Chapter 22
Never in hislife had he felt something as right as having Cilla behind him on his bike, her arms wrapped around his waist, her juicy thighs cradling his ass, her lush breasts pressed against his back, and her cheek caressing that space just between his shoulder blades. She was the perfect fit. Perfect for him.
As he turned down the street toward his house, he both hated that their ride had come to an end, and was anxious that there was still so much that needed to be worked out between them. He’d told her he loved her, wanted a future with her, but she hadn’t indicated that’s what she wanted. She hadn’t said she loved him back, and though he was—as Cilla said—a badass MC VP, he was terrified that she didn’t feel the same.
Pulling up in front of his bungalow, he killed the engine and helped Cilla dismount before joining her.
She wobbled, laughing, and he reached out to steady her.
“Jelly legs,” she said, giggling. He chuckled, then leaned down and planted a kiss on her lips.
“First time on a bike, your legs can get a little shaky. No worries, though, you’ll get used to it.”
She grinned. “You gonna take me for rides?” She looked…hopeful.
He smirked, loving that she enjoyed riding with him. She made the perfect ol’ lady. “Fuck ya, baby. I want you on the back of my bike every chance I get. You belong there.”
She ducked her head, trying to hide her blush.
He cupped her chin in his hand and drew his thumb over her plump bottom lip.
“You’re the only woman who has ever been on my bike, and you will be the only one. I meant what I said, Cilla. I’ve loved you for a long time, and no other woman will ever mean as much to me as you do.”
She blinked away tears and smiled up at him through them.
“Okay,” she whispered.
“Okay,” he replied, unable to stop the grin that split his face. Removing the kutte from the saddle bag, he grabbed Cilla’s hand, and lead her up the walkway, then the porch steps to his front door.
“This is your place? I thought you lived at the clubhouse.”
He unlocked the door and strode through, Cilla right behind him.
“I have a room there as the VP, but most of the time, I want my own space. Those fuckers are messy, loud, and intrusive. I like having my own place to crash without the noise.”
She nodded. “I get that. I like having my own place. I can get away and stay away—and I can be as messy as I want.” From what Patriot knew about her place, it was usually tidy, so he knew she was just teasing him.
He closed the door, then turned to regard his woman. The kutte was burning his hand, demanding to be where it was supposed to be, on Cilla’s back.
Her gaze dropped to it, and she sucked in a breath.
“I want it,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.
His heart stopped.
“You said you’ve loved me since you saw me…and…I…it was the same for me.”
His heart jerked but then stopped again. What was she saying? God, he didn’t dare to hope.
A soft smile kissed her face. “I fell in love with you the moment I saw you, too, and I’ve only grown to love you more over the months. Johnny, I love you so much, so, so much, that when you hurt me at Cool Hands, and then ghosted me for days…I died inside.” Again, the tears spilled down her cheeks.
Groaning, and hating himself for the pain he caused, her gathered her in his arms, holding her.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck…baby, I am so goddamn sorry I hurt you, then dropped the ball and made you think I wasn’t with you. You were always, always, on my mind. I thought about you every minute, desperately wanting to finish this shit and get back to you. But Jaime wove a tangled web, and I had to cut through it to get clear. There was so much going on, and I admit I could have been better about at least texting you, checking in with you, letting you know I was thinking about you…. Another mistake. Another fuck up, and I know that. Please, baby, forgive me. I will never do that again—you mean the fucking world to me.” He pressed a soft kiss to her forehead, and she sighed, snuggling deeper into his embrace.
He smiled, loving how well she fit. She was made for him, and him for her. He was as sure of that as he was that the sun set and the heart in his chest belonged to her.
Silence filled the open plan living area, and he wanted to be content just holding her…but the other part of him wanted to know what she was thinking.
Finally, after long moments, she murmured, “Give me the kutte.”
Joy exploded from the deepest, darkest parts of his black soul.
Picking up the kutte from back of the couch where he tossed in when he drew her into his arms, he held it out, a stupid grin on his face.
Her smile was just as big, and there was something in her eyes he dare not hope for.
Without hesitating, she stepped forward, turned around, and helped him slip the kutte over her shoulders, settling it into place over her back.
Perfect fit.
Gripping her shoulders, he could feel the supple leather beneath his hands. Slowly, he turned her, his cock as hard as a fucking pike. Nothing was as fucking attractive as his woman with his name on her back. Facing him, she looked up at him, her striking eyes wide.
“You look…beautiful,” he breathed. “Fuck, I love you. You’re like a goddamn addiction I just can’t shake, my obsession, my affliction. My salvation.” He kissed her, devouring her mouth as if he hadn’t eaten in years. She tasted of all things Cilla—sweetness, sass, and a little tartness, too. She kissed him back, pushing her tits into his chest so hard he could feel her erect nipples brushing against him.
Shit, he needed to finish this up so he could get her naked and on his face.
He broke the kiss, cursing when she wrapped her hands in his t-shirt to pull him back.
He wanted to keep kissing her, but there was something he needed from her.
“Is that a yes, baby? Are you agreeing to be my ol’ lady, my woman, and eventually my wife?” Swallowing down the fear of her answer, he asked, “Do you love me?”
Her eyes wide, she winced, then exhaled in a rush.
“Shit, I can’t believe I…God, Patriot, I’m so sorry, I—” She stopped babbling, squared her shoulders, then placed her hands on his cheeks, holding him in place—like he wanted to be anywhere else. “I love you, Johnny Smith. I love you so fucking much. I said it before—I loved you the moment I met you. And, yes, I want to be your ol’ lady, your woman, and one day your wife. Of course, I’ll expect a proper proposal, with a ring and getting down on one knee—the whole nine yards.”
He chuckled, then kissed the tip of her nose, then her chin.
“You bet your fine ass—you are the only one I’d ever get on my knees for. You’re my queen. My world. My everything.”
He growled, pinning her to him. “My ol’ lady. Fuck, you look good in that kutte.”
As he watched, a wicked grin curled one side of her mouth.
“Well…what do you think about me in this kutte…and nothing else?”
His cocked thickened, straining against his jeans. He groaned.
“I think you’d better start running, because once I catch you, I’m going to fuck you until you can’t walk.”
She shuddered, moaning.
“You want me to run?” she asked, her voice husky.
“Yeah, baby, and I’ll always catch you.”
The bell over the door jingled, announcing the arrival of another diner looking to score the daily special. Ever since Cilla started baking pies for Millie’s, the number of patrons coming into have a piece of warm pie jumped. Thankfully, now that she was only working part time, she had more time and energy to devote to baking. The money she made wasn’t too bad, either. After Millie got her cut of the profits, Cilla was sitting pretty on more money per week than she would have made in tips.
Clearing the table and wiping it down, Cilla was too distracted to notice the man looming behind her. She yelped when a pair of thick, muscular arm wrapped around her.
“Hey! You scared the crap out of me,” she admonished, though she really didn’t mind now that her man was there, and she was in his arms. Over the last several months, Patriot and Frost had been up to their necks in sifting through the potential club transfers from some MC in New York. Frost, the prez, was taking on a lot more of the work than Patriot, and it was starting to show. Emily, the sweetheart, had come by the diner once or twice, and sat in Cilla’s section. The woman looked…lost, like she was rudderless in a stormy sea. Cilla knew something was going on between Emily and Frost, but Patriot kept reminding her that it wasn’t their business to get involved in the president’s personal life. Cilla hated that she couldn’t speak up, or even ask the woman if she wanted to talk, because Cilla knew that word could spread, and she’d end up on the wrong end of a glare from Frost and a sex ban from Patriot. Both were equally terrifying.
Dragging herself from her thoughts, she swatted at Patriot, annoyed and yet happy to see him.
He chuckled, the asshole. “Not sorry, babe. You looked so focused on cleaning up that ketchup spill, I thought you were adorable.”
She snorted, rolling her eyes. “Adorable? No woman wants to be called adorable.”
He turned her around and smacked a kiss on her lips, grinning. “What about beautiful”—kiss—“gorgeous”—kiss—“sexy as fuck….”
With each kiss, she melted further into his embrace. He noticed, chuckling again.
“How much longer til you’re done?” he asked, lifting his gaze to look around the crowded diner.
“Tasha should be here soon,” she answered, knowing he wouldn’t like to hear that. In the beginning, she hadn’t either, not after what happened three months ago at the barbecue, when Jaime and Sasha’s betrayal came to light. Cilla hadn’t celebrated that she’d been right about Tasha, that she had been following her sister’s commands. Yeah, she was a bratty bitch, but she wasn’t naturally purposefully cruel. Tasha, after weeks of hiding from the club, appeared on Cilla’s doorstep one night. Curious and feeling sorry for the woman, who was actually wearing clothes, Cilla let her in…and let her talk.
What followed was a story that seemed right out of a Dateline special. Once Tasha opened up and explained why she did what she did, and why she let her sister lead her around by the ear, Cilla just could not be mad at her. Cilla forgave her, and…eventually, they formed a provisional friendship. Having been burned too many times before, Cilla was wary about trusting Tasha too much, and Tasha understood that. Over the last few weeks, Tasha had proven that she was someone Cilla could trust. She helped Tasha get a job at Millie’s, under the condition that she actually showed up to work, worked hard, and didn’t do anything Sasha or Jaime would do. Tasha had shown that she was a good worker, and she hadn’t disappointed Cilla or Millie yet.
Jaime was gone. And Cilla didn’t care to know where, she was just happy that the woman was no longer in her or Patriot’s life. She’d been a poison and a liability, and with her gone, there was a lighter vibe in the club—and it wasn’t just her who thought that. Patriot admitted that the brothers all commented on how much less shit they had to deal with now that Jaime and Sasha were gone. Marci still came around, but she seemed more timid, like the wind had been ripped from her sails. Kiki was still Kiki, but she was hanging around with a few new clubwhores that Tornado, Cluster, and Disco had brought in. Free of Sasha, Tornado was going through club women like he was trying to break his mattress. Redtube, the brother that gave Cilla goosebumps with a single look, had started to spend more time outside of his clubhouse room, which, according to Patriot, was a “goddamn miracle.” Locust and Nadia…well, something had happened there, but no one was talking, which meant it was “club business”. How a woman who had nothing to do with the club was considered “club business” Cilla didn’t know, but Patriot refused to say anything about it.
“What’s got you thinking so deeply over there?” Patriot’s voice broke through her thoughts, making her start. She blinked up at him, smiling apologetically.
“Sorry,” she chirped. “I was thinking about all that’s happened in the last three months.”
He hummed, swaying them in place. Ugh, she loved it when he was so affectionate with her in public, out where everyone could see. He wasn’t ashamed of her, of loving her, and she basked in it.
“A lot of shit has happened, baby, but none of that matters. The only thing that matters is that I love you, you love me back, and we’re going to have the happiest happily ever after you’ve ever seen.”
Her heart thundering with joy and blistering happiness, Cilla laughed, smiling up at the man who made her soul sing.
“Happiest happily ever after, huh?” she teased, standing on her tip toes to kiss his jaw.
His eyes, so full of love, glowed as he promised, “The happiest.”