When He Reads To Me

2. Lissie

Chapter 2

Lissie

“I hate that I love the way he talks to me. Especially since he isn’t my husband.”

“ R ead it to me,” he says, sitting across from me.

I look up and see him watching me with those brown, almost chocolate-like eyes.

“ Now ,” he demands.

He is always so demanding!

I lift the book, my gaze leaving him for just a moment before it finds its way back.

Gosh, this man.

He’s covered in tattoos that skate up both arms. It’s as if each drawing was imprinted on him, etched into his very soul, shaping the contours of his thoughts and emotions with every stroke. His beautiful, tan skin seems to be without imperfections apart from that one scar on his upper lip, which makes me wonder how it stays so… full?

He is wearing his usual black jeans and black boots, and his legs are crossed at the ankle.

His arms are folded tightly against his chest. “Read,” he says again, although slightly less demanding this time.

I avert my gaze, not even bothering to care that he caught me looking.

He always does and never comments on it—it’s strange, really.

He pays me well—to sit here and read to him, but I don’t know why.

Not that I see much of the money.

My mind returns to the book, and I continue…

“ Her hands slide up his shirt, skating over the ridges of his back before they slip down to his hips. She feels it as he sucks in a breath and loves the fact that she holds that power, ” I read from the book exactly as written, using inflection where needed and pausing for emphasis to bring the words to life.

“Continue,” he says.

I look up again, and his eyes are glued to me, an intensity in his gaze that makes me pause for a second or two. Focusing back on the book, I take a deep breath before I start, “ To have a man, this powerful man who is all mine, come undone beneath my fingers is unlike anything I’ve ever experienced. ”

I stop and peer up at him.

“What?” he asks, knowing I want to ask him a question.

“Have you ever come undone for a woman like that?”

Should I be asking this type of question? I guess if he can pay me to read this stuff, I have a right to ask. He does this thing with his tongue—it darts up and licks the scar on his lip, and I watch the action, wondering what it tastes like. Wondering how it would feel if my tongue touched that scar.

“No,” he finally answers, grinding his jaw before he nods for me to continue.

“You’re weird,” I tell him.

“And you aren’t reading,” he throws back.

I give him my best eye roll, showing him how annoyed I am, before pushing my black hair behind my ear, then find where I left off and continue.

“ He grunts something, but I’m so lost in touching him that I don’t hear what he says …” I pause. “ But then I hear it clearly when he repeats it. ‘My perfect little slut.’ I freeze at his words. Did I really think he would say something sweeter to me? I am, after all, here for one thing— ” I stop. “Time is up,” I announce, closing the book.

“ Read ,” he says, his voice husky and commanding.

His demanding tone literally sends a shiver right through me.

“No.” I look him directly in the eyes.

“Do you speak to him this way?” he asks, his head tilting to the side. His mouth is pressed into a straight line with no hint of playfulness or anything else. He doesn’t really give me much of anything, never has, even though I have known him longer than my husband. “Your husband. Do you speak to him this way?”

“You know I don’t,” I snap as I stand. Milo has seen me with Cody more than once.

“You should take some of that fucking attitude you have for me and throw it his way.” He stands, walks to the door, and holds it open. “Now, leave.”

“I was going anyway.” I reach for my bag, pulling the strap over my shoulder, before I walk over to him.

He’s taller than me—always has been. I’ve known Milo for years, longer than I’ve known my husband. Back then, though, he was just one of those boys who was always in trouble, and I guess that hasn’t really changed. He still gets into trouble, but now he’s a man. And not only is he a man, he’s a fucking scary one.

Terrifying.

Spine-chilling.

Deadly.

He’s head of the local chapter of a motorcycle club, and even the police fear him.

“Good,” he says and waits for me to walk past.

Feeling the anticipation build with each step, as I reach him, I take a deep breath. His scent envelops me, a captivating blend of rich leather and something fresh, like an ocean breeze on a summer’s day. The combination is intoxicating, grounding me but also sending a thrill through my senses.

“Goodnight, Milo.”

His tongue slides over his teeth as he looks down at me.

“Goodnight, Elizabeth.” No one calls me Elizabeth. Only him, and no matter how often I try to correct him and tell him to call me Lissie, he never listens.

He shuts the door behind me, and the click echoes into the quiet night. I glance back as I reach my car, taking in the stillness around me. The parking lot of the clubhouse is usually bustling with club brothers, but no one is here. It’s like we are wrapped in a cocoon of secrecy while I’m here, and I love that it’s just us. I breathe in the cool night air as I unlock my car, and I can’t help but smile, knowing these moments are our own private bubble—ours alone.

Reading to him is my favorite job.

Even if he hates me.

Even if my husband hates him.