by Rie Warren
Saint kneeled hungrily between my legs. Wetness began to flush my sex and, when he ducked his head down to take that first lick in oh-so-long, my bow screeched across the strings.
I had enough brainpower left to set the instrument aside before grabbing the back of the stool and arching myself open to him.
Crying out, I reached a hand to plow my fingers through his hair, and he drove his face harder against me. His tongue became softer though—lushly dividing me and plunging inside.
In the end, he hauled me off the stool, rolled to his back, and held me on top of him. Palms squeezing and spreading my ass, he dragged me onto his mouth, and I reached out, grabbing the leg of the piano.
I laughed and howled and pivoted my hips while he growled and yanked me back onto his wild, greedy lips.
I came all over his face and barely stopped to kiss him as I shimmied down to rip his shirt up.
“Get this off,” I demanded.
“Yes, ma’am.” He hauled the offending article of clothing off his bulging arms then laid back with hands folded behind his head.
“You want me to do the rest?” My hands slapped down on the thickly carved sinews of his abs.
One of his brows hiked up in challenge.
My ass raised in the air, I crawled backward. I yanked off his boots and socks then swayed back up, brushing my hands and my breasts along his legs. With a quick yank, I opened his jeans and burrowed my fingers beneath.
Hot flesh.
Hard flesh.
Thick pierced cock.
I started playing with the fat, slick head and the Prince Albert stretched through the crown of his cock, and he swore.
Roaring up to his feet, he kicked off the jeans. I’d just snuck a quick suck at his slippery tip when he hauled me up with him.
Saint rushed me to the small sofa in the corner of my music room and tussled me down beneath him.
Running my hands all over his naked body, I reveled in his heat, his powerful muscles, his scent. Mmm . . . all male and clean sweat and leather.
He settled between my legs, his enormously hard cock slipping all over my needy pussy.
Lips seeking out the peaks of my nipples, Saint nuzzled my breasts while reaching for his discarded jeans.
“What are you doing?” I nibbled on his ear, catching his rigid cock in my hand to drag the flared glans and hard piercing up over my clit.
Head thrown back with a groan, he circled my wrist with his fingers.
Guttural and low, he said, “Wallet. Condom.”
I froze in place, naked and splayed beneath him. “You don’t need one. I got my results back. I . . . didn’t catch anything.”
“You didn’t tell me this?” He lunged up onto his hands to peer at me.
My head whipped to the side, but he wouldn’t let me hide.
Nibbling kisses along my neck all the way to my lips, he gazed down at me. “No way. You’re not allowed to be ashamed about what happened to you. What was done to you.”
More tears threatened. More love bloomed.
Want overrode everything in the next moment.
Saint’s long-awaited first thrust stole my breath. His second deep stroke upended my entire world. The third . . . I wailed, legs drawn up to his waist with my heels on his flexed ass to pull him in.
He rammed into me with untamed thrusts, balls smacking my bottom, cock teasing me with his entire length.
Heart flung open, arms flung wide, I keened his name.
I crossed the divide in glorious release and, suddenly, finally, there was no more division between Saint and me.
He came with reckless pumps, driving my head into the arm of the sofa with his fingers digging into my hips to hold me to him as he planted his seed deep.
On that night, Saint gave me back my music . . . and my body.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
SAINT
BY EARLY AUGUST, I’D officially moved into Honoré’s house.
She brought it up after that night in her music room. Damn, that night. She’d almost torn my heart up again, not being able to do her thing with her instruments. She hadn’t been singing or busking. She’d seemed to wander through each day listlessly, nearly lifelessly, like the music had left . . . because it had.
I finally broke through, found a way to get her back into her.
She was glorious that night, the bow glancing across her violin strings to draw out a song that, at first, could only be explained as a sharp jagged cry. But before long, the cry became deeper and lighter, both harder then softer.
When she welcomed me back into her body, it felt like she welcomed herself back into her body. I could see it in the crystal blue of her eyes—a wonder and surprise.
That night, we slept on the floor of the music room, candlelight causing her creamy skin to glow. I relearned the silky texture of her legs and the deep dip of her waist. I kissed again the uptilt of her breasts and the swell of her hips. She touched me everywhere too—shoulders, chest, ass—reacquainting herself with the man who’d do anything for her.
She touched me right to my core.
I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t been chomping at the bit, waiting for her to ask me to move in, though. So when the subject came up that morning, I had my shit packed up at the bar by the afternoon. Nah, I wasn’t eager at all.
Before I left my rooms at Thunder Road, I bequeathed the presidential suite to Revenge.
“What’s with this bequeath shit?” He slugged me on the arm. “You’re not a king. Or a prez.”
“Bequeath this.” I flipped him the bird then locked my arm around his neck.
“Be-queef what?” He snorted in a strangled tone as I hauled him along the upstairs corridor.
Releasing Revenge, I opened the door to my empty room—the place I’d first fucked Honoré.
“It’ll do.” He marched around, pretending he was Jeeves or something when he swiped a finger along the chair rail on the wall. “Guess I can fit more twins in here. Or triplets.”
“One of these days you’re gonna end up with an accidental kid, you know that?”
“I like kids.” Shrugging, he ambled into the bathroom.
With a low whistle—probably at how sparkly clean it was—he reemerged.
I leaned against the balcony doors, eyeing him as he eyed up my old digs. “Try not to wreck the joint, okay? Or at least have Chase fumigate it every couple of weeks.”
“Fuck you too.” Revenge returned with a double bird.
“Listen, I got all my crap loaded in the car . . .” And I couldn’t wait to make tracks back to Honoré.
“I’ll miss you, couillon.” Head down, he thumped his boot against the baseboard.
“Jesus, man. I’m not skipping the country or anything.”
“I know. It’s just . . . we been together since the big house sort of thing.” His stormy gray eyes glared beneath beetled brows.
Emo-Revenge was definitely a different animal than man-whore Revenge.
I dragged him into a dude-hug, slapping him on the shoulder. “I’ll be in the bar all the time. Not to mention Tit for Tat.”
“Sure.” He pulled back to tap me lightly across the face. “I’m real happy for you and Honoré. Just don’t make me tail her anymore, or I might steal her from under your fat nose.”
“Ha!” I nudged my elbow into his ribs. “Fat fuckin’ chance, cous.”
“All right, all right. Get out of here already. Gettin’ sick of your ugly face, ya fuck.”
I was still chuckling by the time I pulled up to Honoré’s house.
Our house.
Hers, Caleb’s, and mine.
My Harley chopper parked beside her Honda, a set of keys to the house on my keyring, and I’d already given her the spares to my Chevelle.
I knew she liked to drive fast.
Inside, with my stacks of boxes creating a maze in the living room, I drew Honoré to me.
Hands delving into her hair, I massaged the nape of her neck. “Thank you,
baby.”
I kissed her for a long time with deep lunges of my tongue, and she curled up against my body, just as hungry for me.
Only Caleb shouting, “Gag! I don’t do that with Mary Mayfair!”, drew us apart.
“I should hope not.” Honoré squinted over at him.
“Eww, Mommy. Bleeeeeck.” He stuck his tongue out like a slobber dog, shaking his head from side to side.
Disengaging from my arms, Honoré turned her squint on me with hands pressed to her hips. “And you better not turn this place into a man cave.”
“Man cave! Man cave! Man cave!” Chanting, Caleb ran in circles around us.
He dodged my boxes and bopped up and down. Even if he didn’t approve of the making out, he was on board with me moving in.
Then I got a closer look at him—for some reason, Caleb was raging around the living room wearing his bicycle helmet—and I decided to play a little joke on him.
“What’s he got on his head?” I asked Honoré, pretending I had no clue.
“My bike helmet!” Caleb latched onto my leg, butting the helmet against my thigh.
“That isn’t a bike helmet.” Flipping the lid of a box open, I lifted out a motorcycle helmet made to his head size.
“Now this will keep your noggin’ safe.” I presented the extra-padded, cool matte black brain bucket, custom-stenciled with C Man.
Caleb’s eyes did that hubcap-size wide thing, and he flung off the bike helmet. “Mine?”
“You bet.” I grinned, watching as he wowed first then strapped the brain bucket on lickety-split. “Was gonna have it detailed with Baby Boy.”
“Aw, you’re pullin’ my leg.” He launched himself into me, and I dropped down in time to catch him in my arms.
I caught Honoré’s eyes over the top of his head.
She was doing that thing with one hand pressed to her mouth, the other against her heart. Which meant I hadn’t fucked up.
“Does this mean I can ride on your Harley?” Caleb wriggled from my arms.
“Heck yeah,” I blurted, his excitement rubbing off on me.
But then I looked at Honoré and adjusted my answer. “I mean, that depends on your mom.”
“No, it depends on both of us,” she said, her gaze steady on mine.
Shit. This whole family gig was doing crazy things to my heart.
Not an hour later and with Caleb on the back of my chopper, I cruised around the ’hood. The neighborhood, that was. At very low speeds and not taking turns at forty-five-degree angles. That didn’t matter. Caleb clutched me tight and squealed the entire way like we were racing madly around a motorcycle course.
When I parked in the driveway, he jumped down. He held his hands on top of the brain bucket like he’d never take it off.
“I’m gonna get tattoos just like you and momma too!”
“Yeah.” I got off the bike and removed my helmet. “I think we’re gonna hold off on that for ten more years.”
“Awww, man.” Caleb scuffed a foot on the pavement. Then his bright eyes lit up. “But when you and Mommy say I can, will you do it?”
This kid.
Goddamn loved him.
****
Yep, I’d settled into Honoré’s just in time for Slade and Grace’s wedding in mid August. It might not have been his style in the past, but the former Marine, former scowling badass, pulled out all the stops for his woman.
Merde, he even gave her a church wedding.
Not the Blood Legion church either, but a true-blue chapel with a minister and all.
Flowers in vases, ribbons on the aisles . . . wooden pews.
Goddamn took the dude long enough. He’d put a ring on it in May.
Actually, it was pretty fucking funny, thinking about Slade being nervous about anything. He’d been through wars overseas, gang wars here. He’d helped take down the old Blood Legion regime and was right beside Angel to build the new legit one.
Now? Slade watched—as we all did—when the music tuned up, and his bride swept down the aisle. There was a hush of silence and indrawn breaths then a barrage of noise when Grace reached Slade, and he grasped both her hands in his. The crowd swelled with claps and whistles and stomps of feet like the deed had already been done.
Well that just went to show you, you could take the wedding out of the MC, but you couldn’t take the MC out of the wedding.
Mistress Bunny along with Mercy as maids of honor were a sight to behold. The much taller drag queen beside petite Mercy whose baby bump was just beginning to show. Bunny didn’t upstage the main event though. She wasn’t even wearing one of her more outrageous wigs. Even if she had, she wouldn’t be able to outshine the bride.
Slade in a swanky dark blue suit stared at Grace like he couldn’t believe she’d agreed to tie the knot with him. And Grace? She beamed at him with a flush on her cheeks as the ceremony got underway.
I reached around Caleb to hold onto Honoré’s hand, and she gave me a squeeze right back.
I had to temper my reactions around her sometimes since Caleb had a habit of walking in on us making out then flopping all over the furniture making gagging noises. Withdrawing my hand before Caleb could make a dramatic scene about our handholding, I kept glancing at my woman.
It would be hard to behave myself today, that was for damn sure. Honoré was in a short pale purplish dress constructed of lace that hugged her sweet curves and left a giant diamond-shaped expanse of her back bare. So I already knew she wasn’t wearing a bra. I tried not to concentrate on the shape of her tits hidden beneath the lace, but she looked stunning, hot, classy, and the heels made her legs look even longer.
Hard indeed.
Luckily, my attention shifted elsewhere when Haven started kicking off with several loud squawks. Maybe she was pissed she wasn’t part of her mom and dad’s ceremony. At about three months old now, she’d started growing out of the perpetual loop of sleeping, shitting, and slurping momma’s milk. I only knew this because Slade had her at Thunder Road often enough, only during closed hours. She’d started paying attention with those bright hazel eyes inherited from her mom, looking around like she understood everything we said. I truly hoped not. Most of our conversations weren’t suited for an infant’s ears.
Today, Uncle Revenge was in charge of baby care. I kid you not, he wore her in that baby knapsack thing on top of his suit jacket and, as she fussed, he stood up and moved to the far lane of the church. He looked fucking ridiculous, but he was happy as a pig in shit—bouncing her around and cooing to the baby girl bundled against him with a frilly pink hairband on her head.
I didn’t know if him getting the baby gig had something to do with him cleaning up his act or not, but the Doublemint Twins were glaringly absent for a change.
He’d probably just booty-call them later.
I really hoped he didn’t go through with his demented idea to bag a set of triplets next.
Jesus, I felt like a brand new man with Honoré and Caleb in my life, my criminal record completely erased.
Revenge deserved the same as the rest of us.
Before I knew it, the wedding was ending, it was time for Slade to kiss the bride, and I hadn’t sprung a boner in church. Win.
The newly hitched couple might’ve gone off-book by having their wedding in a real church, but it was back to Thunder Road for the afterparty.
I didn’t know who had decorated, but by the time we streamed out to the courtyard, the place had been transformed. Gone was the gun range and the picnic tables. Now there were twinkly lights strung all around the wall and hanging from the wisteria, and candles floating in the fountain. Flowers blossomed all over the place, and there were four-top tables set up in cozy arrangements.
The wedding had been a small affair, family only, which had now expanded to include baby Haven, Mistress Bunny, Honoré, Caleb, and MJ. But now our regular customers were welcome to hang out too, and the Man Buns came out full force.
That one called Marcus who regularly tried to convin
ce Slade to let him handle the wicked KA-BAR approached the married couple.
“We clobbered together to get you and Grace something.” The original pussy drink hipster handed over an envelope.
Slade frowned at him.
Grace smiled and thanked him.
Haven, perched on Slade’s arm, reached out to grab hold of Marcus’s Jesus beard, and the rest of us yelled out, “Man Buns!”
“Is it laced with Anthrax?” Slade asked suspiciously, and Grace glared at him.
“What?” Slade said. “I’ve been kind of a bastard to him.”
“I know you’re just joking, man,” Marcus replied.
And I thought, is he though?, because Killian Slade had been known to kill a cunt.
Despite—or in spite of—Slade’s reservations, Grace opened the envelope and drew out three tickets. She gasped as her gaze flew to Marcus.
“Good for anywhere in the continental states. Roundtrip. For you two and Haven, of course,” he explained.
Well, holy hell. Not only were the Muns good for epic tips and apparently mad promo tweets for Thunder Road Bar, they were part of this oddball family too.
Close by, Angel shouted, “Pic kee toi! Why din’t Mercy and I get a wedding present from y’all?”
Marcus scratched his cheek. “But I kind of helped save Mercy that one time. Plus, your business is pretty flush because of us, right?”
“Just shitting you.” Angel flashed the most devilish grin. “You want a pussy drink?”
The crowd that had gathered around Slade and Grace broke into laughter then Angel relayed the pussy drink order to Chase who manned the outside bar.
Caleb tugged on my elbow. Actually, he hung off my arm like I was a jungle gym.
“What’s a pussy drink?” His nose scrunched to one side.
Oh Jesus.
“Remember the roach clip-slash-spliff conversation,” Honoré whispered to me.
Bingo. Deflect and misinform.
I was so behind her tactics. We could straighten the kid out later. When he was like fifteen or something.
Shaking Caleb off me, I bent to his level. “So, you know pussycats, right? But you should never just say pussy on its own.”