14. GIULIA
THE ABSOLUTE FUCKING nerve of the man.
Take responsibility for me?
Like I was a goddamn stray dog who needed a home?
“Since when is this the Dark Ages?” I replied, fighting the urge to take my knife and throw it at him. “I don’t need anyone to take responsibility for me.”
“No? Well, tough shit. It’s happened. Where you go, I go. So, make your decision. Diner or bar? Which is it?”
I wasn’t altogether certain why, of all the options, those were the ones he was interested in, but considering I had no desire to work at a strip joint—even if it was interesting at first, there were only so many tits a girl could see without getting bored—and the idea of cooking even more than I already was broke me out in hives, didn’t seem like I had much of an option between the bar and the microbrewery—and I knew shit about beer. Liked it even less than I liked cooking.
Yeah, that was how much I didn’t want to work there.
“The bar it is,” I muttered, but I scowled at him as I said it. “I don’t get why you’re a part of the decision.”
“Because every unattached woman that ain’t a sweetbutt has to be taken in hand by a biker,” a new, deep voice informed me.
The statement jolted me from my glowering session at Nyx, but when I saw Storm, I relaxed some. Sure, he was as much of a pervert as the rest, but he was always really cordial to me.
Yeah, cordial.
Go figure.
Plus, he always complimented my food. The bastard had manners.
Again, go figure.
“I don’t need anyone to take me in hand.”
“Just how it works, darlin’,” Storm stated as he swooped in, and curved an arm around Nyx’s shoulder that I knew the brother just wanted to shrug off. They shared a look I didn’t get, one that had Storm smirking and Nyx tensing up even more, before he returned his attention to me once again. “You got any of those sandwiches left from earlier?”
“Nope,” I told him succinctly.
“Make me one?” he wheedled.
I smirked at him. “Nope. You want a sandwich, get one of the sluts to make it for you.”
Storm snickered. “You say the meanest things.”
“I’m sure.” I rolled my eyes. “In a clubhouse of dirty fuckers, I’m the one with a potty mouth. Anyway, I told you to get a sandwich before you went into council.” I shrugged. “You snooze, you lose.” It was a bittersweet fate that, though I hated cooking, I was really fucking good at it.
Even that miserable piece of shit, Maverick, always sent his trays down completely empty, and I’d learned that was a first, as he hadn’t been eating right since he’d returned home from the frontlines four years ago.
“When did you see him before council?” Nyx groused, making me scowl at him.
“In here. Where I was making breakfast.”
Was the guy deaf or something? Or dumb?
If I wasn’t in the kitchen, I was at the bunkhouse, and we’d left there together this morning because he was a stubborn asshole.
Storm snickered out a laugh, saying, “I gotta get me a bitch who can cook,” as he turned away, evidently going on the hunt for a slut who could make a sandwich as well as she could suck cock.
“You’ve already got one, dumb fuck,” Nyx muttered, and I watched with interest as Storm tensed up, his shoulders hitching a second, before he headed on out.
I had no idea what that was about, but as far as I could tell, the cock sucking was more important than the eating. It was probably why all the brothers were so fucking slim. Well, except for the ones with Old Ladies, of course.
When Storm strutted out on the hunt for a cocksucker sandwich maker, I turned my attention back to Nyx, who looked both pissed off and confused.
“What is it?” I asked, unsure why he was looking like that and well aware I didn’t want his focus on me.
Just because we’d talked last night, just because we’d… No.
No way.
I didn’t want this shit.
I wanted to work hard, earn some honest bucks, get the fuck away, and leave my brothers in semi-safe hands. I’d undoubtedly be visiting them in jail within the year, but fuck, that was their fault and their problem, not mine.
I didn’t want a biker to be looking at me like he wanted to be inside me. Especially one who had half the evil cunts in this one-percenter club backing off when he approached.
I wasn’t sure what Nyx was, but it ran deep. He had labels. Biker, brother, Enforcer, and yet, there was something running underneath the surface. Something that should probably have scared the piss out of me, but didn’t.
Why?
Well, apparently, I had a death wish.
Because what had the brothers dashing out of his way, and what had that slut Cammie quivering on her too high, stacked heels when he summoned her like a dog, didn’t scare me.
Not one bit.
Nyx wasn’t bluster, he was cold reason. He was precarious safety in a dangerous world. He was a harbor in a storm, but even harbors came with splinters.
I saw him, but the issue was, I didn’t know what I was seeing. Not really. Maybe if I did, I would be scared, but the truth was, Nyx would never hurt me. He’d have let my dad slap me last night, if that was the case.
He might break my heart, and if I let the fucker between my legs, might wreck my pussy—I’d seen what he was packing—but physically? I was as safe as I could be, and I wasn’t sure why every other bitch in this club didn’t recognize that.
He wasn’t a kitty cat, never that, but if a one-percenter could and would protect a daughter from her father, that meant they had a twisted moral code that meant anything with a pussy was safe from danger.
Unless said pussy betrayed the club, I figured, and since I didn’t feel like getting my throat slit, that definitely wasn’t going to be an issue.
“What are you staring at?” he growled at me.
“I’m staring at you staring at me,” I retorted with a sniff. “Anyway, the bar? I’ll take that over the diner.”
“Fine,” he grunted, twisting around on his boot before he strolled off to only fuck knew where.
Shit, if I’d known that would have worked, I’d have told him that earlier.
Nyx was Trouble. Capital T necessary. I knew it, my body knew it, my heart knew it, but most importantly, my brain knew it. And while I was many things, no one could ever accuse me of being stupid.
That was why I avoided him.
Which wasn’t easy.
The only time I talked to him over the next few days was when he showed up for something to eat, and while a part of me was okay with that, another part of me wasn’t.
The other night, as I’d drunk hot milk and he’d glowered at my mug as though I was drinking poison, I’d started to think he was more than just a grunt. Sure, he’d barely said more than a couple of sentences at a time with large pauses in between, as though he wasn’t used to speaking frequently, but I’d thought he wasn’t as big of an asshole as I’d initially assumed.
Then had come the assumption that I’d be willing to work my ass off in a fucking diner.
A few days after the ‘incident,’ when he came into the kitchen, he grunted at me, “Time to get to the bar.”
Eyes narrowed, I demanded, “Excuse me?”
“Have you gone deaf?” he growled. “It’s time to get to the bar. We’re opening in a few days, and we need to hire staff.”
“We? No. You. I thought I was one of the staff.” I wasn’t just being ornery for the sake of it either, I was genuinely confused.
He was talking to me like I knew what was actually happening, when I seriously didn’t.
“We’re going to do this shit together.”
“We are? Why is this the first I’ve heard of it?”
“Maybe if you hadn’t been avoiding me?—”
“Me? Avoiding you?” I half shrieked, wondering if I’d fallen through the rabbit hole, not just down it. “You’re the one who’s barely been around.”
He frowned at that, folded his arms over his chest, and grated out, “I don’t have time for this conversation. We need to get to the bar, now.”
He sounded like he was trying to be patient, but he was failing.
Miserably.
Because I’d been short with him practically since the first morning, and well aware that I was earning pretty decent pay for making three square meals which, in my mom’s day, had been handled by the Old Ladies for free, I decided not to be a total bitch.
“I have no experience in running a bar,” I told him truthfully, wanting to be straight with him before I got myself into deep shit.
“Neither have I. How hard can it be?” he replied, totally unconcerned.
Shrugging, I said, “I don’t know. That’s the problem with having no experience. I don’t know.”
“Our rep precedes us. We’re opening up, and in a few hours, we’ll have people head in with their resumes. Rex arranged for some breweries to come by and speak with us today and tomorrow, and?—”
“Wait, there’s no beer on tap? In a bar?” I stared at him. “You said it’s going to open soon.”
“It will.”
“Won’t it take a while to get a beer line set up?”
“Not if they want our business.” His grin would have made a shark shudder. “Anyway, I don’t have time to hold your hand. We need to get there, and we need to sort shit out.”
I huffed, not appreciating his tone, but seeing as he spoke to me like I spoke to him, it wasn’t like I could complain, was it?
“I need to grab my things.”
“Go. You have ten minutes. I’ll meet you outside.”
With that declaration, he headed out of the kitchen, leaving me gaping at the notes I’d been making for this week’s shopping list.
That was the one joy of this shit job—I didn’t have to buy the food, nor did I have to clean up. I just made the meals, and the sluts did the rest. I considered that a massive win. Especially since there was an industrial dishwasher.
If they’d had to wash by hand, then I’d have done the dishes myself. Prejudiced? Yup. And proudly so.
In my defense, it was a wonder venereal diseases weren’t airborne in this fucking place.
With an admittedly supercilious sniff, I left the thankless and never-ending task of cooking for a zoo behind.
Rushing out of the clubhouse, I ran over to the bunkhouse where my stuff was.
Of course, before I escaped, I saw someone having sex by the front door, and because I was getting used to it, I didn’t even try to avoid seeing who was boning who, just let it float over my head as I bypassed them to make it outside.
When an arm shot out and grabbed me, I jerked in surprise.
The biker, a douche called Lever, was screwing Jingles—her tits had little bells dangling from her nips—and he thought he could touch me?
Ew.
Wanting to douse myself in bleach, because only God knew where his hand had been—just the notion made me break out in hives—I jerked out of his hold.
“What the fuck do you want?”
He licked his lips, fleshy, gross things that reminded me of the suckers on squids—with that mental image, who wouldn’t want to fuck him?—and with a cocky smirk, told me, “I’d love a sandwich.”
It was a request I was starting to hate. Everyone wanted a fucking sandwich, but if I didn’t offer it in the kitchen, I sure as fuck didn’t offer it out of it.
And certainly not with a guy who made Jack Skellington look cute.
Barely refraining from shuddering, I shot Jingles a truly sympathetic look. “I think you’re lucky to be fucking Jingles. Don’t get ahead of yourself.”
He frowned, not understanding my meaning. “We should take this upstairs.” His belligerent tone had me gritting my teeth.
“I think you should fuck off,” I barked at him, and with my spare hand, I slammed the side of my palm down on his outstretched arm, at his elbow. It wouldn’t hurt him, but his reflexes would work on my behalf so I could liberate myself.
Before he could complain, and well aware that that wouldn’t be the first or last time he accosted me—wasn’t that something to look forward to?—I mumbled to myself, “As if.”
Some of the guys didn’t seem to understand that I wasn’t available, and to be fair, that said a lot about my father and his abilities and position in the MC. If he’d been in the council, or if his brothers had known to fear him, they’d have left me the fuck alone.
As it stood, I’d got some come-ons, enough to piss me off and make me grateful that my brothers had taught me self-defense at a young age.
“As if?”
For the second time in as many minutes, I jolted in surprise. Raising a hand to my chest, I sucked in a breath, then released it when I saw it was Nyx.
“What are you doing out here?” I grumbled, trying not to let on that my heart was beating like I was Bugs Bunny.
Okay, so I failed in that competition, because I sounded like I’d been running, and with my boobs, I didn’t run anywhere.
“I told you I’d be waiting on you outside,” he ground out, then his brow furrowed. “Why are you out of breath?”
“No reason.”
A moan sounded right behind me, and I realized I could hear Lever boning Jingles right through the fucking front door.
God help me, I could even hear the bells on her tits!
He snorted at the sound. “Get a little flustered?”
“As if!” I spat, repeating my earlier declaration without meaning to.
“Who’s Jingles fucking?”
It was nauseating that he knew it was her too.
“Lever.”
That had him scowling. I wasn’t sure why, but it did. “Did he come on to you?”
“Maybe.” My eyes widened when he moved toward me so fast, I thought he was going to slam me into the door.
Only, he didn’t.
He grabbed the handle and went to open it, and when I realized what he was doing, I shoved myself between him and it, and sputtered, “Where are you going?”
“To smash his face in,” he spat. “I’ve warned him about this.”
“About me?” I shrieked. “Why the fuck would you be warning anyone about me?”
His top lip curled in a sneer. “About any fucking woman. He’s a lecherous prick.” He shouted the last two words, and when Jingles stopped squealing like a pig being killed, I shuddered, because apparently, the message had been rammed home.
I didn’t want to think how.
When Nyx smashed his fist into the door, I scowled at him.
“Why do you let him stay in the club, if he treats women like shit?”
“He doesn’t. Not when I’m around.”
“When you’re around.” I sniffed at that qualifier. “So, you’re the unofficial police around here?”
He cocked a brow. “You just call me a pig? Your insults are getting better.” He bared his teeth. “Shame for you I’m losing patience. Go get your shit from the bunkhouse. I want to be on the road soon.”
I glowered at him, but did as bid because I seriously needed to do something with my hand.
If Lever had fingered Jingles with the hand he’d used to touch me... Jesus, I knew from health class that you couldn’t catch the Clap that way, but tell that to my arm.
Seriously, I was having a major issue in sitting down on any of the surfaces in that fucking place, because I knew everything was fair game when it came time to boning people.
And yeah, I said people, because not even the guys were safe.
This was an LGBTQIA friendly zone, apparently. Something that had stunned me almost as much as the fact that Nyx had saved my butt from my dad.
Hustling over to my sleeping quarters, I eyed the building, once again surprised it wasn’t an outright dump, and headed inside.
When I heard moaning coming from one of the bedrooms, I cursed fate for landing me in an unofficial porn movie, and strode over to the place I’d staked out for myself.
If only temporarily.
This place was pretty sweet, and while it wasn’t home, I loved that there was a connecting bath in my room, and the twin buttheads shared a full bath—one I didn’t touch.
I figured Nyx’s patience wouldn’t last long enough for me to have a shower, but fuck, I really, really wanted one.
Lever’s hand, the morning sweating over a pile of bacon… Was it vain that I didn’t want to be on the back of Nyx’s bike for the first time smelling like pig?
Because bacon, apparently, was his favorite perfume.
Not.
Snorting at the thought, even as I dithered over whether I had time or not, I raised my arm to grab my purse, and what I smelled? There was no way I was heading into a new job with interviews with reps from breweries and the like stinking.
Quickly shucking off my clothes, I headed into the bathroom and put the shower on full blast.
While the place was old, and the tiles a shocking shade of avocado, the water ran hot, making it my favorite place to spend a few minutes every morning and night.
As I leaped into it, I quickly lathered up and got myself squeaky clean. If I used three times the amount of soap on my arm, well, that was between me and the bottle of soap, wasn’t it?
Shuddering at the thought of Lever even thinking he had a chance with me, I finished up, and hoped Nyx had...
What?
Wouldn’t I have preferred for him to have gone to the bar without me?
Somehow, I was unofficially working with him. All this without even a word from Rex, who hadn’t really spoken to me since that first day, except to ask me to pass him some condiments from the kitchen. Not that I’d spoken to many people since getting here.
Nyx was right.
I hadn’t bothered trying to make friends, hadn”t even tried to make friends with him… Which was evident in the conversations we’d had together, which consisted mostly of arguments.
Well, some of those had been kind of cool.
Cool.
Hah.
Everything about Nyx got me hot and bothered, not cold.
Maybe exhilarating was a better adjective to describe what went down when Nyx and I went head to head conversationally.
When I tried to drag the towel from the hook just outside the shower cubicle and came up with nothing, I grumbled, then opened the shower curtain and screamed when I saw Nyx standing there, towel in hand.
Grabbing the curtain and wrapping it around myself, I hollered, “You fuckwit. What are you doing here? You pervert!”
“Which part of ‘I’m in a fucking rush’ didn’t you understand?” He leaned back against the bathroom wall, just beside the bright green toilet, and crossed his legs at the ankle.
Was this guy for fucking real?
Bitching at me for dicking around, then standing there like he had all the time in the world? What the fuck was that about?
“I had to wash Jingles off my arm.”
He stared at me. “Why would you need to do that? She was boning Lever, not you.” He cocked a brow at me. “Or did I miss something?”
I scowled at him, feeling hot and flustered as I wondered how much of an eyeful he’d caught of me.
The bastard.
As I calculated just how much of my tits had been visible in the sliver I’d revealed when I’d pulled the curtain aside, I gulped. “Lever touched me. He grabbed my arm. He could have been touching Jingle’s pussy with those fingers. Ew.” I glowered at his lack of reaction, until I started to get chilly, so I huffed, “Can I have the fucking towel? We could have been on the road by now.”
He shrugged. “You’re the one who messed with the program.”
“No. Lever did.” I blew out a breath and let the hair on my forehead flop forward. “If I’d wanted to jerk you around, I’d have washed my hair. But see? It’s dry.”
“Some consolation.” When he tipped his head to the side, his gaze drifting up and down my body, I gritted my teeth.
The sticky plastic of the shower curtain clung to my moist skin, and I kind of hated that him, standing there, looking cool and like James Dean before shit had gone bad for the ultimate rebel without a cause, turned me on.
I was mad, truly outraged at his breach of my privacy, but this wasn’t how Nyx usually worked.
Nyx scowled at the idea of another biker touching me.
He defended me against clubwhores with vendettas, and he stopped my dad from hitting me.
He wasn’t making a move, had no intent to harm me in his head. That was why this was weird.
Anyone else?I’d have been scared for my safety. But this was Nyx. And even though I’d known him twelve days, I knew I was safe.
My throat felt tight at that, because safety was relative, wasn’t it?
I’d already established that nothing about Nyx was good for me, and yet, he was the only person who’d made the effort to speak with me.
Even if it was to piss me off most of the time.
Licking my lips, I stared at him, until I whispered the one question that was at the front of my mind. “Why do you talk to me, Nyx?”
Was I surprised when he didn’t come out with some blasé shit? That he didn’t make a joke out of what I said? I’ll admit I was. But his words stunned me nonetheless:
“I don’t know.”
I believed him.
He didn’t know either.
For some reason, he let me insult him, talk smack about the people he cared about, and he gave me the benefit of the doubt when all the clubwhores, who he knew more than he did me, and I wasn’t talking Biblically here, came whining over how I’d treated them.
Why?
Why did he do all that?
Why did he watch over me?
Why did he make me feel safe?
I knew that question was for me and not him, but still, it ricocheted around my head, until I had no choice but to whisper, “We’re going to be late.”
“They’ll wait.” His tone told me they’d wait forever if he said so.
And maybe forever wouldn’t be enough. Not for the promise that had surged into being in his eyes, a promise that fucked with my head and my body and, worst of all, my heart.
“No, Nyx.” But I wanted to say yes. I really did. There was something about him, something that invited me to be bad.
To be me.
And that was terrifying.
God, it was so scary that it shook me to my core.
I’d shown him my worst side. Everything about me had been rebellious, rude, and mean since I’d arrived, and why?
Because that first night, he’d pissed me off.
I’d tried to be kind, tried to make a good impression. But every attempt had been brushed off as he walked me and my brothers over to this very bunkhouse.
The next day, one of the brothers had tried to come on to me, and another had thought I was their slave because I was hired to make them breakfast, lunch, and dinner. And when the clubwhores had ganged up on me?
That was when shit had changed for real.
I’d become the bitch I’d been known for in high school, and ever since, I’d been drowning in the old me.
The one who my brothers couldn’t stand—which was probably why I barely saw them. The one who’d had to protect myself from my stepdad... that was the Giulia standing here today.
Not the one who’d freed herself from that toxic household, who’d started community college back in Utah, who’d wanted to become something, do something more than her mother had done. I loved her, but I knew Lizzie Fontaine’s flaws. She needed a man, as for me, I needed not to need a man.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” he inquired, and there was something in his voice that made me feel even safer.
What the fuck was it with him?
In the face of this shitty existential crisis, my eyes burned with the need to shed the tears gathering there, but I didn’t let them fall, because I knew he’d misinterpret them. Knew he’d think I was scared of him, and somehow, more than anything, I knew the idea of me being scared of him would kill him.
Kill him dead.
And so, I whispered, “Why aren’t I scared of you?”
He jerked back at that, his head bouncing off the shitty avocado tile behind him. “Huh?”
“You heard me,” I replied, my voice becoming stronger now that I saw his confusion. “You heard me,” I repeated, when a muscle in his jaw flickered. “I’m not scared of you. Everyone else is, but I’m not.
“You’d never hurt me. I know you wouldn’t, but I know you’re the worst thing for me. You want me, and yeah, I can see that, you want this me. This horrible, shitty Giulia who doesn’t deserve?—”
“A blind man would know I want you, Giulia,” he rasped. “Doesn’t take much.”
I dismissed that, because I knew he was backpedaling. My telling him I wasn’t scared of him was like another guy’s equivalent of backtracking when a woman told him she loved him.
I got that.
I understood it.
It made sense to me, and what that said about my mental health, I wasn’t sure.
“You’ll hurt me down the line. Bikers aren’t capable of love. Not really. They love the road, the club, and their bikes more than they can love pussy.”
He blinked, but seemed to be aware that I was talking to myself more than him.
“You’ll break me, wreck me, and yet, you want the real me. The true Giulia. How can that be bad? How can it be wrong?” I gnawed on my lip a second. “This is me,” I whispered rawly. “I’m a cunt. I have an attitude. I’m not nice.”
“Neither am I.” He ran a hand through his hair, making the ragged mess even more tousled. “I’m a monster.”
I knew, when he said that, he meant it.
He wasn’t talking smack, wasn’t just saying it to ‘impress’ me. He was one hundred percent being honest.
Were we trying to convince each other we were wrong for one another?
Or just that… fuck. If he could take me at my worst, what would he think when he saw me at my best?
“I’m not a monster, but I’m not nice.” I held out a hand. “Can I have the towel?”
I let the curtain drop, because he’d seen all the flaws in my fucking soul, so how could him seeing my imperfect body be worse?
I wasn’t like the clubwhores. Not being pneumatic with help from a surgeon’s knife had never stopped guys from wanting me, but I had jiggly bits, and my ass wasn’t perfect, my knees were kinda dimply, and my arms were too thick. But I stood there. Flaws and all, and waited for him to give me the towel.
He stared at me. His eyes on mine, until slowly, they drifted down my length.
It was warm out, so there was no reason for the shiver that rushed along my spine as I let him take a full look at my body.
“Some parts of you are nice,” he noted thickly, his eyes on my tits.
“Thanks,” I said dryly, making grabby hands with my fingers for the towel. “There’s a draft,” I complained.
When he stepped forward, he looked so dark in contrast to me. I wasn’t pale. My skin was olive, thanks to my Italian heritage, and my hair was just that side of black on the chestnut scale. I was golden, I guess, nothing about me white. But in contrast to him? I felt like an angel being approached by a demon.
And maybe I was.
The worst I’d done in my life was get a few parking tickets, and hell, maybe some jaywalking shit on my record. Nyx? Even his name meant night. But Christ, I bet jaywalking was the least of his worries.
Fuck, everything about this was bad, and yet...
I could be me.
I knew that.
Even more than that, I knew I could let the other side of me come out. The side that liked hot milk. The one who really loved her goddamn Comfy, and the one who seriously had an issue with Friends reruns.
In his dark leather, denim, and soft jersey Henley, he was everything my mom had taught me to avoid—not just through lectures but by experience, and yet, I was a moth to his flame, because he got me.
Sure, he didn’t know every inch of me, even if I could feel the trace of his eyes along my skin, but the worst parts of me hadn’t made him back off, and that was weirdly important.
I bit the inside of my lip when his hand came out.
He didn’t go for my tits like I’d expected. He didn’t even cup my ass, or go straight for the gold between my legs—and trust me, I’d seen how he treated that bitch Cammie...
The thought of her had me stiffening. “Do you have something going with Cammie?”
He reared back like I’d slapped him. “God, no.”
My jaw tensed. “You only fuck her.”
“At the moment. I don’t share,” he stated.
I huffed. “Right.”
“I don’t. The others know to leave her alone.”
“Why?”
His expression was dark. Ominous. “I told them to leave her alone, and they do.”
“That sounds like you’re exclusive.”
“We’re not.” He tipped his chin up, like he was waiting to argue with me, preparing himself for it, and my God, I felt my legs turn to mush when I saw how ready he was for the fight.
Excitement whirred through me, excitement and arousal. Christ, out of nowhere, I was horny. I’d gone from feeling all trembly and shaky, to suddenly feeling exhilarated.
He wanted my ire.
My wrath.
He was waiting on it.
His hand, the one I’d expected to go to all the usual places a guy aimed for, had gone to my chin. His thumb had pinched the tiny line I had there, so I grabbed his wrist and told him firmly, meanly, “I don’t share either. If you think I’ll fuck you until after I can clean your cock with alcohol wipes?—”
Now that had him blinking. “Fuck that.”
“Tea tree oil then.”
“Because that’s nature’s defense against STDs?” He barked out a laugh. “If you need me to clean my cock before you come around it, then I’m okay with that. But I’m clean.”
“I’ve seen her suck you.”
“I always wear a rubber.” He pursed his lips. “Club rule.”
“Yeah, and I’m sure you wear a dental dam...”
“A what?” He pulled a face. “I don’t eat pussy. They’re not there for that.”
“That has to be the most disgusting thing I’ve ever heard a guy say.”
“It’s for their safety too.”
“That’s supposed to reassure me?” I slapped his hand away. “You guys are gross.” I grabbed the towel and quickly wrapped myself up in it. But, as my attention was elsewhere, his hand slipped around my waist, and he hauled me against his side.
“I’m a Sinner, Giulia. I’m dirty. Filthy to the core. My soul is black, but my body is clean. The least of my problems is an STD.”
“This is the most unromantic conversation I’ve ever had,” I informed him flatly.
“Oh, I didn’t realize you needed roses and candlelit suppers.” He laughed—breaking my fucking heart in the process, because God, his laughter came few and far between. “Remind me next time, and I’ll bring both with me when I come to ride your ass about being late.”
I tensed. “We are late.”
“I hate being late,” he informed me. “Don’t do it again.”
A part of me wanted to be late on purpose from now on, and fuck, if the notion didn’t make my pussy wet. Not as wet as being held against his body, of course.
I could feel every inch of him. And I wasn’t talking about his lean torso or the long, powerful stretch of his legs, which were covered in scratchy denim that had been worn smooth in only a few patches.
When I said every inch, I meant it.
Fuck.
He was huge.
I released a shuddery breath and whispered, “This is stupid.”
“Yes. It is,” he replied, but he rocked his hips against me. “But I want it. I want you.”
I closed my eyes as I turned my face away. Taking a moment to collect my breath, to get my head in gear, I tried to get my lips to form the words that would make him release me, but I couldn’t.
I just couldn’t.
Instead, I reached down and pressed my hand to his, then covered his fingers with mine. “Do you promise you’re clean?”
“Yes. Fuck’s sake, Giulia, I wouldn’t come to you unclean.”
I believed him.
God help me.
My safety was important to him. Why wouldn’t it be on this score?
Even as a part of me felt shitty for Cammie, another rejoiced, and what that said about the feminist in me was another matter entirely.
This entire clubhouse was bad for the feminist movement, but that wasn’t my problem.
At least, it wasn’t my problem at the moment.
The future Giulia was going to regret this, every minute of it, but God, he felt so good against me.
So right.
And the worst part about this? I wasn’t drunk, so I couldn’t blame this on the bottle of vodka I hadn’t downed. All my convictions were going down the crapper, because what he made me feel, sweet Lord, it had to mean something, didn’t it?
It had to be worth something.
Even if it was only once, I needed to know.
Needed to understand.
When he splayed his fingers, letting the heat of his palm sink into my belly, I was a goner.
He’d pulled none of the usual tactics, had done nothing that supposedly ‘good boys’ did when they got around a naked woman. If anything, he’d done everything ass backward, and I appreciated that so fucking much.
With a sigh, I twisted in his arms and whispered, “This is a mistake.”
“All the best things in life are.”
I felt his resolve and knew he meant every word. Looking into those deep eyes, I murmured, “Kiss me?”
“I thought you’d never ask.”
?