Chapter 10
“Patriot…”she murmured against his chest, her fingers continuing to trace the tattoo of the American flag etched into the golden flesh of his right pec. The tattoo of an eagle, wings extended, talons spread, was inked into his left pec, right where his heart was beating. She knew from the times she’d seen him shirtless at club barbecues that his Unchained MC club tat—a circle of chains, with a snapped middle link surrounding a wickedly grinning skull—was pride of place in the center of his well-muscled back. And then there were the tattoo sleeves running down, shoulder to wrist, on each arm. Some of the tattoos were just tribal designs, beautifully woven with the typical biker images of a naked pin up, flaming motorcycles, tombstones, crosses, and a woman’s name. Cilla knew from their conversations while she was working at the diner that the name “Helen” was meant to commemorate his mother, who died of lung cancer three years ago. He said they hadn’t been close, but she was still his mom, and he’d still loved her and wanted to remember her. He’d wanted to have that piece of her, so he could tell his future children about her.
Cilla had swooned so hard, she’d needed a change of panties.
It was in that moment, hearing those words from such a rugged, hard-edged man, that she’d fallen completely in love with Patriot. That was only four months ago, and before that moment, she’d already had a seriously ridiculous crush on him. That crush crashed into unrequited love in a single conversation.
And now she was lying in his arms, naked, after he’d wrecked her body—and she wasn’t sure what to do. What was the protocol for having sex with the man you love, but who doesn’t love you back? What were the rules for bikers who sexed up inexperienced women?
What was a warm, sated euphoria quickly turned into a cold, coiling anxiety.
God…she was going to do it—she was going to ask, because not knowing was making her sick.
Clearing her throat, she started again, “Patriot?”
“Hmm,” he responded, the deep sound vibrating through his chest. Because he was laying on his back, head against her pillow, his eyes closed, she could look her fill of his massive, muscular body. Every inch of him was masculine perfection—rock hard muscles, a golden expanse of hot, smooth flesh—the badass biker manscaped!—deeply grooved lines delineating each bulge in his sexy as hell six pack and that mind-boggling V. And don’t get her started on his nipple piercing—a bar bell through his left nipple, just begging for her to lick it. Again.
And holy fucking shit—pardon her French—his cock was a work of art. In the heat of the moment, with all the quick clothing removal and hurried movements, she hadn’t gotten a chance to look at his cock. And now, his spectacular body bare, she ravished him with her eyes like a perv.
His cock was long, even when soft, and it was thick, and smooth. There was a large, thick vein that traversed the length of him from just beneath the head to the base, disappearing into his scrotum. He was uncircumcised, which she considered weird, since she thought most men were circumcised. Obviously, with her one, single previous sexual encounter, she was not the Encyclopedia Britannica of men’s genitals.
“Cilla?” Patriot’s concerned voice jerked her from her dirty thoughts.
God! Stop being so awkward!
“Um…. I…I hate to be that cliché, but…I think it’s a pertinent question, considering we’re both naked in my bed, and we just….” God, she literally just came with the guy, he’d been inside of her, and she couldn’t even say the words? Ugh. How humiliating.
“We just fucked?” he finished for her, his lips curling into a smirk.
She tossed him a mock glare, but replied, “Yes. That.”
He pressed a kiss to her forehead. “Okay, so what’s the question, baby?”
She pushed up until she was leaning over him, her hand still on his chest, her elbow keeping her upright.
He lifted his hand and gripped the back of her neck, his eyes pinned to hers, intense and filled with heat.
Cilla cleared her throat once more, swallowing back years of timidity.
Just ask, stupid!
“What does this mean?” she finally asked, the words coming out in a rush.
He arched an eyebrow in question.
She continued, knowing she needed to get it out before she clammed up again.
“Does this mean we’re a couple, or fuck buddies—or does this make me your woman, or your side piece, or your…your….”
Patriot arched up and took her mouth. Forcing his way between her lips, he ravaged her, his tongue lapping at her, his teeth nipping at her bottom lip, sucking it into his own mouth. Then it did it all over again, deepening the kiss each time, until she couldn’t breathe. So this was how she died…but what a way to go!
Breaking the kiss, he held her in place with his massive hand on the back of her neck, his other hand lifting her chin until he captured and held her gaze.
“It makes you my woman. It makes us a couple. You are mine, you belong to me, and I belong to you. That’s what this means. It means I finally have you where I’ve fucking wanted you since the moment I saw you walk into the clubhouse that first time back in August.”
Six months ago. Six months! Shock thrilled through her, stealing her breath.
Patriot wanted her? At first sight? How was that even possible?
Was she freaking dreaming? She wanted to pinch herself, but she was all too aware how ridiculous she’d look.
“You wanted me?” she breathed, her voice trapped in her throat behind the lump of disbelief.
He smirked at her, his green eyes growing dark.
“More than any other woman I’ve ever met,” he replied, his voice sex and bourbon, with a smooth brandy chaser.
She nearly groaned at the sensation of heat gathering in her belly and spilling down into her core.
“H-how?” she asked, still unable to believe what he was saying. Had he been drunk that night in August? No, that wasn’t fair. Patriot was the level-headed, logic-driven MC brother. Sure, he could get hot under the collar and beat some ass like any of the Unchained, but he always came at things with a clear mind first.
Patriot pressed a soft kiss against her chin, his hand sliding up her back to press her closer, her breasts squished up between them. Not that he seemed to mind.
“You are the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. Your curves are lush, sultry, and capable of wiping all thoughts from my head when you walk and that ass of yours bounces.” As if thinking about it, he groaned, his free hand reaching down to grip a growing erection under the sheet, and the one on her back sliding down to grab a handful of said ass. He squeezed, making her gasp…then moan. “Fuck. Even thinking of that ass right now is making me goddamn hard—and don’t get me started on those tits.” His gaze dropped to where her large boobs were smashed against his chest. “I want to bury my face between those luscious tits and die of suffocation.” She gasped as his hand moved from his erection to pinch her hard nipple. “And your smile….” He grinned at her, the asshole knew what he was doing with his words and his hands. He was driving her crazy.
And she was loving it.
“Your smile lights up my fucking world, baby. Just looking at you makes me weak in the fucking knees, but being around you, spending time with you, just breathing the same air as you…there’s nothing like it.”
He leaned in and captured her bottom lip with his teeth, the sting of his bite making wetness gather between her thighs. God, she wanted to deepen the kiss, climb on top of him, and sate her hunger for him, but there was still too much left to be said.
“But what about Jaime?” she murmured against his mouth.
Patriot heaved a sigh, the hand cupping her ass dropped to the bed and the one on her breast dropped to his chest.
“She’s not someone you need to worry about. The truth is…we fucked. Once. Three years ago. Now…she’s just a club woman under the protection of the Unchained because her brother is a brother. Stallion is a nomad, but he comes back here once every six months or so.”
God, she hated hearing about him with her, especially since the woman was a bitch. Cilla wasn’t stupid, she knew Patriot had a past, she just wished Jaime hadn’t been an “active” part of it.
“But I’ve seen you take her upstairs at parties?—”
He grunted, cutting her off. “She overdoes it and I make her sleep it off in my room. There’s no sex going on. I tuck her in, then either crash in my chair, or play Monopoly Go on my cell until I fall asleep on the floor beside the bed. There’s no intimacy, whatsoever, going on.”
She blinked at the totally acceptable and somewhat swoony answer. “Oh.” That was very nice of him—but he still had sex with Jaime before.
“Aren’t sisters off-limits? Isn’t that like…a rule?”
He nodded once, his lips pinched into a thin line.
“You broke the rule…you had sex with Stallion’s sister.”
“We were both drunk….”
She laughed, the sound without humor. “That’s always the excuse, isn’t it?”
He grunted. “It’s the truth. We were drunk, we fucked, and when I woke up the next morning, all I felt was regret and self-disgust. Her brother had left her in my care, expecting me to protect her, not fuck her. So, yeah, I broke my promise to him, and there hasn’t been a day gone by where I don’t feel like shit about it.”
“I’m guessing you haven’t told him…because you’re still alive, and she’s still clinging on to you like a slut barnacle.”
His snort of laughter made her smile despite the seriousness of their conversation.
Expression serious once more, Patriot admitted, “You’re right, I haven’t told him. I’m a fucking piece of shit. I know I did wrong, but I know the moment I tell him, almost twenty years of friendship and brotherhood are over.”
Sighing, Cilla’s gaze drifted over his features, her mind spinning, her heart aching for the man whose regret and shame were now stamped into his very frame. He was wracked with it.
“If you’ve been brothers that long, you’d think he’d be more forgiving and understanding than that. Yeah, you messed up, you banged his sister, but you weren’t alone in that bed. His sister is as much at fault as you are, and she knew the rules, too. I wouldn’t put it past Jaime to have targeted you in your moment of weakness.”
His eyes narrowed at her.
“And don’t you dare say that isn’t something Jaime would do, she totally would,” Cilla exclaimed.
He huffed, rolling his eyes, which made Cilla grin.
“I wasn’t going to say that—I know Jaime’s capable of it, but that doesn’t exonerate me from my wrongs.”
“Right, but you have to share the blame. It isn’t all on you, Patriot. I think your friend—who has known his sister longer than you have—would realize that. Honestly, I think you aren’t giving your friend enough credit. Will he be pissed that you diddled his sister, and then kept it a secret for three years? Hell yeah, he will, but I think he’d be more pissed if he found out about it from someone else.”
As if he were a steel scaffold collapsing under the strain of his guilt, Patriot seemed to fold beneath her. His deep green eyes filled with remorse and…fear. Of course, he was scared of losing his friend, but that didn’t explain the level of abject guilt that etched grooves into his features.
What else was happening in his mind that Patriot was so…heavy? What was weighing him down? And could she help him lift whatever it was that was crushing him?
As the silence ticked away, Cilla kept her focus on the man who owned her heart. She could see him contemplating, his face like a movie screen rolling the credits.
“I’ll tell him, I know I have to…” he spoke, the words pulled from his mouth like rotten teeth. “I…I just have to deal with a few things first.”
Yeah, like Stallion’s skanky sister.
“So…what’s with all the rumors about you two in a relationship? According to the Slutketeers, you’re just waiting for her brother to get back so you can make it official and claim her with her own property kutte and everything.”
He snorted. “That is straight up bullshit. If that’s what they’re saying, I’m not the one who started it. It was one time, years ago, and I’ve never had even the slightest temptation to repeat it. Jaime is my best friend’s sister. I fucked up, I admit that, but I wouldn’t compound that fuck up by making her my ol’ lady.”
She pinched her lips together. “You spend a lot of time together for someone you don’t want people to have the wrong idea about.”
At the furrow in his brows, the offered, “Stephie told me that she’s seen you two…around Chinchilla.” Stephie lived in Dickson City, but she drove through Chinchilla often to hit up the Boom Burger on the opposite side of Clarks Summit. The woman was particular about her beef, and after eating a burger from there once, she never wanted fast food burgers again. “She said you two looked chummy.” Actually, Stephie had said, “They looked all coupley, ya know, like a couple?” But Cilla didn’t know if she could emotionally handle hearing what he’d say if he admitted that Stephie was correct in her impression.
Ridiculous? Definitely. Silly? Absolutely. Was she fooling herself with faux comforts to stave off the inevitable pain when the truth bomb was dropped? Uh yup!
Just then, something fluttered across his features before his expression was shuttered.
He cleared his throat, then sat up. She fell back on to the bed and pulled the sheet up to cover her nakedness—too bad there wasn’t a sheet in the world big enough to cover her sudden bout of self-consciousness.
Naked as the day he was born, Patriot slipped from the bed and strode toward his pile of clothes on the floor.
What was going on?
Suddenly, all the uncertainties, self-deprecation, and feelings of inadequacy and self-disgust roared back. She was fat, ugly, a laughingstock among the club women, but just moments ago, she’d felt beautiful, desirable, wanted. But now….
She watched as Patriot pulled on his jeans without looking in her direction, as if he couldn’t bear to look at her fat ass lying in the bed, naked beneath the sheet.
Nausea spiked, and the urge to rush to the bathroom to puke and hide hit her hard. She swallowed it down, the voice inside her head, the one that was always logical and analytical, told her to stop and take a freaking breath.
Her gaze on Patriot, she noticed the jerkiness of his movements as he bent to pick up his discarded t-shirt, then practically shoved it on over his head. He seemed…not mad, exactly, but…frustrated?
What the hell happened? She’d mentioned what Stephie saw, and now he was pulling away. That’s what he was doing…pulling away.
Would he try to forget what they’d just done? Was there really nothing going on between him and Jaime, and if that was true, why the sudden mood change—and for that matter, why was he hanging out all over town with a woman he wanted nothing to do with?