I don’t need much coaxing either. The mix of the risk of being caught and the angle he has me pushed against the wall at has me coming apart in record timing. I swallow my mewl as I go over the edge, panting through my orgasm, and I feel him judder before he finds his release as well.
Sagging against the wall, my legs jellied, I try to keep traction while he slowly pulls out of me. I moan at the loss of his dick, and he chuckles at me.
Bastard.
His hand comes to the back of my neck, collaring me, and he kisses the side of my face.
“Let me get rid of the condom, angel, then I’ll take care of you.”
I have no idea where he’s going to put it. I didn’t know he’d even put on one, but at least he was thinking about protection. Not that it matters, I’m on the pill, but it doesn’t hurt to be careful.
Slowly, I unglue myself from the wall. I’m gross between my legs, slick with my wetness. I need to clean up down there, but unless I want to parade back through the clubhouse half naked, I have no choice but to pull my underwear back on, which I do.
I’m just settling my skirt back in place when Jem reappears out of the darkness, his belt and jeans undone. He quickly fastens them and gazes over me.
“You okay?”
I nod. “Yeah. I need to clean up, though.”
“I have a room upstairs.”
I give him a look. “That’s not a good idea.”
“Despite what you think, I can keep my hands to myself. I’m not a rampant sex pest.”
I laugh quietly. “I didn’t say you were.”
“The implication’s there, Pip.” He steps into me, his big body crowding me, his arms sliding around my back. “You are utterly irresistible, but I’ll keep my filthy paws to myself while you clean up, deal?”
Since I feel disgusting, I agree. “Well, if you think you can manage. I’ll allow it. We should get back inside and clean up fast, before we’re missed.”
“In a moment.”
He bends at the neck and kisses me gently, so gently I almost forget I just said we should move quickly.
His kiss scorches my lips, branding me his.
Staying away from Jem is no longer an option, no matter what my head tells me. It’s no longer calling the shots. My heart is, and the heart wants what it wants.
Right now, it wants Jem, and it doesn’t care about big brothers and relationships being ruined. It doesn’t care about distances or incompatibility. It doesn’t care about dangerous liaisons.
All it cares about is this man who is searing my mouth with the most divine kiss I’ve ever experienced in my life.
Chapter Seventeen
In the two weeks since Josh’s welcome home party, I’ve taken to avoiding Jem like the plague. This has been relatively easy now Josh is no longer in the hospital. I have no reason to run into any of his brothers unless they come to the flat or I go to the clubhouse. Since I’m hardly a frequent visitor to the latter, it’s been relatively easy to closet myself away from all things Lost Saxons, and thus keep myself out of the path of temptation.
And this is precisely what Jem is. He’s a blond god wrapped in layers of tempting honeyed desire that I cannot resist. Avoiding him is the only way I can keep my sanity.
If I’m being honest, I should have gone back to Manchester weeks ago. I know Josh is still not back to his full strength, but he doesn’t need me here, not really. He struggles with certain things, mainly anything that means he has to lift or reach a certain way, but he’s managing fine without my help. He spends most of his time at the clubhouse or out with his brothers, leaving me to my own devices—those devices mostly comprise of fantasising about Jem Harlow and coming up with ways of getting my relationship back on track with my half-brother.
Don’t get me wrong, Josh has made time for me. It’s not like he’s ignored me. In fact, he’s made a whopping great effort to get to know me better, which makes my behaviour even worse. We’re hanging out and doing things together—bonding, as he calls it—but he’s also been weirdly quiet and out of sorts since his welcome home party.
I know he left early, although why, I don’t know. When I came out of Jem’s room after our… tryst (this is what I’m calling the event where Jem fucked me up against the wall of the clubhouse, since I feel absolutely mortified by it), I tried to find him, but he’d absconded. I wanted to go after him, but I was accosted by the girls, and found myself drinking with Beth for the rest of the evening. She got trashed and had to be practically carried home by Logan—much to his irritation and my amusement. When I got back to the flat, it was quiet, but Josh’s door was shut. He’s been weird since.
Truthfully, we’ve both been dancing around each other since the party. I’m also avoiding him because I can barely look him in the eye with my guilt eating at me, and Josh has been like a bear with a sore head, frustrated by his body’s inability to do what he needs.
When the doctor finally clears him for work, I’m half-relieved because at least it means he has something to focus on other than moping over his recovery, but I can’t help but be concerned as well. I think it’s too soon. He’s only been out of hospital a fortnight and he’s having fairly intensive physiotherapy. I don’t think he should be doing anything strenuous at all, considering he nearly died eight weeks ago.
The day he’s due to start back at the bar he manages, I decide to bite the bullet and raise my concerns, even though I’m not sure he’s going to appreciate me interfering. It takes me a couple of goes to raise my courage to broach the subject, but I manage to find the words and push them out of my mouth. Fear he could end up back in the hospital forces me to speak. I can’t deal with him getting sick again. I can’t go through weeks of worry again.
“Maybe you shouldn’t go back to work yet, Josh,” I say, nibbling on my lip as my belly fills with ice. I mean, what do doctors really know anyway? His physician hasn’t seen him struggling with everyday things. He doesn’t realise how hard it is for my brother to lift objects or reach for simple things. Going back to work after getting shot, having double surgery and a major infection that only cleared up a few weeks ago seems ludicrous. “Don’t you think it’s too soon? I mean, are you really sure you’re well enough? It has only been two weeks since you got out of the hospital.”
We’re standing in the kitchen of his flat and while I know it’s pointless to try to make him listen, given he’s a grown up and he’s not really inclined to pay attention to me, I have to try. It’s my duty as his sister, right? This is what sisters do—protect their siblings, even if it is from themselves.
Josh’s attention, however, is not on me. I’m not sure where it is, but he seems distracted, unfocused.
When he doesn’t answer me, I snap out, “Josh! Are you listening to me?”
He finally gives me his attention. “I’m fine, Pipes.”
I’m not sure where this nickname came from, but secretly, I love it. He started calling me it over the past few days just out of the blue and it’s stuck.
“You keep saying that but you’re getting over the second of two fairly major surgeries, Josh.” I drop the hand not clutching my coffee to my hip, doing my best mother hen routine, and give him a chastising glare. “If you need more time off then take it. You push it and you’ll end up back in the hospital.”
“I’m fine, Piper,” he repeats, his tone firm.
“Are you fine?” I ask, peering at him, trying to see what is going on behind the shutters he has up. Is he ignoring me because he doesn’t care for the little sister pushing him around routine, or is it something else? It’s something else… “You’ve been quiet since you got out of the hospital.”
He freezes for a split second, which is how I know I’m on the money. I further know I’m right by the fact he changes the subject completely.
“Are you hanging around here today or heading into town?” he asks.
Nice sidestep, brother.
Since I am also a master at this game, I can’t blame him too mu
ch for avoiding my question. I keep my walls firmly up and locked in place, too. If I didn’t, Josh would know all my secrets, including the fact that my stepfather is a complete arse who I still have no idea how to handle, and I slept with one of his best friends.
The situation with Jem is difficult. Mum is another matter entirely.
I know I should message her, make sure she’s okay after Grant hit her, but in truth, I don’t know how to handle her. She was more concerned about her reputation if it came out. Who thinks like that? Sod reputation, she should have told everyone who will listen what a scumbag Grant Hollander is. He portrays himself as this saint in the community, helping the elderly, fixing homelessness, securing education places for disadvantaged young people, increasing employment opportunities, but behind closed doors he’s someone else, someone darker. I’ve never seen that side of him before. Sure, I knew both of them were forceful, overbearing, difficult. My life growing up wasn’t the easiest. There’s a reason I sought out a brother in jail and saw him as a better alternative to a supposed happy home in a middle-class suburban life, but I had no idea Grant was capable of violence. He hit her, and Mum stood by while he hurt me and said nothing. I think that’s what upsets me the most. I jumped in front of him to protect her. Hell, I would have taken whatever hits he threw at me to save her, but she only cared about protecting his reputation. I would have said she was scared of him, except she warned me to say nothing that might harm his position.
The sad thing is he did hurt me. He bruised my arm badly. It took over a week for the finger-marks on my skin to fade. But Farrah Ellis-Hollander cares more about keeping up appearances than protecting her own daughter, and that is what it always boils down to—their social standing. Grant’s position, his job, matters more than anything else. When I managed to speak to Mum on the phone and tell her this, she told me I was being dramatic and I should grow up. That hurt more than the contusions marring my skin.
Maybe I should have gone to the police and reported it, but Grant is the kind of man who would have talked his way out of it. I doubt Mum would have come down on my side either. She seems to think it’s perfectly acceptable what happened. Honestly, Grant’s rage scared me. I’ve never seen him like that before, and I’m not sure what he’s mixed up in either, but I don’t want to be tangled in it. Maybe I should have told Jem or Josh what happened, but my brother was in the hospital and I have a feeling Jem’s retribution would not have been pretty. I don’t need to complicate matters more than they already are.
Besides, this is my problem. I’ll solve it myself. I don’t need my brother wading in to save the day.
For now, staying in Kingsley gives me a buffer from Grant and my mother.
“Actually,” I lift my coffee mug to my mouth but don’t drink, “I thought I’d head up to your clubhouse.”
When he was in the hospital, I wouldn’t have bothered asking. I would have just gone. Not that I was a frequent visitor up there, but I feel weird about going over there now that he’s out. In truth, I feel like an intruder in his world, like I don’t belong. I’m struggling to find my place in this new dynamic we have.
My brother’s head snaps in my direction. “Come again?”
“Well,” I lower the mug, “Beth and Liv were talking about a shopping trip to look at baby clothes and they asked me to tag along. I didn’t want to be rude, since they did so much to help while you were in hospital, so of course I said yes.”
On the few occasions I’ve been pushed into social situations with the women in the Club, I’ve had a surprisingly good time. I do feel somewhat beholden to them, considering how much they did to help me when Josh was in the hospital, so when they asked me to come on this shopping escapade, I could hardly say no, but I’m also not adverse to getting out for a while either. I’m getting slightly cabin fevered. However, going to the clubhouse is not without risks. It puts me in the path of a certain Harlow brother who I have been trying to avoid, and not without difficulty. He’s messaged a few times and while I’ve responded, I made it clear we should keep things platonic. He seemed to agree, but then he agreed last time—until we were in each other’s orbit. Within minutes my skirt was around my hips and he was fucking me against the wall. I don’t seem to have any sort of control when it comes to Jem.
I would prefer to avoid the clubhouse altogether, but I feel I owe Beth at least for her help with Josh. So, I’m going to the clubhouse.
“That sounds fun.” He says this in a way that suggests it sounds the absolute opposite.
“I don’t know if it will be or not, but they seem nice and…”
“Pipes, if you want to go, go. I don’t mind.”
“You’re sure? I don’t want to step on your toes or anything.”
Josh takes a swig of his own coffee before saying, “Why the fuck would you be stepping on my toes?”
I carefully put the mug onto the counter before giving him my full attention. “Because this is your world, Josh, not mine. I don’t belong in it, and let’s face it, I haven’t exactly been supportive of it. I could understand if you didn’t want me trespassing here.”
This might be the understatement of the century. When I first arrived, I was a raging bitch. It was Jem who bore the brunt of that anger. Although I’m not sure I can honestly say I remain unsupportive. Not that I can tell Josh this. I can hardly admit that I’m bonking one of his best friends, can I? I’m not sure this was what he meant when he told me I had to respect his brothers.
He stares at me a beat, as if he’s trying to fathom what is going on in my head before he lets out a long breath. “Club’s family. My family. That makes them your family, too. If you want to hang out with the old ladies, I’m not going to say shit about it.”
One big happy family...
I most assuredly do not have familial feelings for Jem.
“All right then.”
He empties the last of his coffee then sticks the mug in the sink. He doesn’t rinse the cup.
What the hell, Josh? Would it kill you to clean it and put it away?
I want to say something, but I don’t. I’ve learnt the best approach with Josh is not to nag. It’s pointless anyway.
“Do you need a lift?” he asks.
“Um, no, but thank you. We’re not meeting there for another few hours.”
He grabs his kutte off the back of the sofa and shrugs into it. I notice the discomfort on his face as it pulls his back doing it. He’s still so stiff, so sore. I wonder if he’ll ever be back to how he was before he was shot. Not that I know what that was.
“Will you be okay getting there?” he asks as he settles the leather in place.
This question is sweet, but I roll my eyes, playing the little role that is expected of me. It’s a role I’m more comfortable in with him.
“Believe it or not, Josh, I’m quite capable of taking care of myself.”
“I was shot eight weeks ago, Piper. Just fucking humour me and say you’ll be careful, yeah?”
Oh, shit.
His words are a kick to the gut. It steals the air from my lungs as all the memories, all the worry, all the feelings of doubt and fear race through me. For a second, I struggle to draw air.
“Don’t,” I choke out, my arms wrapping around my middle.
“Don’t what?”
“Remind me!” My eyes dart away before I squeeze them shut. “It was the worst moment of my life getting that call. I thought you were going to die. I didn’t know what to do.”
It seems so long ago that call came through. Another lifetime, in fact.
“You did fine,” he says, his voice flat.
Something in his tone sets me on edge. What does that mean? I did fine? Is he annoyed at me? Upset with me?
I search his face, looking for answers and finding none. In many ways, Josh is still a stranger to me and the nuances of his behaviour are a mystery to me at times. Case in point, this right here. I have no idea what his problem is. What did I say?
I’m about t
o ask, press for more information, when he offers the answer himself.
“You’re here, you’re not here—that’s up to you. Doesn’t matter to me.”
His words are a wrecking ball to the chest.
What. The. Hell?
Tears clog my throat as pain steals my breath. Does he really think that? Well, fuck him! Two months of my life I’ve given up to be here with him. Two months.
I’ve risked my job, my security, everything to make amends, and that is his response?
What has he sacrificed?
Nothing.
I rub my chest, trying to dispel the pain lancing through my heart, but it doesn’t help. I can feel the tears brimming in my eyes, even as I try to bring my shields back up to protect myself, but they’re lowered. I let my guard down too far, and I shouldn’t. Never again. What a fool I was to believe he wanted me here, really and truly.
I close my eyes for a split second, trying to ground myself before I find my centre, then I spit my words at him, finally finding my anger.
“Yeah, well, I only came to make sure you didn’t fucking die!” I snatch my handbag off the kitchen counter and give him a glare that I hope tells him how much I hate him for saying that before I rush to the door. I slam through it, shutting it behind me hard enough to rattle the walls.
Fuck him.
Everything I’ve done for him and that’s the gratitude?
I have no idea where I’m going, I just walk blindly away from the flat, away from my brother, until the anger becomes hurt and the hurt becomes exhaustion. I wander aimlessly in the opposite direction, trying to order my thoughts.
I understand on some level why Josh is pushing back. He’s scared, just as I am, and when he’s scared, he pushes away. God, when he finds out I slept with Jem and kept it quiet…
I wonder then how hard he will push me away.
Forbidden Rider: A Lost Saxons Novel #5 Page 21