by Portia Gray
"I think that’s great, babe. I think this requires a celebration." He felt her nod. "Let's go get Calvin. Supper out together, yeah?"
"Are you taking me on a date?"
"I don't date," he reminded her for what felt like the thousandth time. "It's to celebrate and Calvin's coming, too."
"I wonder what a date with you would be like."
He grinned. "You'll never know."
"That stinks."
"Well, how about this. I'll keep you and Calvin safe, rip apart anything dangerous with my bare hands if I have to, and make you come hard at least twice every time you're in the mood." His smile went full-grin as she blushed. "That's what I thought," he gloated with a kiss.
"Let's go," she grumbled, winding her arm around his waist and walking with him to the elevator banks. She was adorably embarrassed. "Although, we have an hour and a half before school's out."
He lowered his mouth to her ear. "So a celebration for us first?"
She smiled as they waited for an elevator. "Doesn't that sound good?"
Quentin nodded, pushing her head ahead of him as the doors for a car opened. "You don't have to talk me into that, babe."
She attacked him as soon as they got home. She unbuttoned his shirt, yanking it off of him with his kutte in one violent motion. Before he could give a surprised laugh she was kissing him, wrapping herself around him with arms and legs. He popped her hips off of his and set her feet back on the ground, making her give a sound of frustration. Quentin backed her into the hallway wall by her waist, unbuttoning her jeans. She smiled and tried to kiss him again but he avoided her mouth, instead dropping to his knees and pulling her jeans right down to her ankles as he backed her against the wall. She stepped out of them immediately, hands on his shoulders. He loved how she was panting.
Her little pink panties were the next to go, but he didn't wreck them because he liked them. With both hands he pushed her thighs apart and she immediately rolled her hips away from the wall. With a grunt he popped one knee up over his shoulder, leaning into her, his tongue sliding over her clit. Her hands tightened in his hair and she gasped, body jerking.
He had to cool her down before they got right down to it. He was glad she was okay too, but he wanted to savor it. Knowing his girl, this should help.
It was close when she started moaning, he knew that. The leg over his shoulder tensed then hitched over his back tighter. He even got a "Quentin!" out of it.
With a satisfied smile he stood, taking the hem of her shirt with him. She raised her arms, letting him drag it off over her head. The bra matched the panties and he slid his hands up her back to unclasp it. That's when he kissed her, tongue sliding over her lower lip to be met with her own. Then Arielle let him lead her backwards down the hall to their room, dropping to the mattress under him.
It had worked; she was more patient, letting him touch and trail his hands all over her. He didn't know he'd expected her to still be sick until she told him things looked good health-wise. His own relief was a stunner. If it killed him she was going to know every minute of every day how much she meant to him.
It was when he was moving inside of her she rocked his world. Their eyes were locked, breath on each other's faces, and she whispered it. "I love you, honey."
He fell still, his heart tripping. "Babe," he said, an ache starting that felt a lot like regret. And he didn't want that between them, here in bed after she just told him that.
"You don't have to say it back," she assured him with a soft kiss. "But I'm not falling anymore. I'm there, Quentin."
He kissed her hard, and she responded in her sweet, soft way; allowing his tongue in her mouth, giving a moan and urging him on with her hips. He took the invite, loving the feeling and sound of her pleasure mounting until it broke, taking him with it.
“Let’s go live in Colorado with Aunt Thelma. Tonight. Now.I’ve already spoken to her and she couldn’t be happier about it. And once I’ve set up my own garage business with the money I got saved, we can get our own place. Just for you, me and Calvin”
“What? What about the club? They’reyour family, Quentin.”
“You and Calvin and the dog we’re gonna get, are my family. I willkeep you, promise you the world to not lose you.”
“I can’t ask you to give up everything for me,” she said.
“Honest to Christ you are the most amazing gift I've ever received. More than my bike. More than the club. More than life itself. I love you, babe. 'Til death.” She smiled and the twinkle in her eye that he’d never seen in them before, said it all.
Colton had taken over as president and he fully supported Quentin’s decision to leave the club—the man who saved Dead Men from a crazed leader intent on taking the club down a dangerous and dark avenue of drugs and probably human trafficking.They’d found out from Clark that he’d come to him secretly offering him a deal so Bishop could take over Reuben’s role.They’d set-up Reuben that night to come and get Arielle but Quentin had foiled their plans.Bishop had underestimated how much Quentin cared for his woman. Someone like Bishop didn’t know what love was and how powerful it could be.Arielle’s love for Quentin had shown him that he could be a better man, that despite life taking him to dark places, he could find redemption in the things he had done if only he was given one chance. And for Quentin, Arielle and Calvin was that one chance.
Giving up club life wasn’t as hard as Quentin thought it would have been. He knew where he'd be happiest. He couldn't imagine not having that sweet in his life. It was a dream that every morning when he woke, for a split second, he thought it must have happened to someone else entirely.
They left the hospital and returned to Quentin’s house where he realized there was precious little he actually wanted to keep. The kutte he'd worn for decades he draped over a chair at the kitchen table. He left the Dyna in the garage, loading the 1954 Harley Davidson Super Glide into the small trailer instead. His ratted copy of Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance was stowed in the pickup.
When they reached the farm, and Quentin laid beside his woman in bed, her smell deep inside—his heart and head were finally at absolute peace for the first time in his life. And so it was the next night, and the night after that, and so on.
"Still perfect," he whispered with a kiss on her neck. "The sweet under my skin."
The End
Acknowledgments
I want to offer my respect and appreciation to those who helped, directly or indirectly, with the development of this book; and to thank the many hot bikers to which Quentin was inspired from. And if my husband is reading this, then I assure you, I mean only you…
My friends who have shared stories of how they lost and found love, and served as an inspiration to me. I also thank Beth Jacobs for her untiring efforts in creating the perfect book cover, and bringing my characters—whom I hold dear to my heart—to life. And to my editor, R.J Smith, who put up with my many emails.
And lastly, to my readers. I hope you enjoyed every page with a smile, or a laugh or even a tear. I want to thank you from the core of my heart for taking a chance on my debut novel. There are plenty more to come.
About the Author
Portia Gray has been writing stories since she turned sixteen and set her eager eyes on her first crush. Writing love poems was the only way she could channel all her feelings without going crazy.
When she isn’t writing, she can be found reading romance books, curled up with her cat, or watching romance movies with plenty of treats or riding her Harley with her husband down the open road, always thinking of her next book.
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