Kinsmen MC (Complete Series)

by J. C. Allen

  “Whatever it takes.”

  4

  Grace

  As soon as Matthew left, I replayed the memory of us kissing.

  Over… and over… and over… and over again.

  My half drunken shower made the rest of my drunk feelings go away, but I was just even lucid and aware of everything that happened. I couldn’t yet say if that was actually a good thing or not.

  It was like we had traveled back to five years ago, and I was that giggly teenager again, surprised that someone like Matthew even knew who I was, let alone wanted to kiss me. And boy, did he kiss me—I could feel every fiber of his lips on mine.

  I tried to pass out, tried to fall asleep so I wouldn’t have to think about this too much, but I was failing miserable. It was no good; he had zapped me awake with that kiss.

  My hair, damp from my shower, soaked my pillow as I laid on my back, staring at my rickety ceiling. The crown molding looked like it was about to fall off; in fact, this whole bedroom looked like it could cave in. And if it did, no one would ever find me.

  Well, Rosella might have, but that would be after her five days of love and sex and marital bliss. Nothing could take away from that, and nothing needed to try to.

  It’s nights like this that I wish my resolve wasn’t so strong and that I could take my parents’ money when they offered it to me, but I just couldn’t. It might have meant that I was living in a much shittier place than my parents could have given me, but…

  Back when I lived with them, if I were upset or needed to relax like I did now, I would take a spa bath in my bathroom with the finest bubble baths and essential oils, sit at my vanity, and brush my hair until I finally fell asleep wearing something small and silky. I was spoiled, an heiress, but I didn’t want to end up like my mother. She was so demanding, so arrogant, so… just so everything I didn’t want to be.

  So that was why I left—but sometimes their overbearing, demanding expectations didn’t sound so bad when I could smell the body of the last person that lived here despite how many air fresheners and oils I buy. And I could never put anything other than my feet in my tub; otherwise, I might have contracted some sort of disease with God knows what the oils and such would mix with..

  So, without regret—I told myself, at least—I lay in my scratchy sheets and hoped that my exhaustion would quell all of these thoughts.

  It didn’t.

  Matthew was stuck up there with his perfect kissing and hulking body. Having him pressed against me was the fucking best thing in the world—it was something that was worth losing sleep over.

  Even when I felt his cock pressing into my thigh, I couldn’t believe that I was having that effect on him. I wished I could take that plunge and forgo the consequences, but just like back then, I was scared. I didn’t want him to laugh at me if I asked to go slow or was even just unsure in any way—it would be too mortifying, more so than literally running away from him like I did at the wedding.

  But even with that fear, though, I was ready and willing to go in with him. I was prepared to offer my body to him and let whatever happened, happen.

  But…

  Now, after what he did, I didn’t even know if I still liked him.

  He clearly didn’t do the girlfriend thing. I could see that much just by listening or seeing him around the club. And I think that was why I had been so hesitant to be with him—I didn’t want to be a one-night stand.

  But I do want him. I just don’t know how much or in what capacity. Goddamnit, Matthew, why do you need to make things so confusing?

  I rolled over to try and fall asleep that way, but I just got another memory of his hands on me, his tongue pressing into my mouth. I could still feel it pulsing, could still feel it ruling my thoughts and my body… until I was as excited as I was then. I felt that pull toward him coming from my core.

  My pussy clenched with the onslaught of the memory. I imagined his cock slicing through my wet folds as my fingers did in real time. I imagined him groaning deep in his chest when he plunged inside me as I dipped two fingers inside and let my palm press into my clit as it throbbed. I imagined that I really went all the way with him tonight…

  His kissing would go from my lips to my neck, down over my shoulder as he tore my dress away, ripping the fabric. The sound would dive right to my pussy and make me gush more for him.

  He would tell me how wet I am, how much he wants to taste me, before his lips actually made contact and he kissed my pussy the same way he would kiss my lips. He would drive me up the edge as my thighs clenched around him, holding him there until I rode out my orgasm on his face. Then he would rise back up my body to kiss me so I could taste myself on him.

  My hands would explore the muscles of his body, the planes of shoulders and back, until I reached his taut ass when he pummeled into me.

  He would plunge inside me over and over until we were both spent from each other. His body would hold me under his weight even as I writhed with an overload of pleasure for him until my body surrendered to it and came harder than ever before.

  And then, back in reality, I came in my bed with my hand between my legs.

  When I met my face in the mirror of the bathroom, my green eyes were bright and olive skin flushed crimson. And I knew exactly why.

  I am in a load of trouble.

  The too bright sun woke me up. I fumbled for my phone first thing, but it was dead. I eagerly waited for it to charge up to see if there were any texts or missed calls.

  The phone charged up, showing it was just after eight.

  And then…

  No new messages.

  I forced myself to stop thinking of the disappointment from this and get out of bed. I headed to the bathroom and brush my teeth before I pulled on an old, oversized sweater. I turned on my television to watch a reality show as I made bacon and eggs for breakfast. I had coffee to keep my eyes open and then sit with my laptop to look for jobs.

  I set my sights on open jobs in advertising and public relations and told myself not to settle for anything less—no more temp jobs. Hopefully, I could make it to an interview without being evicted. Sure would be nice to have a little security.

  God, how I miss the feeling of not having to worry if I could pay my next bill.

  All you have to do is suck up your pride and go back to Mom and Dad. Just do that…

  Nope, gonna do it on my own.

  Time passed quickly as I started copying and pasting cover letters, I didn’t notice the time until my ringtone blared from the other room. I couldn’t help myself from rushing to answer it.

  And wouldn’t you know it, it was Matthew.

  Memories of what I did last night flooded my senses and made me pale with mortification. At the same time, I listened hard to his breathing and that deep voice of his again. It was raspy and brittle but still crisp and strong. I collapsed onto my bed with the shock of him calling me and wondered why he was.

  And then I got my answer.

  For help with breakfast? That can’t be the real reason.

  And then he asked me what I liked, and it just felt so… forced and awkward.

  And yet, despite that, I could picture him smirking through it. I imagined how it made his one dimple cut through his permanent two-day shadow and made his bright eyes twinkle.

  I jumped to conclusions and thought he was asking me something else, something much more inappropriate. Right or wrong, I just didn’t know what to think. I froze in place, wondering if he was asking me out or being a lunatic.

  And they both scared me shitless.

  I made up some excuse and hung up, but as soon as I did, I found myself screaming at myself for being such an idiot.

  “Why do I have to be so awkward?”

  Because you are awkward, that’s why.

  I didn’t know how to talk to men, not like most women my age. In high school, I didn’t care for the jocks trying to hit on me because of all that social circle crap. In college, I was an English major; the guys around
me were of different tastes or only in my classes for a gen ed—they would still hit on me, but I wasn’t interested.

  Perhaps I was just late to the game.

  Or maybe I had avoided playing the game on purpose because of him.

  Either way, I had never had a boyfriend or a valentine, and I had definitely never had sex before. Not surprisingly, that left me a bumbling awkward mess.

  Matthew must be laughing his head off at me right now.

  But not so many seconds after that call ends, my phone rang again. I caught my breath, fearing that it was Matthew calling me back to yell at me or mock me…

  But it was just Rosella.

  “Hey, shouldn’t you be on your back with your legs in the air?” I said with a laugh.

  I could only talk to her like that, not anyone else.

  Certainly not Matthew.

  “Not anymore, that was this morning,” she said with a laugh.

  She sounded so happy, it made me smile. I looked forward to the day when I would have something similar.

  But that would require me to not be so weird first.

  “I just had a favor to ask.”

  “Yeah?” I said as I sat back up, careful not to unplug my phone again.

  “Matthew says he is doing fine with Michael, but, well, I’m still worried…”

  In the background, I could hear Simon say something about not trusting his own brother, but she swatted him away. It was so typical of them, I couldn’t help but smile.

  “Can you just peek in on them? Especially if he has to bring him to the club.”

  Shit, really? You’re going to make me face up to my own awkwardness, huh?

  “Um… sure, but how would I know he is there?” I said.

  “He’ll tell you, I already told him.”

  Fuck. Not getting out of this one. She’s thought of all my excuses.

  “Alright,” I said with a sigh.

  “Are you still weird about talking to him? He’s just a man, Grace. Keep telling yourself that.”

  He’s a little more than that at this point, Rosella. Just like how Simon is a little more than a man.

  I shook my head.

  “No I’m—I wasn’t. Until we kissed last night.”

  “You what?”

  The shock in her voice was palpable. Had it really not been that obvious to her?

  Then again, she was probably relishing in her wedding day as she should have been, not wondering about how her maid of honor was behaving.

  “I know, I know. I don’t really want to get into it… but yes, things are awkward.”

  “Are they really or are you just making them awkward?”

  I let that one go and tried not to give her the satisfaction of being right. She knew, anyways—she knew me better than anyone else, the good and the bad.

  “Well you know I am still looking for a job, so I can’t promise anything. It’ll be hard for me to get over.”

  Lies. Or at least half-truths. Rosella must have seen right through that, too, because she blew right past my answer.

  “One, I have a solution to that, and two, you know I will beg you. And you love being around Michael anyway. So… come on.”

  “Yeah,” I said with a sigh. “I do.”

  It wasn’t so much that I was sighing about hanging out with Michael; more just that I recognized I was beaten in this discussion and not in a position to argue against it.

  “What’s your solution?”

  “Club needs a new bartender,” Simon pipped in.

  One problem with that.

  “I don’t bartend.”

  “It’s real simple, and it won’t be every night.”

  I frowned, but it would be with Matthew. I still couldn’t figure out if that was a positive or a negative. Plus, I had images in my head of all the biker guys hitting on me, and requesting odd types of drinks, and…

  “I don’t know, I’m waiting on an interview.”

  That wasn’t true. Well, it wasn’t true that I had an interview lined up that I was waiting on.

  “Well you can wait at the bar then,” Sebastian said.

  “Be nice.” Ros said. “Look I know you don’t want to do it because Matthew will be there—”

  “Rosella!” I said.

  I didn’t need his brother knowing I still had a crush. Even if it is kind of obvious.

  “But you can make good money and maybe get out of that squalor you’re living in.”

  I sighed. They were pretty damn persistent, and that they were calling me on their honeymoon…

  “Look, I have to think about it. I’ll watch Michael, don’t worry. I’ll let you get back to your honeymoon. Please.”

  “Okay, thanks,” Rosella said. “Just don’t think too much about it, okay? You need the money, and you know you like shopping too much to live on savings for much longer.”

  “Yes I know,” I said with an eye roll, even though it was true. “I’ll talk to you later.”

  I internally cursed Simon for suggesting that I work at the bar as soon as I hung up. Now I had to think about being close to Matthew for hours on end. Perhaps it wouldn’t be awkward and I was just reading too much into it, but…

  Well, I didn’t have much else to do here. I didn’t have any jobs calling me back, and I had to recognize at some point that the money was going to run out, no matter how much I put on a pretty face.

  I pretended for a little longer I wouldn’t take the job before I said fuck it.

  But first, I had to text Matthew.

  “Hey, question.”

  It wasn’t much of a surprise that he wrote back almost immediately.

  “Who is this?”

  Seriously?

  “Just kidding. I know who it is. What’s up?”

  I swear to God, I’m going to kill you, Matthew. You know full well that wasn’t funny.

  “Simon said the club needs a new bartender,” I wrote as I tried to calm myself from the little prank he’d done.

  But he wasn’t done playing games.

  “That’s a question? I don’t see a question mark.”

  I groaned. He was infuriating sometimes, and my hangover wasn’t helping matters. On the plus side, though, it did make me a lot bolder.

  “When can I start?”

  I might as well make cash. I see those men at the bar, they throw money at the bartender even when it is Zeke. I hate it, but if I do my makeup and actually wear a real bra, I could be rolling in cash.

  For a second, I wondered if I had come on too strong. Matthew didn’t respond for several minutes, even though he had a time stamp of having read the text. I suppose we were back at the games of trying to hurt the other, him by leaving me, me by hanging up on him, and now him denying me the job.

  Then the text bubble appeared.

  “I have to go tonight for club business. You could tonight if you wanted. My mom is watching Michael.”

  “Okay. Thanks,” I wrote before I could think better of it.

  And of course, as soon as I hit send, all of the thoughts came running in on how bad of an idea this was. But there was nothing I could do about it now.

  Nothing except wait to see him again, hoping it wouldn’t end the same way it did last time.

  I stared at my computer screen, waiting for an email or something for as long as it was acceptable to wait for an excuse not to work at the club. I checked my bank account just to remind myself how necessary it was for me to go to work. The alternating between “please don’t make me do this” to “holy fuck, if I don’t get five hundred bucks by the end of the month, I can’t pay my bills” was really exhausting.

  I kept thinking of excuses. Even if work was now slinging beers and faking conversation, I had never bartended before. On the other hand, it couldn’t be that difficult. I could create my own mixed drink, so I could just go off that if I needed to. I hoped that Zeke was there to show me the ropes and not Matthew, but I could only hope so much.

  And even if Zeke was there, there
was no guarantee he wasn’t going to then hand me off to Matthew. He was, after all, a Kinsmen.

  In the end, my passivity and inertia meant that I was getting closer and closer to having to actually work. To pass the time, I watched a sitcom marathon before I showered and spent way too long picking out something to wear. I didn’t want to make it obvious that I was showing skin, but based on what would bring in tips…

  I kept bouncing back and forth between not believing Matthew was attracted to me and wanting to make him crazy about me if he was. Last night marked the second time I almost had sex with him, and I felt like I was going to strike out at some point. He was the only guy that I thought of that way. Even when I left for years, no guy I met ever made me think about him that way. I don’t even know why he does.

  I retouched my lip gloss and did a once over of myself in the mirror. I was in faded jeans, torn at the knee and upper thigh, and a purple crop top that wasn’t too tight but had thin straps. I was not all that endowed in the bust area, but with this pushup bra, it looked like an illusion, even to me. I loved doing my makeup and could be over the top sometimes, but I mellowed it down to foundation and light eyeshadow, and clear gloss that makes my lips look bigger than they are.

  I felt I had balanced the right amount of seductive without being slutty, but God knew I had no idea what the hell I was doing. I tried to match up to how I saw other bartenders, but… it was all a guessing game. Imposter syndrome was pretty damn strong.

  And it only got worse when my phone buzzed. I looked down and saw the words that locked my plans in for the night.

  “I’m outside.”

  My heart sunk in my stomach, and my gut fluttered as I felt my mouth go dry from Matthew’s text. This is so bad…

  Too late to back out now, though.

  “Coming.”

  I grabbed my cross-body purse, all prepared to ride on his motorcycle. I stared at the designer emblem and thought of my mom. She loved this kind of stuff, and I came to love it too.

  It was one of the few things that we seemed to agree on. There just wasn’t a whole lot else we could click on.

  I stepped out into the cool air, and I immediately wished I had brought a real jacket, as the denim could only do so much in the Minnesota air. I didn’t even see Matthew when I heard his voice.