Instead of coming home and leaning on Cleo for support, I sabotaged our relationship—or I tried to. When she didn’t completely give up, and I knew deep in my bones that she never would, I left her. I removed myself from the situation at hand, a situation where I knew that I would do nothing but continue to hurt her.
The three-hour ride to her place gives me time to think. I haven’t found very much information about her, just her address and her workplace. I want to know more, but I don’t deserve to. I don’t know that I can handle knowing she’s got a man, either; something that has been bothering me lately.
The past ten years, I’ve tried to deny myself the thought of her—drinking and fucking bitches until I’m so far gone, I can’t pull up her memory even if I tried. But it never really works. The second I’m sober, the minute I close my eyes and there’s no booze flowing through my system, all I see is her.
When I pull up to her apartment building, I grind my jaw at the sight before me. She lives in a fucking shithole. There is a group of men drinking at the bottom of the staircase, and their eyes are on me. Well, probably more on my bike than me, hoping I’ll park it and walk away from it so they can fuck with it.
Not to-fucking-day.
It’s late afternoon, six in the evening, and I hope she will be arriving home any minute. I know her job is administrative, and she should get off around five. I have nothing better to do, so I wait for her. I don’t have to wait long.
A few minutes later, a shitty, oxidized maroon sedan pulls into a parking spot, and my jaw drops when a sexy as fuck redhead exits. She’s wearing a tight skirt that skims just above her knees, and a suit jacket that shows off her small waist. Her dark red hair is longer than I remember it being, and her ass fuller—but fuck me, she looks better, even from afar, than she did at eighteen.
I watch as she walks past the pieces of shit at the bottom of the stairs. They all have eyes for her, watching her, and then every single one of them adjusts their dicks as they try to look up her skirt while she climbs the stairs. She doesn’t notice them; or if she does, she doesn’t acknowledge them. This is normal for her—normal everyday life—and I fucking hate it.
Cleo shoves her key into her door and slips inside, hopefully locking it up behind her. I stay planted in my spot, my eyes drifting from the pieces of shit at the bottom of the stairs to her door for at least an hour. I want to approach her, but I don’t know how.
If she were any other bitch, I wouldn’t hesitate—but I hurt her, and I abandoned her, and I don’t know how to broach that. I’ll have to. I owe her explanations, but those are something that I’ve never given another human being on earth.
The men at the stairs eventually disburse, so I take the opportunity to start my engine and move around to a different spot, trying to find a place where I can hide my bike so it doesn’t get jacked. This neighborhood is fucking shit, and I cannot believe that my Cleo actually lives here; and as far as I know, she does that alone.
I climb the stairs and walk down the shitty open hallway. I place my hand on the railing and give it a slight shake. My eyes narrow when I realize it’s unstable. With only just a little more pressure, I could break it; which means if someone were to lean over it, they’d fall down an entire story into some dead bushes. I scowl at the railing even harder at the thought before I turn around and knock on Cleo’s door.
I don’t even have to strain to hear her moving around inside of her apartment, which proves that the insulation is fucking nonexistent and that she can probably hear every single thing her neighbors do on either side of her, and vice versa. The thought causes my scowl to deepen even more.
Cleo’s foot falls bring her to the door, and I know when she sees me because she gasps. But she doesn’t open the door. I look right at her peephole, she can see my face, and I’ve not changed so much that she doesn’t recognize me.
Sure, my eyes hold a darkness in them that wasn’t there before, but I’m still clean shaven; my hair’s not cropped, but it’s still short; and although I’ve put on some bulk muscle, that hasn’t changed my looks one bit.
“Open the door, Cleo,” I demand, my voice low.
“What are you doing here?” she asks, not opening the door.
“I’ll tell you when you open the door, babe,” I murmur.
I hear her suck in a breath, and then the door slowly opens. When it does, I’m met with the most magnificent woman I have ever laid eyes on.
Cleo, at the age of thirty, puts the Cleo of eighteen to fucking shame. My eyes scan her face, taking in her red freckles, spattered all over her nose and cheeks and down to her chest. At the sight of her lush, full tits, I bite my bottom lip, wanting nothing more than to yank her flimsy tank down and look at her naked flesh, knowing those freckles cover them as well. Her waist is small, but her hips flair out. Looking at her from a distance did not do her justice. Up close, her body is phenomenal.
I press my hand to her belly and push her inside, following and slamming the door behind me. Her chest heaves as her soft brown eyes widen at my move. I watch as her nostrils flare slightly with her heavy breathing, and she opens her mouth to speak, but then clamps it shut before her eyes narrow on me. Her gaze goes from surprise to anger in an instant.
Anger I’ve fucking earned.
With narrowed, angry eyes, I look at him. Paxton Hill, my husband. He’s back. From where, I don’t know, but it’s been over ten years—more like eleven—and he’s suddenly standing in front of me. Why? I have no clue, but I aim to find out.
I’m not only angry at him because of the way he left me all those years ago, but I’m angry because he looks even sexier than he did back then. And back when I married him, he was the sexiest man I had ever seen in my entire life.
Paxton’s bigger than he was at twenty. His body is ripped with muscles, and his shirt is stretched to capacity trying to contain them. He’s wearing a leather vest, holey jeans, and big black boots. Damn. If I thought he looked hot in his dress blues, and boy did I think he looked hot as sin in those, he’s beyond that in what he’s wearing right now.
“What are you doing here?” I ask again, trying to keep my voice from trembling.
Though I’m not scared to be in his presence, something I don’t understand, I’m trembling for a completely different reason. I feel as though my body is on fire as his light stormy blue eyes scan my body.
Damnit to hell, he’s still absolutely beautiful. I’d kind of hoped he’d gotten fat and gross over the years.
“You live in a shithole,” he announces.
It’s as though he’s doused cold water on me—thankfully, I might add.
“I’m glad you came here after a decade to inform me of something I’m already aware of. Thanks, you can leave now,” I snap.
I watch as his face transforms and his lips tip into a grin. Christ, and here I go again, my body getting hot at the sight.
“Shit ain’t safe for you, Cleo. It fuckin’ kills me, but it’s my fault it ain’t,” he rumbles.
I blink once and then look back into his blue eyes, wondering what on earth he’s talking about. Before I can ask, he continues on with his speech.
“Not in the Air Force anymore, baby. But the work I do, the men I associate with, it’s not always the good and clean kind. Some guys, they’re trying to get the drop on us, and one way they’re doin’ that is coming after women and children.”
I look at him, confusion surely written all over my face. I honestly have no clue what he’s talking about.
“I’m a Devil, babe,” he says, pointing to a patch on his vest, as though I’m supposed to understand what he’s talking about. “Fuck me. Still my innocent girl, aren’t you?”
“I’m thirty, Paxton, so no, I’m not exactly the same innocent girl I once was,” I spit out. “But I don’t know what a Devil is, so you’ll have to forgive my ignorance on that.”
I watch as he lowers his head slightly and tips it to the side to look into my eyes. He scans my face, then locks
in on my gaze again as he clenches his jaw. His nostrils flare and he dips his face a little closer to mine.
“Don’t talk about not being innocent, Cleo, because when you do, it puts images in my head that I don’t need to fuckin’ think about,” he snaps.
“Like what, Paxton?” I ask smartly.
“Like you fuckin’ some other dick, that’s what,” he barks. My eyes widen as I snap my lips shut. “Yeah, what I fuckin’ thought.”
“You cannot seriously even pretend to act crazy about that. I’m not confirming or denying, but it’s been eleven years,” I say, dipping my voice slightly and pinning him with my stare.
“Doesn’t matter. Could be a hundred years, and I never want to think about another man’s dick in a pussy that was exclusively mine, which still belongs to me—at least in marriage,” he says. I feel my hackles rise at his words.
“Get the fuck out,” I whisper.
“You don’t get it, babe. You’re in danger,” he says.
“I don’t give a single shit. Get out of my house,” I say a little louder.
“Cleo…”
“Get the hell out,” I scream. “You don’t get to talk to me that way and stay in my home. Get out or I’m calling the police,” I announce.
His eyes widen and he takes a step toward me, but I take two away from him. If he touches me, I’ll scream bloody murder. While nobody would probably give a shit in this complex, it could hopefully garner a little attention.
I watch as he shakes his head and reaches into his pocket, pulling something out. He sets, what looks like a slip of paper, on my table and then lifts his eyes to look back up at me.
“You feel even slightly scared, anybody out of the ordinary approaches you for anything, or anybody follows you around, you call me. That’s my cell. I’m a few hours away, but I’ll come to you, night or day,” he says. I nod as I cross my arms over my chest and watch him.
Paxton turns around and wraps his hand around the door handle, twisting his head to look at me one last time. The defeat I see in his gaze almost sends me into his arms—but not quite.
“We got the rest of our lives to figure us out, my shy girl. I’m here to protect you, but lookin’ at you, don’t think this is me givin’ up right now,” he whispers.
Then he’s out the door, the sound of his boots fading away in the hall. I hurry and lock the door behind him before I turn around and press my back to it, sliding down until my ass hits the floor.
“Holy shit, what just happened?” I ask the empty room. “Oh, my god.”
I sit in stunned silence for at least thirty minutes before I stand up and rush to my phone, knowing without a doubt that the only person that can make me snap out of my shock is Lisandro. I decide not to tell him about the whole protection thing, instead I just tell him about Paxton showing up out of the freaking blue.
Walking away from Cleo again is harder than I thought it would be. She’s still fuckin’ gorgeous. She’s also angry. The way her anger flashed toward me, maybe she has changed. If she has, then it’s all my doing, and fuck, that means I fucking broke her. Granted, we didn’t spend a whole lotta time together when we were married; but even with the way I hurt her, I’ve never seen her so angry or hurt.
“Fuck,” I curse as I climb on my bike.
I start the engine and turn my motorcycle around, slinging gravel everywhere before I speed off and head toward the clubhouse. I’m pissed. Pissed at my fucking self and the fact that I stayed away for eleven years.
Fucking hell.
I want her again. All of her. I want to fix what I broke, and yeah, my dick wants back inside of her—but my heart, it’s pulling me toward her in a way that’s familiar. I know that there’s more to us. There’s a need to be with her. A need I’ve ignored. A need I drank and fucked away for far too many goddamn years.
I spend three hours inside my own head as I race back to Shasta. I need to blow off some steam. I need to drink, and smoke, and fuck. I don’t want to know what that says about me. Right now, I could give a fuck. I want her, but she’s not available, so as fucked up as it is, I need to find someone in which to lose myself.
I slide off my bike and make my way toward the clubhouse. The place has been a fuckin’ mess since MadDog, the president, was shot. Then his Old Lady, Mary-Anne, left him. I know Mary-Anne, known her since she was a kid livin’ in Idaho. We went to high school together. She was just some tall lanky thing back then, all knees and elbows, but she grew into a beautiful woman, and prez loves her.
He’s just bein’ a fuckin’ dick right now. Hard thing to do, swallow that pride that threatens to choke you, and that’s exactly what he needs to do. Though, ain’t I just some kind of special hypocrite? It’s easy to dish out advice, but I don’t take my own, or anybody else’s.
I walk into the clubhouse and see my prez, a bottle in his hand, which he shouldn’t have. He was shot, almost died, and it was only three weeks ago. The old fucker is strong—I’ll give him that much. I walk over to him and sit down at his table.
“It’s been three weeks,” I announce.
“You fix your shit here, yet?” he asks with a grunt.
“Workin’ on it,” I grunt back. Fuck, we sound like goddamn animals, the two of us. “You stood up to her brother, your brother; you claimed her, you knocked her up, and then you let her walk away. Not the kinda man I thought you were, Prez. That’s the kinda shit we pull when we’re still punk ass kids, not men,” I state before I stand up and walk away.
He needs a goddamn wake up call. Otherwise, he’ll be like me, wasting ten fuckin’ years for no goddamn reason other than being a broken pussy.
No good man like MadDog needs to do that shit. He’s got a good woman, a woman that fought for him and will always stand next to him. No, prez doesn’t need to be like me and let that kind of woman walk away from him without a fight, or worse—push her so fucking far away that there’s nothing left between you but pain and regret.
“C’mon, babe,” I say, lifting my chin to the pretty dark haired whore who approached me a few days ago.
She stands without another word, wrapping her hand around mine as I tug her toward my room. I don’t say a word to her. I don’t give a fuck if she’s even got a brain between her ears. She’s here with me for one reason and one reason only—the holes her body can provide me so that I can lose myself for a while. So that the pain I feel from my meeting with Cleo can vanish for a little while.
Once we’re in my room, I lock the door and watch as she quickly strips off the tiny shorts and bikini top she’s wearing. My eyes sweep down her body, and I grin as I take in her nakedness. She’s a skinny little thing, but her tits are perky and her legs long and lean. I’m thankful nothing of her body reminds me of the lush, curvy Cleo that I left a few hours ago.
“Lay down, legs spread, don’t move,” I instruct.
Her head jerks in a nod, and I watch as she does exactly as I’ve ordered. I grab a condom out of my back pocket and unzip my pants, shoving them and my boxer briefs down my hips before I slide the condom on. I spit in my palm, rubbing it on the head of my hard cock as I look at her pussy spread open for me.
“Got a pretty little pussy, honey. Anyone ever told you that?” I ask as I let my pants falls to the floor. I step out of them before I divest myself of my cut and t-shirt.
“No,” she whispers.
Dragging my fingers along the inside of her thigh before gliding them through her center, I bite my bottom lip and slide two fingers inside of her. I pump in and out of her cunt as she throws back her head with a moan, her pussy growing wetter with each thrust. I’m a dick, and I’m going to fuck her and kick her out in a few minutes, but I’m not into dry fucking. I’ll get her nice and wet first.
“Well, you do. It’s wet, too. You like the way I touch you?” I ask as I wrap my other hand around my cock.
“Feels good,” she groans, arching her back.
“Remember, no moving, no matter how good it feels. I want you still
while I fuck you,” I grumble as I pull my fingers out of her soaked cunt.
I coat my dick with her wetness and then slowly sink inside of her, watching her thighs tremble as she fights to keep them spread wide open and frozen still. Once I’m fully seated inside of her, I slide my palm between her tits and wrap it around the front of her throat as I ease in and out of her center.
“Torch,” she gasps when I thrust harder with each pump of my hips.
“Quiet,” I bark.
I squeeze her throat as I focus on my dick, the way it disappears inside of her body. She’s tighter than I expected, and I’m glad for it. I need a release, and she’s going to give it to me. Her legs shake, trembling as I continue to fuck her, harder and harder with each drive from my hips.
It’s got to be difficult as shit to stay still while I continue to fill her over and over again, but she’s a trooper. I decide immediately that if she makes it until I come, I’ll reward her—something I typically don’t do with whores.
“Stay still, honey,” I murmur as I squeeze her throat a little harder.
I feel her pussy flutter around me, and it spurs me on. I fuck her harder and faster than I intended, until I plant myself deep inside of her and I come, spilling into the tip of the condom and squeezing her throat a little harder than I should. I feel her body tighten, but she doesn’t move, and I release my hold on her throat as I pull out of her cunt.
“Did you come?” I ask, knowing full well that the answer is no, even if she was close.
“No,” she admits truthfully.
“Do you want to?” I ask, arching a brow as I look down into her eyes.
“Please,” she whispers.
I grin and sink to my knees, wrapping my hands around the inside of her thighs and burying my face in her pussy. I don’t eat bitches out very often, but she deserves it. She did exactly what I told her to—no lip and no complaints.
“You can move, honey,” I whisper, lifting my head before I dive back down.
She moves, and it doesn’t take her long before she’s coming undone against my mouth. I remove myself from her and walk over to the trashcan to dispense of my condom, tying a knot in it before I dump it in the can.
Rough & Ready (Notorious Devils Book 5) Page 3