No answer.
For a stark second, he wondered if it wouldn’t be possible to live next door them so he could always make sure they were okay. She didn’t have to care about him. That wasn’t necessary. He just needed to look out for them. It was a compulsion.
“Thank you.”
Frowning, he finally looked at her. She was watching him, and for the life of him he couldn’t understand what that could possibly mean. “For what?”
“No one has ever stood up for Grace. Other than me.”
Hope, a pathetic amount of it, flooded through him. “I don’t know what came over me.” Not entirely a lie. “She was bleeding and—”
“I know.” Danielle took his hand in hers, inspecting the damage. “Does it hurt?”
“Nah.”
She placed his palm on her knee, then wrapped her hand around his wrist. “Thank you.”
His hand tightened. “I’d do anything for you or your girls. Just say the word.”
Her nostrils flared as she nodded. “I know.”
Knuckles was nearly choking on emotion, but he focused on her eyes, hoping like hell she understood what he couldn’t say.
The moment was broken when Tiny’s big Ram truck pulled up across the Prince driveway. With a blink, Knuckles broke their eye contact and stood, striding forward, and grabbing Crawford’s arm to haul him to his feet. With his head now clear he could see the damage he’d wrought. One eye was already swollen shut, the kid’s nose was a mess, gushing blood. Cut eyebrow, lip busted in three places. Had to be missing teeth, too.
He dragged the kid to the truck as Spaz stepped out of the passenger side, Rusty from the driver’s. He shoved the kid at Spaz. “This is the piece of shit.”
Spaz sighed, opened the back door of the Ram. “Jesus. What’d he do?”
“Getting friendly with the neighbor’s daughter.”
Spaz’s eyes got wide. “The one from the clubhouse?”
“Yeah. Grace.”
“Shit, she’s sixteen—”
“Yeah, I know.”
Spaz shoved the mumbling, moaning sad sack into the truck. “So, what’s the connection? You like the girl or something? Why’d you open him up like that?”
“Fuck you. I don’t like ‘em that young.”
“That’s right,” Rusty mumbled, leaning against the truck body and staring at the Prince house. “I think he’s got something for the mom. Is that her?”
He turned back to see Danielle, still on the stoop, hands between her knees. Looking cuddly as fuck.
“That’s her.”
Rusty raised an eyebrow at him. “Really.”
Knuckles frowned. “What?”
“Not your usual type, Knuckles.”
“All types are his type,” Spaz mumbled, crossing his arms.
Fair enough, that was true.
“Whatever,” he mumbled. “Just take this piece of shit to his uncle’s.”
“Make sure to get mommy to look at that hand,” Rusty suggested, his smile smug and annoying as fuck. “Don’t want it to scar, sweetheart.”
“You’re in fine fucking form,” he observed as Spaz headed for the front passenger side door.
“Just busting your balls, man. Can’t wait to get back to the clubhouse. That’s all.”
Knuckles bit back a retort. No point giving the guy more fuel for his fucking gossip. He stayed silent, watching that big black pick-up drive off down the block, following by Rusty in the Impala. Then he turned back to the house, and Danielle Prince stood as he did it. He approached her, started to put his hands in his jeans pockets then remembered his hand and only shoved the good hand in. The other he left hanging. Danielle’s scent hit him at about three feet away, and he wondered if she’d had a bath before going to sleep. She smelled amazing.
“How’s that hand?”
He waved off the concern. “It’s nothing. You should go inside. It’s cold out here.” And it was. He could see her nipples under her shirt. No bra. Fuck him.
She crossed her arms, correctly guessing where his gaze had gone. She sighed as she did it. “Sorry,” he muttered, scratching at his forehead. Not sounding sorry at all. “But I woke you up. You should get back to bed.”
“Grace and her bullshit woke me up.”
“What was she doing out here?”
Danielle sighed, gazing off down the street. “She said he’d been pestering her all evening, texting her. Saying he was coming to the house so she’d better talk to him. She wanted to head him off.”
“Dammit.” He shook his head. “Stubborn, huh?”
“You have no idea.”
He had a bit of an idea, the more he got to know the mother. But he didn’t say a word. “Go back to bed. I’m fine, honestly. You need your sleep.”
“No. I’m going to fix you up. It’s hard to do that correctly with your non-dominate hand. And you don’t want anything there getting infected. It’s close to the joints, which means it’s a hop skip and a jump towards a blood infection.” She shook her head at him, now. “And you hit him in the teeth. The mouth is teeming with bacteria.”
“You trying to turn me on?” he joked, smiling back as she finally cracked a grin.
“Just let me fix it.”
“Okay. But at my place. I don’t want to wake up Curly.”
“She sleeps like the dead,” Danielle assured him, but fell into step behind him as she headed the few feet to his own driveway then up to his own front stoop. The storm door still stood open, the inside door not even latched. He’d been in a hell of a hurry.
“Bathroom’s upstairs,” he mumbled, turning on the lamp on the living room table so she could see the room.
She took the chance to look around. He wasn’t sure what she’d make of his place. It was exceptionally sparse, not a lot of him to see. But she took the time to do it anyway, then looked at him and said, “First Aid kit upstairs too?”
“Yeah.”
He started up the stairs, flicking on the light as he went. She padded after him, not saying a word. In the bathroom, he again flipped the switch, wincing at the stark white light over the mirror. Under the sink, he found the white box with the red cross, then he set it on the vanity and flipped it open.
Danielle stood next to him, and as she leaned over to turn on the tap, her breasts pressed into the side of his arm. Hard to ignore that, as his cock would attest. She seemed unaffected however, moving his hand under the cold water and digging into the kit.
“So, can we talk calmly about what happened earlier tonight? With you and me?”
He swallowed, closing his eyes. “I can try.”
“What happened? Did you think I was getting ready to turn you into the cops?”
He shrugged one shoulder. That was part of it; the smaller, less embarrassing part.
“I wouldn’t. You’ve taken up for Grace before, I remember. I can’t do that. Not the same way. And telling the cops doesn’t get anything done. I know that, too.”
He opened his eyes and watched her in the mirror as she pulled out a tube of some ointment and a wrapped square of gauze. “You went to the cops because of your husband, didn’t you?”
“And they didn’t do shit.”
“Did you press charges?”
She shrugged now. “I got scared.”
“Yeah.”
She pulled his hand out of the water, then set it on a hand towel from the rack. Very carefully she blotted it, and he didn’t even feel it. The water had been that cold.
“Were you also a bit…jealous?”
He was such a fucking pussy. At least, when it came to shit like this. But as she tended to his hand he felt that fear of being totally naked and vulnerable slip. Just a touch. “I might have been.”
“You don’t have to worry,” she said quickly, catching his eye in the mirror. “He asked me out. I told him I was seeing someone.”
The second part of that was totally overrun by instant anger. “He asked you out? Fucker.”
“Hey. We’re both single, right? He asked me out. Did you hear the rest of what I said?”
I told him I was seeing someone. “Yeah. I heard it.”
“So, that was about you. In case you were wondering.” She set the gauze, now smeared with ointment, down on top of his knuckles. “Can you honestly say that you’ve been saving yourself for me the last ten years?”
He blew out his breath. Perfectly aware how hypocritical he sounded, he still insisted, “That’s different.”
“Why?”
“I don’t take it seriously.”
Her head shot up, eyes wide.
“No, wait. Shit. I’m sorry. That’s not what I meant.”
“So, this is just a big experiment? Am I some kind of challenge?”
She stood back and put her hands on her hips, and like an idiot he caught the way her little tits moved under her shirt. “I mean, the women I’m with aren’t…they aren’t like you. They aren’t…they don’t deserve better than me, okay?”
Her eyebrows dropped low. “What?”
“I’m a bit scared of you, Momma,” he admitted. “I care about you. I care about your daughters. You’re getting in my skin and in my head and I don’t know what to do with that. I usually take the easy route, but with you…I don’t wanna back away.”
In surprise, he suspected, her mouth was hanging open. He dropped his eyes down to the broken skin on his knuckles. “I got nothing but this kind of shit to offer you. Broken knuckles, busted teeth, black eyes. Best I can do.”
“But…you care. About us.”
“Yeah, I do.”
“When you get angry like that…” she exhaled hard, moving closer to his side. He watched her in the mirror, but her eyes were down on his hand again. She picked up a roll of gauze next. “Does that happen a lot?”
“Only when I have good reason.”
“Protecting Grace.”
“Protecting anyone that matters. Yeah.”
She nodded thoughtfully, picking up his hand so she could wrap the square pad in place on his hand. Her touch was so warm and soft. She had no idea how this simple kindness abraded him.
“I get that way since I was in the sandbox,” he admitted, bringing her hazel eyes up again. “Survival mode. All out to save my own ass. But since then, it’s usually been to protect my brothers. My family. And I guess I need to add you to that circle.”
“You reined it in.”
He shrugged. “That was you. I heard your voice and it just…stopped.”
“What does it feel like after?”
He shrugged, watching her hands as she cut the gauze strip and then reached for the roll of tape. Her movements were fascinating. Anything to avoid looking her in the eye while she stripped him of his skin. “Kinda like a come down from an adrenalin surge.”
“I think I used to like to goad him,” she mumbled, setting the scissors back in the box.
His turn to frown. “Who?”
“My ex. He’d get mad, hit or break something, then he’d be so sorry. For a couple of days, life would be wonderful. When it was getting tense I’d…” she shook her head. “It sounds terrible. But I’d piss him off just to get him back into apologetic mode.”
“How bad did it get? Other than that final time, obviously.”
She shrugged, taping the strip down. “Black eye. One time he fractured my eye socket.”
“Jesus.”
“Like I said, then he’d be sorry.” Now she met his gaze, in the mirror again. “But I get the adrenalin thing. I do.”
“If you ever want me to find him—”
She shook her head and cut him off. “No. He’s Grace and Annie’s father. He’s not in our lives, he sends money when he can. I hate him, but he gave me them.”
He’d never understand that. Hard to decide if it was strength, stupidity, or just the amazing woman taking up so little room in his bathroom.
“I get jealous,” he admitted. “It’s been a long time since I cared enough, but I do get jealous. I’ll likely go off. But not at you.”
“You accused me of…being with Troy, or something.”
Okay, he hated the sound of that guy’s name in her voice. “Yeah.”
“After I told you I hadn’t been with anyone since I had Annie. And why, for that matter.”
He licked his lips, swallowed his panic. “I know. I’m sorry.” He set his hands on her thin hips, relieved she wasn’t pushing him away. So, he moved in closer. “I can trust you. I do trust you. It just caught me off guard.”
She half smiled. “It surprised me, too. To be honest.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know. Two men after me at the same time. I’ve never been this popular.” Oh, her tone was a tease and he had to smile, stepping closer yet, running her ass against the bathroom vanity.
“What are you trying to tell me? You want to keep your options open?”
“I don’t know.” One of her hands ran up his arm, tracing the inkwork. “Hard to decide. Bad boy biker or the man in uniform.”
Fuck him, she was toying with him. Sweet, loving little Danielle Prince was trying to get him all worked up. His cock jerked, and he pressed himself against her. Her mouth opened to exhale, and she looked up at him with wide-eyed wonder.
“Don’t make me jealous, Momma,” he threatened, dropping his voice low and sliding his hands around her back. “Might get yourself in trouble.”
“What kind?” she whispered, and he answered by kissing her. Her gorgeous mouth was already straining for his, so they met with a clash of teeth and possibly a swollen lip or two. He didn’t care. Her tongue was in his mouth, striking out and rubbing along his while she rubbed her chest against him, little whimpers swallowed by that kiss.
Adrenalin could be a bitch to come down from. It could make you angry, depressed. It could also make you horny as all get out, which was usually his experience. His ache was urgent and throbbing, and before he let that kiss go on too long he had to drop to his knees at her feet.
“I’m sorry,” he muttered.
“What are you doing?” She was fantastically out of breath.
“I have to taste you, Momma.”
“Knuckles—”
He yanked down on her pajama pants, and as he realized she wasn’t wearing panties he had to smile. For the lack of panties yes, but also for the curls at the juncture of her thighs.
“I don’t…I’m sorry. I don’t wax or—”
“And don’t start,” he interrupted, looking up her body, reclined against the vanity, chest heaving. Those little nipples rising and falling. He honestly liked the lack of landscaping down here. She wasn’t always ready to be on offer; this was so much more authentic than his usual conquests.
Without a word of explanation, he ran his nose through that hair, breathing deep. She had to have had a long soak in the bath.
“Oh God.”
“Tilt out for me a bit more, Momma,” he muttered, pulling on her hips, and helping her follow the instruction. One lick and her hips bucked, knees gave out. Jesus. His cock was nearly done. He hooked one leg over his shoulder, used both hands to keep her in place, then he went to work.
She was already slick, and as his tongue teased along her opening he moaned. She was delicious, and as she whimpered again he growled. His noises were animalistic, hers were breathy and sweet. Still, he took his time bringing her over, using his nose, lips, tongue, teeth, wanting inside her so badly the whole time he had to will his knees to stay on the ground.
Her hands gripped his hair hard, not to pull, just to hold herself upright as she curled over him, wailing pitifully, just noises. No words.
With a snarl, he shot to his feet, undoing his jeans, and pushing them down. Danielle’s cheeks were pink, eyes hazy. Perfectly fuck drunk.
He caught one leg by the knee, hoisted it up, and lowered his hips to drive his erection upward, right into her. He bellowed, eyes crossing. Fuck, she felt so goddamn good. He pulled out and drove home again, that tight heat
scrambling his brain.
“Wait,” she whispered, and just like that he froze, halfway through pulling out again.
“What’s wrong?” Jesus, she can’t want to stop. It’d kill him to stop now.
“Condom,” she breathed.
“Shit.” He pulled free, reaching into his kutte pocket to grab one. Then he realized he was still nearly fully dressed. He tossed the kutte on to the vanity, pulled his T-shirt off, then grabbed the hem of hers as well. “C’mon, Momma. Get naked with me.”
She raised her arms, and as her tits hit the air of the bathroom the tips tightened up even more. He was torn between spending time on them, and getting back inside her.
His cock won out. He wrapped up quickly and her arms came around his neck. He hooked a knee around his hips, and she scooted to the edge of the vanity on her ass to make room. He was back inside, nowhere near as warm as before, but the way she moaned was nearly as good.
Almost.
He shoved his face into the side of her neck, nipping at her skin where her shoulder joined up. Her nails dug into his shoulders, mouth breathing warmth into the side of his neck as well. When she whimpered his name, his eyes closed.
His name. “Greg!” Not Knuckles. He had no idea that would make his knees shake, but they did. Just a little.
The rest of her was just as exquisite as those sounds she made. Her tits brushing against his chest, that leg tightening around his waist, the way her nails were scoring his skin. As she began to build it again, her mouth attached to the side of his neck, whimpering with each thrust. He was lost in her, her body’s response to him, what he was doing, so much so that as his own orgasm was approaching it surprised him a bit. He had to hold off, and for the first time in a long time he was going to fight to do it.
“Fuck, Momma,” he moaned, moving back to look her in the eye. They were unfocused, her breathing harsh, brow furrowed. Fucking gorgeous. Totally gone. “Get it, Momma. Get it,” he was chanting, and as her eyes closed her head rolled back on her neck, limp. That gorgeous pale throat was wide open, and he struck.
He attached his mouth to the side, sucking, nipping at her skin before running his tongue over the marks he’d made. She came hard, her limbs contracting around him, pussy squeezing. It was then he bellowed, eyes squeezing shut as that fantastic pressure released faster than he’d ever known it to. Sweeter, too.
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