Affliction: An Age Gap, Insta-Love Romance

Chapter 11

Shit.The last thing he wanted to do after finally having Cilla in his arms was explain why the fuck he was “playing boyfriend” with the woman who was already fucking shit up with Cilla.

If he’d just come clean with Stallion years ago, he wouldn’t be in the mess he was in now. But was Cilla right? Would Stallion understand his fuck up? Would he realize that shit happened, and that Patriot was fucking heartsick about it, even years later? Or would the man, rightfully, beat the shit out of him, then cut him off, effectively murdering twenty years of brotherhood?

His belly roiled as he pulled his t-shirt on. Shit. He couldn’t think about this now, not with a gorgeous, naked Cilla in the bed, watching him silently lose his shit.

He turned to look over his shoulder at her.

Fuck.

She looked fucking breathtaking, sitting there, her hair a “just fucked” mess, her face, neck, and chest flushed pink with exertion and desire. His cock jerked, growing hard once more, wanting in there again, to pound his precious into the mattress. But the look in her eyes killed his hard on in a blink.

She looked wary…vulnerable…and embarrassed. Her small, delicate hands were white where they clutched the sheet against her body, keeping her lushness hidden from his sight. What was there for her to be embarrassed by? She was fucking magnificent, like a goddess sent to earth to enthrall worshippers—but his greedy ass was the only one allowed to worship this goddess.

Mine.

He swung around to face her, his gaze intense on hers. She stiffened under his attention.

She was obviously anxious, and probably a little uncertain, especially since she was inexperienced in the ways of being with a man like him. Understandably, she was a little nervous, feeling a little self-conscious. He knew Cilla had a bad time with bitches with a mean streak, and that she saw herself as every bad thing they said about her, but, surely, after what they’d just done together, after how fucking much he enjoyed her body, she couldn’t still believe what those women said. Right?

He needed to assuage her fears, get her out of her head.

He thought out the pizza that was probably dried out and hard as a rock in the warm oven. “You hungry?” he asked, desperate to get that look of weariness from her face.

She furrowed her brow, her eyes snapping with fire. “That’s it?” she blurted, disbelief tinting her voice.

It was his turn to furrow his brows, confused at the sharpness of her tone. “What? After what we just did in that bed, I was expecting you to be as ravenous as I am.” He tipped his head to the side, his gaze hungrily skimming over her naked shoulders, the hard points of her nipples poking through the thin fabric of the sheet, and the deliciously pink flesh of her cheeks. Goddamn, just looking at her cheeks made him hard as fuck.

She shook her head, her messy hair brushing over the shoulders he wanted to kiss and nibble once more. He wanted to leave a mark?—

“I told you that Stephie saw you and Jaime looking cozy, I asked you about it…and then you popped out of bed like a spring poked you in the butt,” she said, the hand not holding the sheet across her tits, shoved hair out of her face, the movements showing her exasperation.

Shit. Fuck! What the hell could he say to get her to drop it, at least for now? At least until he could figure shit out.

He grunted, scrubbing a calloused hand down his face.

“Jaime and I are…complicated. I told you about our history—and we are history. Right now…I’m just helping her with something…sensitive. And once I’m done with that, neither you nor I will have to deal with her shit again.”

Cilla huffed, narrowing her eyes at him, her cheeks darkening from pink to red, from “well fucked” to “well, shit.”

“Complicated.” She said the word flatly, making alarm blitz through him. Fuck, he wished he could read her expression, because then he’d know what the hell he was going to do. Right now, staring at a face cloaked in an impassive blankness, he was on the verge of panic. A man, a former army sergeant who’d lived through fire fights, explosions, and near death by dehydration in the motherfucking desert was scared of what this tiny woman was going to say next.

Damn, if he didn’t give a little, he’d find himself on her porch, staring at the door she slammed in his face. And she’d probably never let him into her house or her bed again—and fuck if she’d deny him now that he’d had a taste of heaven.

Groaning, he blew out a breath and scratched the hairs on his chin. From the bed Cilla peered at him skeptically, her usually open expression was guarded.

He fucking hated that, hated her hiding from him.

But you deserve it for bringing this drama to her door.

Needing to touch her, he sat on the side of the bed closest to her and leaned in, pressing a chaste kiss to her lips. He pulled back, his gaze caught on hers. She was still flushed from their love making, but after their kiss, her eyes glimmered with renewed heat. His woman was insatiable—but now wasn’t the time to fuck her until neither of them could walk. Hating that he had to talk about Jaime, he grit his teeth, wishing things would uncomplicate themselves so he could spend the day in bed with his woman. He lifted a hand and traced her lips, then down her chin to her neck. He smirked at the shudder that overcame her.

After pressing another quick kiss to the tip of her nose, he shared, “It’s complicated in that…I’m helping her out with a boyfriend problem. She came to me, scared, asked me to help her deal with the guy. I couldn’t tell her no, that’s not the kind of man I am. So, I’m helping her, which means I have to stick close to her, play nice, act like I give a real shit about her. Once I’m done, she and I are done—I’m cutting her off.”

As he spoke, she watched him, her eyes peering into his soul, searching for truth and whatever else she needed to see. She was tense, her once flushed flesh now pale.

“Did someone do something to her? Is she…is she alright?” she asked, concern seeming to leach the warmth from her cheeks.

Fuck. This woman. She wasn’t Jaime’s biggest fan, but that didn’t stop her from actually being worried about the other woman. And that, right there, was one of the reasons he’d fallen so fucking hard for Cilla. Her heart was a big as Texas, and just as warm.

He smiled softly at her, cupping her cheek in his hand and using this thumb to caress the apple of her face. “Yeah, baby, she’s alright, just scared. And I’d tell you more about it, but it isn’t my story. What I can tell you is that we’re almost done, and the guy won’t be bothering her again.”

Cilla bit her bottom lip, uncertainty pinching her features.

“Yeah?” he asked.

Her magnificent magic eyes on him, she huffed, then nodded.

“I’m glad she’s okay, but that doesn’t mean that I like you spending time with her. She’s a barracuda, Patriot. She’ll try to get her claws into you, and then cling to you for life.”

He snorted, not denying nor agreeing to her comment. He knew Jaime, he wouldn’t put anything past her.

“Seriously, Patriot, even her friends are all saying she plans to get your property patch.”

Recoiling from that thought, Patriot cursed.

“That won’t ever fucking happen. Even if I did like the woman, there’s no way she’d be my one and done, my forever, my ol’ lady.” He wrapped his arm around Cilla’s waist, his hand gripping her hip and squeezing. She tensed but then melted against him. He brushed his lips along the flesh of her neck, beneath her ear.

She sighed, the heat of her breath skimming along his neck—and right to his dick.

Growling, he nipped her neck with his teeth, making her gasp.

“Patriot!” she cried, then giggled with the hand on her hip brushed along her rib cage.

He nipped her neck once more, then kissed the red area before pulling away.

Clearing his throat, Patriot forced himself to meet Cilla’s heated gaze, her eyelids heavy with desire. Fuck. He wanted nothing more than to do what her eyes were begging for, slide into his woman and make them both come, but he needed to get this last thing over with.

Lifting his hand, he cupped her face, his thumb caressing her cheek. God…she was beautiful, and she looked so…happy.

She won’t be so happy in a minute…. Fuck, he hated the idea of hurting her, even though it wasn’t his intention. He knew this would kick her insecurities into overdrive. He just had to make sure that he left his woman happy, satisfied, and feeling like a queen every chance he got.

“What’s that look, Patriot?” Cilla asked. “You went all tense, and your face looks…mean.” She tried to lean away, to drop his hands from her face, but he held on, needing to touch her.

“There’s just one last thing…and I need you to be that understanding, sweet, forgiving person I know you are.”

Cilla paled, her face falling. “Wha…what do you mean, Patriot?”

God, she probably thinks you’re dropping her.

“Fuck,” he barked, “it’s not what you’re thinking. This shit with Jaime, with me helping her…people can’t know about you and me. Not yet.”

Cilla went from pale to red in a blink.

“You want me to keep this a secret?” she whispered, her voice filled with the undertones of anguish.

Shit. He just kept fucking things up.

One hand still on her face, he tucked the other one around her waist, drawing her snugly against him. He could feel her heart racing. She was scared of him…of what he was saying.

Goddamn motherfucking shit!

“Not like a secret, baby. I just need to keep this between us until things with Jaime’s situation gets straightened out. Horde knows because that fucker is nosy as shit, but you can’t tell Stephie—and you especially can’t let the women of the club know, because then it’ll be out and everyone in fucking NEPA will know within an hour.”

She started shaking her head and trying to pull away.

Oh, fuck no, she needed to hear him. He couldn’t let her get her head twisted, thinking untrue bullshit. She’d slam up her walls so fast and so high, he’d need a goddamn sherpa to climb them.

“I know this seems like I’m hiding you, and I know your mind is probably telling you bullshit like I’m ashamed of you and keeping things under wraps because I don’t want people to think I’m slumming it?—”

She gasped, hurt burning over her face.

He leaned in, pressed a quick kiss to her lips, then placed his forehead against hers.

“But that’s not the truth, baby. I promise, once this shit with Jaime is over, I will put you on the back of my bike, take you to the club, and slip my property kutte on your back in front of all my brothers. I will claim the hell out of you, baby, and every goddamn motherfucker in the state is going to know about it.”

Her mouth dropped open, her eyes widening in disbelief.

“Are…are you serious?” she murmured huskily.

He smirked, kissed the tip of her nose, then wrapped both arms around her to hold her chest to chest.

“You’re damn right I’m serious. We just have to both be patient. Our time out in the open is coming, we just need to wait. This business is complicating the shit out of my life, but I don’t want it to touch yours. I’m in this, baby, you and me. Trust that.”

Cilla stared into his face, her stunning green and hazel eyes skimming over his face to pin his gaze with hers. She was thinking, weighing what she heard, and considering her options—but that was Cilla. She was an overthinker, but she was also not a fan of drama.

After what felt like eons, she heaved a heavy sigh and pouted. “Alright, we’ll do things your way, but just know you’re gonna owe me for stealing my chance to rub this in Dana’s face.”

He threw his head back and roared laughter into the ceiling. God, he loved this woman—and soon, he’d be able to tell her. He kissed her nose once more and grinned down at her, she grinned back.

“Deal. Now, what do you want to eat, because I need to feed my woman before I ravish her again,” he drawled.

She giggled, the sound like an arrow to his chest. God, he loved to hear her laughter.

He grinned at her, then grabbed the sheet and snatched it away from her, leaving her bare to his ravenous gaze.

“Fuck food, I’ll eat you instead,” he growled, his mouth watering, his cock throbbing.

He threw himself over her, pinned her to the bed, and took her mouth in a kiss so carnal, it made every single one of her bones melt beneath him. And he spent the morning devouring her, and she spent the morning screaming for Jesus.

After dropping Cilla off at work two days later, Patriot parked his bike outside the Boom Burger and climbed the steps to the door. It was a small burger joint, with only a few uncomfortable looking places to sit, but they made a mean cheeseburger.

Grabbing his order of loaded cheeseburger, fries, and unsweetened iced tea, he sat in the table nearest the back wall, which gave him a view of the door and the parking lot out front through the windows. He could see the busy rural highway just beyond the parking lot, the full-service gas station across the street, and the cars pulling in. Since it was just after lunch time on a weekday, he wasn’t surprised that business was slow. Most people had eaten already, or were calling in their orders for pick up for dinner. There wasn’t a single other person in the restaurant, which was fine by him. He didn’t need witnesses for whatever Jaime wanted to talk to him about.

She’d called him the morning after he’d first been inside Cilla, and while that hadn’t totally wrecked his post-orgasm glow, the ten texts she sent throughout the day had definitely put a damper on the mood between him and his woman. Yeah, he’d explained things to Cilla, and Cilla seemed to understand what was going on, but that didn’t mean she liked having Jaime and her persistence in her face all the time, especially since that persistence was all about Patriot. And especially since he knew he’d hurt Cilla with his request to keep things between them a secret…because of Jaime. So, no, Jaime’s calling and texting did him no favors, in reality, it seemed to take a swing at what he was trying to build with Cilla.

Besides that, he wouldn’t like it if some man were calling and texting Cilla all day, so he could see how it rankled. Then again, if another man even looked at Cilla with a single drop of anything other than professionalism or friendliness on his face, Patriot would make sure his face didn’t escape the meet unscathed.

He checked his watched and grumbled. Jaime was already ten minutes late, so it was a good thing he showed up early to grab some lunch. He was fucking starved after his two day fuckfest with Cilla. That woman was sweet and shy, but once you got her naked, she was a goddamn sex goddess. And she was all his.

Readjusting the growing problem in his jeans, he tensed when the woman he was waiting for finally walked through the door.

As the receptionist for a Mercedes dealership, Jaime was the first thing prospective Benz buyers saw, so she dressed to the nines during work hours. Now, during her lunch hour, she was still dressed as a professional, but somehow, between the dealership and the burger joint, three of the buttons on her blouse seemed to have come unbuttoned, and hair he knew she usually wore up in the office was now down and loose around her shoulders.

What the fuck was she playing at?

Sure, Jaime wanted this to be a “date” to help get her stalker off her tits, but she didn’t have to put all that much effort into it. It only needed to “look” like they were out together for whoever the fuck was messing with her to get the message that Jaime was “taken”, and then back the fuck off.

Just that morning, Red had texted him that he was still looking for more video of the asshat who left the note on Jaime’s door. Patriot knew Red was fucking good at what he did, but there was only so much the man could do if there were literally no other cameras as witness.

Maybe if Jaime gave up the fuckers name…. Patriot was already glutted on his impatience with Jaime. He was fucking tired of playing things her way, which meant that by the time lunch was over, he’d have the creeper’s name, address, phone number, and what his fear smelled like—because his first stop after this meet with Jaime was a visit to the asswipe bothering her.

This stalker issue would be done and dusted by dinner, and he could grab Cilla and take her to his place, and they’d break in his bed. Or break it.

He really wanted this shit over with already, because as sweet and understanding as Cilla was, there was only so much his woman could take before she kicked his ass to the curb—and he wouldn’t blame her one bit. It wouldn’t stop him from coming back, though, because there was no fucking way Cilla was getting rid of him. He was hooked. She was his. They were inevitable.

After grabbing a chicken salad and a diet soda, Jaime sat down across from him and leaned over the table, flashing her barely restrained tits at him. Her face, all made up, was inches from his before he figured out she was coming in for a kiss. He turned his head just as her painted lips met the flesh of his cheek.

Shit-fuck!

That was close as hell. No other woman’s lips would touch his—he was a motherfucking taken man.

Yeah, but as far as Jaime knows, you’re hers. Because I can’t tell her about Cilla….

Like hell would he let Jaime think they were a couple. It was all for show! Once the stalker was dealt with, Jaime could fuck right off with her bullshit.

In the meantime….

He forced a smile and said through his clenched jaw, “What the fuck, Jaime?”

She glared at him, pouting. “It was a kiss, not a big deal, Patriot. It’s not like we haven’t done worse.” She smirked, her insinuation heavy and gross.

“We aren’t going there, now or ever again. This is already more than I wanted to deal with,” Patriot protested.

She huffed, tossing her hair over her shoulder in a practiced move that somehow made her boobs thrust higher in her already near to bursting blouse. How the hell did she get away with wearing something like that at work?

“We have to make it look real, Patriot. It has to work….” Her voice wobbled, along with her bottom lip. “I’m scared.”

Taking in the look on her face, Patriot bit back a curse. “What’s happened?”

She didn’t answer, instead she pulled her cell from her purse, touched shit on the screen, then slid the phone across the table.

Suddenly, a voice filled the space between them. An angry voice.

“Bitch, I know you’re paying the filthy biker to play boyfriend for you. It won’t work. You’re mine, and there’s nothing he can do to keep you away from me. I will have you, Jaime. Keep away from that piece of shit Unchained, or I’ll make you both wish he was dead.”

Stunned at the violence in the stranger’s words, Patriot leaned back in his seat, blinking down at the offending piece of technology.

“That was waiting for me this morning. The call was from a blocked number, so I didn’t answer. And this morning, when I got to work, I checked my voicemail, and that was there.”

“Shit,” Patriot spat. “That’s more than just a stalker, Jaime, that’s a fucking threat against me, against the club.”

She nodded, her eyes wide and filled with fear.

“And that’s not the worst of it, Patriot,” she rasped, reaching out to grab the phone with trembling fingers.

“Oh yeah, it gets worse than that?” he asked, pointing at the phone.

Her shoulders tensed as she ducked her head. Gone was the vixen who’d walked into Boom Burger, and in her place was a terrified woman.

“Jaime, you got to put it all out there. Now that they’ve threatened me, it’s no longer just about getting the guy off your ass, it’s now club business.”

She shuddered, nodding. “At first, I thought the guy from my porch was Eliot Montaine. He was angry about the breakup and even threatened that I would be sorry. And it was him. At first. He followed me and I would see him when I was running errands and shit. But…now I don’t know what’s going on.”

“What the fuck to you mean, Jaime? Who is this Eliot asshole?”

“He’s the guy I was dating. The one I came to you for help to get him off my back.”

Finally, he had a name for Red to run, but that wasn’t going to be enough, especially now that the club’s name was spat from the asshole’s lips.

“But…Patriot, that’s what I’m trying to tell you. Eliot isn’t my problem anymore, and I don’t think he has been for a while. He got a job in Pittsburgh and transferred out of town last week.”

“He can call you from anywhere, Jaime,” Patriot replied, annoyed that this conversation was spinning in circles.

“That’s just it, Patriot. That voice on the phone, the one threatening you, that wasn’t Eliot’s voice. His voice is higher, and I always kind of thought he sounded like Melissa McCarthy. I have no idea who that man in the voicemail is or what he wants with me.”

For the second time that morning, Patriot was stunned.

Motherfucking shit.

“I need to call your brother; he needs to know what’s going on,” he murmured, swearing.

This just got a whole lot more complicated, and Patriot couldn’t shake the dark morass of dread that shifted over him.