“No, but you were a part of something. Some kind of club before. A biker thing?”
“I- it’s better that you don’t know. Anything. At this point. I can tell you more later, when it’s safe.”
She crossed her arms. “How about you tell me more now. Like how about starting with how you even know the guy? What were you mixed up with before you met my sister? How did you go straight? Or did you even? Does she know? Does she know all of it? I’m guessing that’s a yes, since she hasn’t flown off the handle, unless she did that out of the house, when I couldn’t hear it. Start with telling me how you plan on getting this guy exactly what he needs to get the hell out of here?”
Jack’s eyes narrowed. God, his eyes were so different from her own. There were a million shades of blue, she realized, and at the moment, Jack’s eyes weren’t any of them. She didn’t think gray was an actual eye color, but his eyes were hard as flint at the moment.
“You know, for someone who isn’t a journalist, you ask a lot of questions. I could easily shoot a few back at you. How is it that you’re over thirty and yet you haven’t even had a single relationship? You have a good job, but you’ve somehow been able to take two weeks off out of nowhere and come here, just like that, as a surprise for Tia? You bounce around from man to man, never letting any stick for longer than a week or two. So, Kate, why don’t you tell me, what it is you’re really so afraid of?”
She crossed her arms, ready to tear her sister’s nosy, far too perceptive husband, a new one. How did he know so much about her? Oh right. He was married to her big mouthed sister.
The angry retort died a hard death when Tia called for Jack. Her voice was off. It sounded little and lost and a little frantic.
Jack didn’t give Kate a second thought. He lit out of there like someone was holding a gun to his wife in the other room. Kate stood in his wake, his angry, unrelenting words swirling around her. What are you so afraid of? You haven’t had a single relationship…
Kate blew out a frustrated breath. It was the whole damn situation. They were all on edge. She’d pressed Jack and he’d pressed back. He wasn’t even unkind, just… he was just asking questions, just like she was. The tough ones. Ones that hurt to ask and hurt even more to hear.
Kate moved closer to the fridge. She planned on getting herself a nice tall glass of OJ. Cancel that, a nice tall glass of OJ, with an inch of juice and eight inches of vodka. That should just about take the edge off… or knock her out into next week.
She was closer to the stairs and her sister’s frantic voice drifted down. “I- Jack, I threw up on the bed. I’m so sorry- I-”
And Jack’s voice, soothing, calm, so filled with love that it hurt to even hear it. “Shhh. That’s okay. Come here.”
Kate imagined Jack wrapping her sister up in his strong arms, Tia resting her head against him, inhaling his familiar scent. She imagined just being held would make her sister feel better.
When had Tia thrown up? She always had been a quiet puker. Once they’d got drunk together. Tia had literally thrown up in the backseat of the car next to Kate and she didn’t even know until she looked over.
A massive crash from down the hall brought her head up. Her hand paused on the handle of the fridge door. Oh come on. Please no. Why me? Right. Because there was no one else available at the moment.
Fuck. Fuck all of this. Every single minute. Kate rushed down the hall and found Creed leaning heavily against the wall. He, thankfully, had a pink fluffy towel wrapped around his waist, a hand thrown out for support, and was breathing heavily.
“Oh no. I’m not falling for this shit again,” she grumbled.
“I- I’m fine.” Creed waved her off. “Just got dizzy.”
“And decided to smash right into my sister’s favorite wedding photo.” Kate glanced at the wrecked frame and the shards of glass on the ground.
“Sorry.” Creed looked at her sheepishly.
“Well god, what did you expect getting out of bed and attempting to shower? You could barely even open your eyes this afternoon and now you’re up and walking around? Or maybe you were hoping to find something on your travels? A weapon you could use against us?”
Creed shook his head and let out a low groan of pain. “Of course not. What the hell is wrong with you?”
“Me?” she gasped indignantly. “Me? Seriously? You really want to go there right now? Don’t push me. Like I said earlier, I’m sleep deprived and frustrated and it’s not a very nice feeling knowing that a bunch of devils could break down the door at any second and slaughter us all in our beds.”
“Uh- right.” Core’s eyes strayed to the photo. “I’m sorry. When I can, I’ll replace it.”
“Jack told you that you had to be out in a few days. Is that why you’re up?”
“Yeah. Something like that. I’m good though. I’ve been worse off than this before. Tomorrow I’ll be good as new.”
“I wish that was true.” Kate tried very hard not to notice how droplets of water beaded off Creed’s slicked back hair. It trailed over his insanely broad shoulders, down over a beautiful chest, beautiful even with the bruises and cuts and swelling. His waist narrowed and a smattering of dark hair peeked out right from where the towel hung on his hips.
It should be fucking illegal to be that sexy. Or… sexual. At the moment, there was a defined difference. Creed wasn’t sexy. The aura that he exuded was dangerous, violent, dark, definitely sexual. He was goddamn beautiful, as far as men went. And Jack had just reminded her in the kitchen not so subtly that she did indeed find the male body to be quite- pretty.
Kate cursed herself as she squeezed her thighs together a little tighter. The hair stood up on the backs of her arms and at her neck, but not in a bad way. In a very aware kind of way, as though she’d just stuck a fork in an outlet and got a little zap.
“Would you mind- uh- helping me back to the bed? I’m not so sure that I’m not going to fall right over.”
Kate gave herself a shake. What the hell was she thinking going off the rails like that? Creed must have noticed that she was staring at him. She went completely hot and icy cold all at once. She was sure her face was red to the roots of her ebony hair.
“I’m not falling for that shit again.” She laughed to cover up her embarrassment. Where were all her charm and poise and composure when she needed it? Oh right. Gone out the damn door right along with her common sense.
Creed’s lips curled up in a smile. “That was quite funny.”
“No. No, it wasn’t.”
He held up a hand in surrender. His face paled and at the moment, he really didn’t look well at all. Like he’d exerted every ounce of will and strength to get himself into the shower.
“You stupid man,” Kate grumbled. “Alright.” She edged closer. “Lean on me.”
Against her better judgment, she let Creed drape an arm over her shoulder. She wrapped one around his waist. Which was hard, silky smooth, and warm. Blisteringly warm. Her hand felt scalded just touching him, so she moved it lower, to the towel. Which was a mistake. The terrycloth was damp, but just as warm, his hip hard and thick below.
Focus. Focus on just getting back into the bedroom.
Twenty feet had never felt so long in her life. For one, Creed was insanely heavy, and he really was leaning on her. Hard. She took his weight, though it made sweat bead on her brow and just about killed her. Literally. She felt close to collapsing herself. Finally she pushed open the door and staggered the remaining few steps to the bed.
She went to dump Creed on it, already promising herself she wasn’t going to look if that damn towel gaped open, when his arms wrapped around her shoulders. He turned them awkwardly and when he collapsed onto the bed, she fell right on top of him.
Kate let out an indignant huff and pushed hard against the rock hard chest, trying to right herself and tear away from arms that were like granite posts around her. Creed struggled too. He pushed himself onto the bed, tangling their limbs further. She thrashed harder,
pummeling his chest, which did absolutely nothing at all.
She froze when she felt it. There was no mistaking what it was. The hard ridge digging into her stomach. And damn… it was huge. As in, like a bloody tree trunk huge. Her body lit up like a fourth of July celebration and her determination to get away was renewed. She raised her head and looked the bastard right in the eye.
“You tricked me,” she hissed.
His wicked grin told her right away that she was correct. And then, before she could move or say another word, his arms let her loose, his massive hands gripped her face and tugged her up to him.
“You bast-” her angry oath was cut off as he crushed his mouth to hers.
Chapter 6
CREED
The woman above him was indeed a goddess. Or a witch. She had him under some sort of spell, something he’d never known before and was powerless to fight. Her lips were a straight shot of adrenaline, right to his frantic heart. He saw stars, literally. It could have been the weakness, the blood loss, the bullet wound, the beating, but he’d been through all of that before and he’d never known an explosion in his brain like the one he experienced when he crushed his mouth to hers.
His eyes flew open and he pulled away. Twin sapphires stared back at him. The woman’s lips were redder than before, swollen from his kiss. The skin around them, down to her jawline, was bright red where his stubble chaffed it raw. His cock was very much alive, very much pressed into her stomach. She’d fallen on top of him, nearly straddling him and he could feel her heart right through those tight little black leggings she had on. The kind of thing women wore to yoga and shit. The kind that rounded out their ass into two twin globes and crawled up their backside in a version of the world’s most sexual wedgie.
“You’re a bastard,” his goddess hissed down at him. Fire sparked in her eyes, but her despite all her protests, he recognized the raw need on her face, the pink in her cheeks, the way desire made her pant.
He reached up and brushed a strand of long, ebony hair away from her temple. “I can be a bastard,” he agreed. “If you tell me your name.”
“My- my name?” Her beautiful brow creased, like she was confused.
“I don’t know it. You never told me. But you know who I am. Wouldn’t you say it’s fair?”
“You’re an asshole.” She tried to push him away, and he let her. She sat up in just the right position to take his cock deep inside of her. If she didn’t have those damn sexy leggings on. If she wasn’t steaming mad. Because he’d tricked her. Again.
“Have you ever heard the fool me twice saying?”
“Fool me twice, fuck you. Fool me twice, I cut your cock off with a kitchen knife?”
“Jesus.” He shuddered. His hands gripped a set of the curviest, sexiest hips he’d ever encountered in his life. The curves of her ass dug into his legs as her spine straightened and he grunted. His cock responded, springing out of the towel which had fallen away. It stood up in the air between them. “So violent with the knives and the guns. And always my cock. Why shoot it off or cut it off when you could enjoy it in so many other ways?”
“You’re sick.”
“Undoubtedly.”
He licked his lips and was honestly a little surprised when he saw what kind of effect it had on her. The woman slowly echoed his motions, her pink tongue darting out to lick at her red, lush lips. Lips that tasted like heaven. He wanted more. He needed more. Heaven was a place he was never going to get to. He might as well take whatever came close while he still had breath in his lungs.
She jerked back, the motion doing nothing to help his aching cock. The light was out in the room, the door was closed. The blinds were open just a crack and a golden glow filtered in from a light on the house somewhere or maybe even from the street. It was just enough light to illuminate his goddess completely. Including her face.
He watched desire war with disgust, hunger battle shame.
“I know I’m going to win,” he whispered, voice like gravel, but that was on purpose. “I know that at the end of thirty minutes, you’re going to be mine. I know that in less than five, you’re going to be grabbing for that pillow to smother your cries of pleasure.”
His goddess choked, but he watched doubt, the most beautiful emotion, flicker in the beautiful pools of her eyes. “You’re pretty fucking confident in yourself.”
Creed wished he could climb into those eyes and drown there. He wished, even more fervently, that he could climb inside of her, seat himself in what he already knew was going to be a tight, beautiful pussy, and let himself burst inside of her.
“Maybe I have a right to be.”
“Why don’t you have any tattoos?”
It wasn’t exactly the question that he was expecting, but Creed grinned. “Why? I don’t know. Never had the urge to get any I guess.”
“I thought all bikers and bad guys had tattoos.”
He snorted. “Oh lord. You sound like my grandma. Scratch that. I never had one. But if I did, you’d sound like her. And she’d be eighty. And fat. And bake chocolate chip cookies and drink tea.”
“What the hell is wrong with tea?”
“Nothing. Nothing at all. You must like it. Are you really a granny hiding under all those beautiful layers?”
“Fuck you.” She slapped at his face. Hard.
I wish you would. The blow glanced off his cheekbone, where a bruise was already healing. Pain radiated out from the spot, but it was delicious. He wished she’d hit him again. She obviously got the memo, because she raised her hand and balled it into a fist. She was about to strike him, but he caught her hand in his and brought it to his lips, where he peppered her knuckles with kisses.
She got immediately hotter and wetter and she couldn’t stop herself from squirming against him. Which of course sent his cock into overdrive. His balls tightened at the feel of her, writhing away up there. If she was trying to get away, she could at least do it a little less sexually.
But then again, everything his goddess did was sexual. Even just living and breathing.
She was made for sex.
She was made for him.
He tugged on her hand and she pitched forward, so that their faces were only an inch apart. He licked the tip of her pretty little nose. “Why fight it? I know you want me. Your body tells me that you want me. I can smell your sweet, pussy from here.”
“What the fuck? Who says something like that?” she spat out right next to his lips.
She inhaled sharply, probably because she was pissed as hell, but she obviously got a whole lot more than she bargained for. He watched her face change and knowing that the raw desire there was brought on by inhaling his scent, his skin, his body… it did something wicked to his insides.
It did something wicked to his outside too.
“How about you tell me your name and you take those fucking pants off? I can feel you right through them. I know how hot you are, how wet you are. I can feel it all.”
She let out a strangled, anguished sound, deep at the back of her throat. Her desire was so obvious it filled up the room. So was the scent of her. God, she smelled like something pretty and girly, delicate and delicious. It wasn’t that alone that drove him mental. It was the smell of her, the smell of sex. He wasn’t kidding when he said he could smell her pussy and god… he was a man and she was a beautiful woman and whatever control he had left was about to snap completely.
“You’re hurt,” she panted, unable to keep her voice normal. She’d stopped denying that she was turned on. That was a step in the right direction.
“That doesn’t matter.” He was so close he could see a few delicate freckles across the bridge of her nose that he hadn’t noticed before.
“So you didn’t really fall in the hallway?” Her lips pursed. Even without a scrap of makeup, she was so insanely beautiful it hurt to look at her.
“Oh, I did. That wasn’t all an act.”
“And you magically regained your strength right as we got to this b
ed.”
“Something like that. Right about the same time you fell on top of me. That revived me pretty damn fast.”
“You’re a pig.”
“Well, either you like animals or that’s a good thing.”
She went to stick her tongue out at him, actually stick her tongue out like a four-year-old, and he took the opportunity to grip the back of her head, bury his hands in her soft, ebony hair, and drag her face to him. He captured her lips and he kissed her. She kissed him back like they were going to war, battling each other. It was vicious and feral, biting, licking, sucking.
Her muscles strained below him. For someone who was delicate and utterly feminine, those muscles were long and lean and hard. His cock throbbed between them. She was going to kill him. She’d make good on her threats, or maybe finish what Jim and his cronies started.
Creed pulled back and traced her bottom lip with his tongue. She panted, her breaths hitting his lips, his mouth, his face.
“Would you like me to do that somewhere else?”
She pulled away, shuddering. Creed stared at her, at how her full breasts strained against the fabric of her tight t-shirt. Her nipples peaked right through whatever bra she might have on. He needed her. He needed her more than anything he’d ever known. He needed to taste her, to hear those sexy cries he knew she’d make when he thrust his tongue deep inside of her.
“You’re- a… bastard,” she panted.
“Yes. I know. You’ve said that before. That wasn’t my question. Would you like me to get up and lock that door, peel those fucking leggings off and lick your cunt?”
“God. You’re filthy… who even uses that word anymore?”
“I’m sorry. Vagina. Is that better?” She went to hit him again, but he stopped her fist, just like before. “You might want to be careful what you do with that,” he warned. “Hitting me only makes me harder.”
“I… no. Let me go. I don’t want this. I don’t want any part of this. You’re a sick fucking bastard, coming here, taking advantage of me, tricking me. I’m not joking around. Let. Me. Go.”
Creed: A Motorcycle Club Romance (Lonely Rider MC Book 3) Page 4