by Kim Jones
Then Drake is next to me, slinging his arm over my shoulders and narrowing his eyes on Cook. “Everything okay, beautiful?” Cook smirks at that.
“Fine,” I squeak. “Everything’s fine.” There’s a silent stare down for a few moments—Drake giving Cook a look of warning. Cook wearing a satisfied smile.
“She’s with me,” Drake growls, but Cook only widens his smile.
“I can see that.” Cook’s looking at me as he speaks—a twinkle of mischief in his eyes. I want to set the record straight. Tell Drake I’m not really with him. But I can’t find my voice.
“You bout ready to get out of here, Carmen?” I nod, unable to pull my eyes from Cook. “Let’s go. I gotta make an appearance at Pop’s, then you’ll have me all to yourself.”
Cooks smile doesn’t falter, but his eyes darken. Mine widen slightly.
Leaving with Drake was not part of the plan. I don’t want to leave and chance the rumor that I’m a snooty bitch who blew off her date, but there’s no way I’m spending an extra second with him if I don’t have to. I’ll just have to fake an illness to get out of it. Shouldn’t be too hard considering I’m already feeling queasy with Drake so close.
I shoot Cook a pleading look over my shoulder as Drake all but drags me away. Sensing my turmoil, he shows a little compassion and gives me a small nod of reassurance. Then he winks, and my anxiety vanishes. I don’t know what he’ll do. Or how he’ll fix it. I just know he will.
I bet my sweet little ass on it.
Mr. Big Mouth
We’re back at Pop’s. I’m sitting at the bar, drinking one of Kat’s special margaritas, which is much needed and well deserved. This plan for revenge is more exhausting than I’d thought. Or maybe it’s the double shift I worked last night. Or the fact that I’ve only had six hours of sleep in two days. Or it could be these damn booties that feel like the soles are made out of sharp rocks.
“You look as tired as I feel,” Ronnie says, sliding me a buttery nipple shot. I thank him, clink my glass to his and throw it back. It tastes scrumptious.
“Trust me.” I motion for Kat to give us another. “I feel it too.”
He grabs my hand in his and gives it a squeeze. “Plan seems to be working.” I look at him. He answers my unspoken question with a shrug. “Cook didn’t want to tell me. I made him.”
I laugh at that, unable to imagine Cook doing anything he didn’t want to do. “What all did he tell you?”
“Just that you’re going to get back at Jud by making him think you’re sleepin’ with his brothers.”
“Making him think I’m sleeping with them?” That was something I didn’t want anyone but me and Cook to know. If it ever got out…
“You think I’m stupid enough to believe you actually would?” He gives me an expectant look.
I sigh and shake my head. “No. I guess not.”
Kat hands us the drinks, but when I try to pay, Ronnie smacks my hand. “I don’t let women buy me drinks. How’d you do on the poker run?” I pull my paper from my purse and show him. “Damn … Full house. Not bad.”
I shrug. “I don’t know much about poker.”
“I do. That’s a good hand. You’ll probably win. Highest hand I’ve heard of is Cook’s. He has a straight.”
“Yeah, Drake seemed pretty excited about it. After I got a pair, he suggested we split it if either of us won. But I don’t know what he has.”
“That’s cause he didn’t play,” Ronnie says, disapproval evident in his tone. “I bet he would have if he’d have known you paid for him to.” I frown in confusion. “My bad. Cook paid for it,” he adds on a grunt.
“No … I only paid for me. Well, Cook paid for me. But I was going to.” Ronnie points a finger to my paper on the bar. I read the print beneath it. Fifteen dollars for one rider. Twenty for two. Cheap bastard.
Embarrassed for Drake and myself for coming here with him, I force a smile. “No big deal. It’s for a good cause. I don’t mind paying. He was nice enough to let me ride with him.”
“So you still gonna split it with him if you win?” Ronnie asks, amused by my attempt to defend Drake.
“Nah. I’m going to donate it back.”
He raises a brow at me. “Really? That’s a lot of money. Probably more than you make in a week.” Now it’s my turn to raise a brow. He smirks. “Cook told me about that too. You know, you workin’ to pay for your own place and shit.”
“How very big mouthed of him,” I mutter. Ronnie laughs. “Anyway.” I take a sip of my drink. “That is a lot of money, but St. Jude needs it more than me.”
I feel him looking at me as I stare down at the outfit I’d splurged on. How selfish would I be to take something from someone who really needed it? If I could afford to buy slutty clothes, I could do without taking from charity.
“Well let’s hope you win. Or at least someone with a heart like yours does.” He spins on his stool to face the gathering crowd as they get ready to announce the winners. I tuck my legs beneath me and turn too, leaning my back against the bar.
“Would you give it back?” I ask, wondering if doing that was common. I couldn’t imagine anyone who wouldn’t. Other than Drake, of course.
“I would. I have. And any man who wears my patch will.”
“Because you’d make them?” I shoot him a smile, but his look is solemn.
“No.” He angles his head to look at me. “They’d do it because it’s the right thing to do.”
There’s something about Ronnie, Cook and the few other Devil’s Renegades I’ve seen, that set them apart from everyone else. They’re good people. Better people. I’m sitting next to the most important man in the bar, yet he acts as if he’s just another biker. He’s unselfish. Quiet. Kind. He wears that aura of power well, but I’ve yet to see him use it to his advantage.
“Listen up!” the emcee yells out across the bar, dragging my thoughts back to the present. “Time for the fifty-fifty.”
I guess hearing the words drew him out of whatever hole he climbed in, but Drake comes to stand beside me for the first time since we arrived back at Pop’s. He’d disappeared the moment we walked in, saying he had to meet with his guys out back, but that he’d find me later.
“You got this in the bag, beautiful,” he says, laying his arm across the bar behind me as he leans against it.
“Beer, Drake?” Kat asks, her tone bored, as if she had to ask even though she already knew the answer.
“I’ll let you know in a minute,” he says, pointing down at my paper—insinuating that he’ll buy one if I win. But even if I wanted to be a jerk and keep the money, I damn sure wouldn’t split it with him. Now I wish I hadn’t defended him at all.
“Carmen?” Kat looks to me, and I nod.
“What you drinkin’?” Drake asks, peeking over in my glass as I drain the last of it. Ronnie bristles beside me but doesn’t say anything. Kat, on the other hand, let’s his ass have it.
“If you’d have bought the motherfucker you’d know, you cheap shit.” I bite my cheek to keep from laughing. Ronnie doesn’t bother holding his in. It’s deep and raspy. Comforting. I feel my body angle closer to his and further from Drake’s.
“Why you gotta give me hell, Kat?”
“Because you deserve it. She was nice enough to hang out with your ugly ass today and you won’t even buy the girl a drink. I bet you made her pay for her ride today, too.”
Before Drake can respond, one of his brothers steps in. “I got her drink,” he says, putting some money on the bar. “And get Drake a beer too, will ya?” He looks over at me and smiles. He’s not too bad. At least he looks clean and seems kind.
I nod my thanks to him. When I notice a patch on his cut that reads Secretary, I bat my eyelashes. Maybe he could be the next brother I “fuck.”
“Cook’s got a straight!” The emcee’s comment has me searching for him. He’s easy to spot—standing in the crowd next to the event organizers’ table. He wears a blank expression. His back straight. Sho
ulders square. Standing with his hands crossed in front of him. It’s not an intimidating stance, it’s respectful.
“Full house over here!” Drake yells, causing me to jump. Cook’s lips turn up when he sees me.
Nervous and wobbly, I walk over—cringing with every step. Damn shoes. I smile the best I can, hissing through my teeth the entire way.
Cook’s eyes narrow and his head turns a fraction when he notices my discomfort. Discreetly, I point to my shoes—knowing he’s the only one paying close enough attention to notice. His eyes drop to my feet a moment before he smirks back up at me.
“Anybody got a better hand than a boat?” the emcee asks, as I hand him my paper. He asks twice more, making me stand center stage while he does.
Every eye is on me. Even Jud, who for the first time today doesn’t look at me like he wants to rip my head off. It’s not a particularly friendly look, but it’s not quite a glare either.
“Congrats, honey. Looks like you’re the big winner.” He hands me a wad of cash. “That’s nearly twelve hundred dollars.”
I thank him and turn to the two women wearing St. Jude T-shirts. They came as volunteers to help with the event and receive the donations. Not wanting to draw any more attention to myself, I lean in so only they can hear me.
“I’d like to donate my winnings back.”
They accept the money then pull me in for a hug. It’s as discreet as I’d hoped, until the emcee notices and blabs his big mouth over the microphone.
“How about that, folks. She’s donated it back. Let’s give a round of applause to Miss…”
“Carmen,” Cook says next to me. There’s a sparkle of awe in his eyes as he pins me with his gaze. “Her name is Carmen.”
“Well let’s give it up for Miss Carmen. She’s just donated her winnings that totaled over twelve hundred dollars back to St Jude…” The emcee continues to rattle on as everyone claps. I’m mortified as I try not to hobble back to the bar. I feel Cook’s hand touch my back a couple times, guiding me through the crowd.
I breathe out a sigh of relief when I finally take a seat on my stool. Ronnie offers me my drink, and I greedily accept it.
“You’ll be drinkin’ free for a while,” Kat says. “I think everyone here bought you a drink after that.” Her eyes roll in annoyance. “Well, almost everyone.”
“Speaking of Drake, where is he?” I ask, looking around for him—my eyes falling on the word PROSPECT as Cook disappears back into the crowd. “I’m about to head home and I wanted to say bye.”
“He’s busy.” Ronnie doesn’t look at me when he speaks. “I’ll tell him for you.” Something in his tone has me narrowing my eyes. I have a feeling he had something to do with Drake being busy. I also feel a deep relief at knowing I won’t have to see him again.
“Thanks, Ronnie. See you next time?” I frown, realizing I don’t know when that will be. Kat had promised to help me get some dates with Jud’s brothers, but how soon would that be?
Then I feel a tap on my shoulder and turn to find the guy who bought me a drink earlier, with his hand outstretched. I take it and give him my best smile.
“Eagles Secretary Juice. Can I walk you out?”
Mr. Delicious Saves The Day
I literally fall through the door of my apartment. Kicking off my shoes, I contemplate throwing them in the trash. But decide against it considering they were a gift.
Tiptoeing across the floor, I head into the kitchen where I grab a full bottle of wine from the fridge. Throwing myself down on my chaise, I prop my feet up and check my phone. Sure enough, Jud doesn’t disappoint.
Drake is desperate. He’ll fuck anything.
Not surprised that he wants to fuck you.
I bet you’re fucking Ronnie too.
Stay the hell away from me, Carmen. And my club.
I laugh as I look down at Juice’s number in my hand. He’d asked me to bike night next Thursday. I graciously accepted knowing Jud would be there. And somewhere, lurking in the shadows, would be Cook.
I start to call Emily and give her the rundown about my night, but am too exhausted to give her the details she demands. I’d rather sleep. But when I hear the loud rumble of pipes on my street, my pulse picks up and sleep becomes the last thing on my mind.
I should fix my hair. Brush my teeth. Takes these damn pants off that are glued to my body. After sweating in the heat all day, I’m sure I probably don’t smell the best either. Doing a quick underarm check, I find that my 24-hour Degree has held strong. But I doubt my soap has the power to mask sweat odor inside my leather pants.
My feet feel stone bruised from sole to heel. Just standing on them is killing me. Dropping to my knees, I start to crawl toward the bathroom—confident I have plenty of time to make it there before Cook catches me in the embarrassing position. But I’m not even out of the living room when his voice sounds from behind me.
“What are you doin’?”
He must have ninja powers. It was only seconds ago when I heard his bike. Now he’s standing in my living room, looking down at me in amusement.
“My feet hurt.” I turn my head to look up at him. He’s staring at my feet.
“What the hell kinda shoes were you wearin’?”
“Cheap ones, apparently.” Damn Emily. She’d probably bought them from some stripper clothing site.
Wrapping an arm around my waist, Cook scoops me up in his arms and carries me back to the chaise. He sits with me in his lap, then grabs my foot in his hand, causing me to fall back against the pillows.
“Damn, Carmen.” He frowns as he studies my foot.
“Do they look bad?” I crane my neck to see.
“No but they smell bad.”
“Do not!” I jerk my foot out of his hand.
Laughing, he reaches out and grabs it again. “I’m kidding.”
“Jerk,” I mutter, crossing my arms over my chest.
He stops laughing, but keeps a smile on his face. He studies my foot a moment longer, then presses his thumbs into the heel. My body tenses and I let out a whimper. He doesn’t ease the pressure, but watches me thoughtfully. Slowly, the pain begins to ebb. The relief that follows is orgasmic.
“Holy fuck.”
His brow quirks. “Look at you. Cussin’ and shit. I must be doin’ something right.”
“I’ll say whatever you want if it means you won’t stop.” He chuckles, and then it’s silent for a while.
I relax further into the pillows, allowing my eyes to flutter closed. When I pull in a deep breath, my lip curls and I can’t help but giggle.
“What’s so funny?” Cook asks, a smile in his voice.
“My feet really do stink.” Another giggle erupts and I shake my head. “Or it may be other parts of me I smell. By the way…” I crack open one eye to look at him, “leather pants in summer are a bad idea.”
He gives me a fiery glance. “Seeing you in them is worth it, gorgeous.” He drags his gaze down my legs.
“The correct response was, ‘you don’t smell bad at all.’” Throwing his own words back at him wasn’t such a good idea. Now, all I can think about is that spanking he promised me. And by the look in his eyes, he’s thinking about it too.
He grabs my other foot, causing me to hiss when he presses his thumbs against the sorest part. But just like before, the pain soon turns to pleasure. Only this time, I’m feeling it in places other than my feet.
“You’re tired tonight.” It’s not a question, but I find myself answering regardless.
“It’s been a long week.”
He nods. “That’s right, so get your mind outta the gutter, dirty girl.” My face scrunches in confusion. “You’re so transparent, babe. Your body language gives you away.”
So I’m breathing a little heavier. Licking my lips. Giving my thighs the occasional rub together in search of release. Letting my thoughts run wild. I can do that and still control myself. I think.
“I’m not that tired.” Or not.
“Your
eyes tell a different story.”
“I know what I want.”
His lips tilt a little, but he doesn’t smile. “So what do you want?” Like I’d say it out loud.
I could tell him though. I could end this crazy day on a good note. Go to bed sated and get better sleep than I’ve had since the last time he was here. Only this time, I can sleep as long as I want, considering I’m off tomorrow.
“I want to take a shower,” I admit, images of him showering with me flashing through my mind. But he shakes his head.
“Not an option.”
“Why?”
“Because when you pull those pants off, I won’t be able to wait.” Oh … okay then. He releases my foot and motions with his finger. “Come here, Carmen.”
“I—“
“Come. Here.” His tone is full of authority. The sound of it shoots straight to my sex—prompting me to sit up and face him. “Lay down.” Confused, I start to lie back, but he grabs my wrist. “Across my lap.” A wave of heat hits me. I can feel my cheeks burning red as I stare at him wide eyed.
This is what I want. What I begged for. But I didn’t expect it to be a play by play scene. I’d imagined something a little subtler—us in bed. Him fucking me. Then flipping me to my stomach in a surprise attack. Not this.
My mouth opens and closes. My mind screams at me to tell him no. But if my vagina had legs, she’d walk across his lap, lay down and beg for it. I don’t know what to do. I look down at his lap, then back at his face. He tilts his head a fraction and studies me.
“You’re wasting your time trying to figure out what to do,” he says, his rich tone confident. His smile cocky. “All you’re doing is delaying the inevitable.”
I start. “Inevitable? Hardly.”
His brows raise in amusement. “You think so?”
“I think I can walk away if I want to.”
“But you won’t.”
He’s right, but for some reason I feel the need to argue. “I might.”
He, on the other hand, isn’t in the mood to argue. “I won’t tell you again, Carmen.” Inside, I’m doing a little victory dance. If he pulled me over his lap, I can always say I didn’t go willingly. It will likely lessen the embarrassment when I think about this in the future.