works to catch up to him. Michael and Alex trail behind the pair, engaged in their own conversation. Behind them, Ryan walks in with the biggest sourpuss look on his face that I’ve ever seen. “I always go with you guys. You know how much smoother these things play out when a lady’s present.”
“If that’s true, then why the hell do you think you’ll be any use?” he says with a snicker.
Ruby slaps his arm and grumbles something under her breath then stares up at him expectantly. She seems happier now, lighter and more carefree. I guess finally having all of her kids in one place will do that for a woman.
“Absolutely not,” Ian says. His head lifts as his eyes fall on me. He gives me this sexy nod-smirk combination that almost makes me have to clench my legs. If I wasn’t so worn down and damaged, I’d probably be a slushy pile of lust right now. “I already told Mindy she could come.”
We had no such conversation, and I don’t even know where I’m going, nor do I care. But I’m going somewhere with Ian, and that’s what matters.
“And there’s only room for one extra body?” She’s copping an attitude now as she stares down up at her son. His lips form a grim line, and he shakes his head.
“It’s business, Ma. You’ve been an emotional wreck all week.”
“She even know what to do?”
“She will,” he says confidently.
She levels him with a flat look before shrugging her shoulders and walking away. He waits until she’s around the corner and comes up to me, placing a kiss to my forehead. I swear, a thousand butterflies are let loose in my belly at his touch. People always talk about the first time like nothing will ever top it, but they’re so wrong. Our first kiss was gentle and then crazy hot, but it doesn’t compare to every kiss that’s come after it. Even this one, with his lips to my forehead, is more memorable than our first kiss. Every time he touches me, it means more than the last time. Every kiss feels more intimate and more like a promise that we haven’t verbalized.
Either that, or I’ve lost my fucking mind and I’m imagining it. Not that it matters. He’s mine now, and I’m not letting go.
“Where are we going?” I ask when he pulls away. His hand is around the back of my neck, and he gives it a small squeeze. His lips are turned down now, and he’s looking at me like he’s sorry. The smile on my face falls. I didn’t even realize I was smiling until I lose it.
“You’re not going anywhere. I just needed her off my ass.”
“Oh hell no,” I say a little louder than intended. “You’re not ditching me.”
“Club business, Melinda.” His voice has taken on a hard edge, but I don’t give a damn. He can put me over his knee and spank me for all I care. Actually, I might be up for that.
“Not happening, Ian. Apparently you normally bring Ruby, so why can’t you bring me?”
“Ruby’s the president’s old lady,” he says in a frustrated tone. I don’t miss the quirk of his lips, though.
“Your point?”
“Old ladies are different than—” He cuts himself off.
I place a hand on my hip and raise my brows, waiting for a real explanation. I’ve been dying to know what we are to each other, in his mind, ever since he kissed me. I can’t just ask him, though.
Well, I probably could, but if the answer isn’t what I want to hear, I might not recover from it. He told me that I belong to him, and he asked me who he belongs to—that’s all well and dandy, but I need to hear the words. I need the reassurance that this is really happening and there’s really an us for me to be excited about.
“Nice try.” He smiles and slides his hand around to the base of my throat. I suck in a deep breath and stare at him with a look that would embarrass me if I could stop myself, I’m sure. He’s got this look about him, no matter his mood, that draws me in. He’s breathtaking, and I don’t mean that in some silly, schoolgirl-crush kind of way. He’s breathtaking, like he’s shrouded in mystery and pain, and I feel a sense of security when I’m with him
that I’ve never known before.
My father calls him a killer, Holly calls him dangerous, and Nic says he’s disturbed—but to me he’s just Ian. They might all be right. Maybe he is disturbed and dangerous, and maybe he is a killer. Those things might have scared me a year ago, but now I find peace in knowing that about him. I grew up thinking life was really simple. You grow up, try your best at whatever you’re doing, and you just be a good person. Nobody ever talked to me about the evil things that can happen in life. Nobody ever told me that good girls with high GPAs can grow up to become junkies. They never talked to me about the dangers of experimenting, and they didn’t tell me that former good girls on the road to redemption can be violated and humiliated. My father, the cop, never shared the horrors he’d seen on the job before, and I didn’t know to ask.
All of the awful does exist, though, and a significant portion of it has happened to me. Some of it I’ve even done to myself. I used to long for a time when I didn’t know how much pain I could endure or how strong I really am. I used to wish to turn back the clock to the eighteen-year-old girl who had such a bright future. I’ve given up on that now. That girl is gone, and in her place is someone I’m still getting to know. All I really know about her is that she likes a man who carries the evidence of his scars on his face for the world to see. She yearns for a man who the scariest men she’s ever met fear to cross. She’s in love with a man who will kill for her, even if he doesn’t love her back. That kind of security doesn’t come along every day, and not every man can fulfill that dark need—but Ian can.
“You don’t know what you’re asking for,” he says quietly. His hand slips around my neck, gently caressing the front of my throat with his thumb.
“Then explain it to me.”
“It’s not something you explain. It’s just—this life. You don’t want to get any more involved in . . . the club.” The way he says the club sounds like it’s forced, like he wanted to say something else but decided not to at the last minute. Why he can’t, or won’t, just talk to me about whatever’s going on here is maddening. “You’ve been hurt bad enough. This club—what we do—is dangerous. You already know that. Why would you choose this when you have another choice?”
“Do I have another choice?” I ask. “From where I’m standing, this is it for me. I used to be somebody else, and now I’m—I need this, the club. It makes me feel normal. It’s like this person I’ve become can’t really exist with the rest of the world. But here, with you guys, I feel like you guys get it.”
“What do we get? What is it about us that makes you feel normal, Melinda?”
And just like that, we’re back to bossy man. He’s losing his softness and sharpening those hard edges he almost always has.
“I get so angry, so mean. I look at normal people and I can’t help but wonder how fucked up they are. I think about it a lot, about what I want to do . . . to them.” This is the first time I’ve said this to someone, what I fantasize about. If anyone will understand this darkness, it’s Ian. “Those men . . . I hate them. I want them to suffer, but they’re dead, and I don’t get that. I wanted Leo to suffer because he scared me.”
“What you did could have gotten him killed if I didn’t like the guy so much,” he says.
“You should have killed him. You should have tied him up and set him on that stupid fucking seawall at high tide. You should have let him drown in the Pacific.”
“This shit isn’t healthy. You’re on a path to destruction, and I’m not going to be responsible for it when you wreck.”
“No,” I say.
He slides his hand behind my neck and tightens his grip. He holds me in place, his eyes searching mine, and his nostrils flaring.
“I’m already destroyed. There’s nothing here for you to save.”
“The fact that you believe that shows how naïve you really are.” His voice rises as he barks out the words, and the grip around the back of my neck gets even tighter. It hurts, but I refuse to tell him that. “You’ve never stared into a man’s eyes as he takes his last breath. Your blade has never pierced a man’s flesh and ripped apart his insides. You’ve never been coated in someone else’s blood. So don’t tell me there’s nothing left of you. There’s plenty of good left.”
There’s an uncomfortable layer of silence that settles between us, and I search for something to say. Anything would be better than this quiet. If he would just maybe scream at me, it might be better than this. That way I won’t have to stand here, staring into his eyes, thinking about what he’s just said. I’m doing everything in my power to not think about it. I’m afraid how I’ll feel if I do let it sink in.
“I know you think you want me. You think you like this life because you’re hurting, but this isn’t for you. Every one of our women is either born into this world or life fucked them into it. You can’t stomach hearing about it, you won’t be able to stomach living it.”
“You can’t know that.” The words don’t come out as easily as I want them to. He doesn’t think I can handle his world, and I can’t find the words to convince him that I can. I’m not sure I can stomach the things he’s mentioned—not that I’ll ever admit it.
“You aren’t fucking listening. Why aren’t you listening?” He’s shouting now and stepping away from me. I see his temper rising as his eyes dart around the room, searching for something to take his aggression out on. He stomps over to a wooden chair and places his hands on the back and leans into it. His shoulders are rising and falling with each strained breath and the bulge of his muscles as he fights for control of himself, which he’s clearly losing. Somewhere in the back of my head, I’m telling myself to run for it to avoid the blowup, but I can’t move. Even if I could get my feet to work, I’d stay. Leaving would only prove him right, that I can’t handle his world.
“Well?” he screams. His entire body vibrates with his anger. Even his facial features seem incapable of staying still. I can’t decide if it’s sexy or intimidating or maybe a mix of both. “Why aren’t you fucking listening? You used to listen. You did as you were told.”
“Because I’m not that girl anymore!” I shout back on my way to the bar where I sit on one of the stools. If he’s trying to run me out with this sudden mood swing, it’s not going to work. I make a grand show of sitting on the stool and getting comfortable, ensuring it sends the right message. I’m livid, partially because our moment’s been broken by his attitude problem and partially because I’m just a yeller and I hate how quick I am to raise my voice and it bothers me that he’s brought this infuriating trait out in me.
“Fuck!” His straightens his back and glares at the chair he was just leaning on. In one swift movement, he lifts the chair over his shoulder and throws it with all his might at the exposed brick wall. The chair sails past me and smashes into the brick. I jump at the loud crashing noise it makes even though I knew it was coming and it wasn’t really all that close to me. That stupid worrywart voice is going off in my head again, telling me to leave, but I ignore her. I’m far too angry with him for ruining our moment. I like our moments, and he can’t just go around ruining them because he feels a foot stomping session coming on.
Asshole.
“Go ahead and throw another one. See if I care,” I say and pivot around on my stool to fill one of the clean glasses that’s on the dry rack with water from the tap. I don’t really like the water from the tap, but I’m thirsty and it’s either this or the Jägermeister that’s just down the bar from me. I’ve been aching for a real drink since I broke my sobriety, and even though I haven’t slipped up again, the gnawing desire won’t go away. Especially when I’m feeling crazy, like now, I just want to drown out all of the insufferable feelings I’m experiencing. I remind myself, like now, how good the crazy feels one I reach the peak. I’m not there yet, and my fingers itch to reach for the green bottle, but I focus on what’s important here—Ian.
When I’m settled back in my seat and taking a sip of my water, he moves on to another cha
ir and lifts it over his shoulder, then waits. I nod and give him a hand wave, inviting him to throw the fucking thing.
“What do I care? This isn’t my furniture,” I say calmly and take another sip. As far as I’m concerned, they could use an update in décor anyway. Nothing really matches in here, and half of it’s so old and beat up that it’s probably doing the guys a favor to break it to pieces.
He throws the chair, and just like the last one, it breaks into pieces of all different sizes against the brick wall.
“You like this? You really want to be with this?” he says. His face is red, and there’s a line of sweat on his brow. He turns over a retro-styled metal table that looks like it could be out of a 1950s Sears catalog. I give him a bitchy eyebrow, and in response he gives me a snapped pool cue that somebody left lying up against one of the couches. When I don’t respond to the pool cue, he kicks over another chair, and he does it so hard that he breaks one of the legs in the process.
I set my glass of water down on the bar and give him a slow clap, like I’m proud of his He-man accomplishments. As expected, it just pisses him off further. He moves quickly toward me, like a lion stalking its prey, knocking over everything in his path. He doesn’t bother to simply walk around the furniture. Instead, he insists upon toppling it over, kicking it out of his way, and making a big show out of the whole thing.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” he yells, so close to my face that a few drops of saliva fly onto my cheeks and nose. I startle slightly—and I’m way too proud of myself for only being slightly startled—by the close proximity of his shouting. “You don’t know me or the shit that gets me off. You can’t want me, so just fucking let me go.”
He wants me to let him go, only I didn’t know I had him. He hinted at it, and sometimes it sure seems like I do, but others he’s so evasive and steadfast in his refusal to clear up our relationship. Ian has been the only thing that’s kept me going since those men tried to break me. In a way, I think they did break me, but I don’t want to be put back together. The woman I used to be wouldn’t have been able to handle this outburst. She would have run from the scene, safely retreating back to her boring life.