30. It’s Real
IT’S REAL
KITTY
I spread my hand across the mattress, my heart skittering to a stop. Empty.
No.
Memories of last night play out in my head like a movie.
We exhausted each other, then he curled his body around mine, and I slept good for the first time in forever.
Did he leave? Clearing the fog from my sleepy brain, I sit up, groaning from the brightness.
Diamond must have opened the damn blinds yesterday.
I despise that window. If I could, I’d live in a cave.
The sound of running water pricks my ears, and I release a strained laugh. He didn’t leave. A wave of happiness fizzles through my veins.
This time is different. It’s real.
“Do you hate me, Kit?”
“Yes, so fucking much.”
Slipping out of bed, I stretch my limbs, grunting from the effort. Keg walks across the room, arching his back and meowing at his food bowl. Placing some kibble down, I stroke his fur, making a mental note to take him out later, then push the bathroom door open.
A lazy smile creeps over my face. Cutter’s tall, perfect silhouette shows through the frosted glass of the shower. My heart begins its usual fast rhythm at the sight of him.
The soles of my feet tap against the cold tiled floor as I make my way to join him. Steam fogs the room, dusting my skin in goosebumps.
Cracking the door, the water sprays over his skin, bouncing onto mine. “I thought I fucked you into a coma the way you were snoring,” he teases, his eyes stroking over my skin like a dirty touch.
“I don’t snore.” I push my body flush with his and grip his cock in my palm.
“I beg to differ,” he groans, hissing when I bite into the flesh of his pec.
“And here I thought I was the one who does the begging,” I flirt, peppering kisses there. His cock grows in my fist, and I stroke the length.
Clasping my cheeks, he crashes his lips to mine, consuming me, forcing my mouth open with powerful swipes of his tongue. He kisses like he fucks, deep and rough, leaving my head spinning.
He breaks the kiss, his breath dispersing over my skin with every exhale, his jaw locked and eyes heavy with need.
My stomach dips. “Are you going to gawk at me or fuck me?” Like throwing a flame to a gasoline bottle, he detonates, lifting me up and slamming me against the shower wall.
A shock of pain thrums up my spine, and pleasure floods my core.
His thick, long cock pushes through my swollen folds and enters me roughly, making me cry out.
“Did that hurt?” he asks with a growl.
“Yes.”
“Good.”
He fucks me hard. Brutal. Perfect. Us.
The sun skips over my flesh with warm kisses as I lie on a lounger close enough to the barbeque to get first dibs.
Wait too long around here, and you end up with fuck all.
Brothers become animals around cooked meat.
One time, Grease polished off a full thanksgiving turkey on his own, much to Diamond’s horror.
My eyes seek and land on their target: Cutter.
He was inside me just a couple hours ago, the lingering soreness making it deliciously uncomfortable to sit, yet I crave his body again.
I feel lighter today. This is what happiness must feel like—and I can get on board with it.
Picking up my phone, I type out a message to Rogue.
Me: Where are you?
I take a swig of my beer and slip my sunglasses down over my eyes, watching Cutter behind the safety of the lenses.
He’s wearing black shit-kicking boots, blue jeans that cling to all the right places, and a band t-shirt under his cut that hugs his physique like a second skin before loosening around his midriff.
His hair is pulled back off his face in a small ponytail at the nape of his neck.
He’s effortlessly sexy, exuding badassery. My thighs clench, and I bite my lip.
I’ve been watching him from the shadows since I hit puberty.
Absorbing, wanting, pining, despite knowing no matter how much his allure called to me, he would probably never see me.
And then, one day, he looked back, and ever since, he’s been all I see, an intoxicating craving I’ve never been able to sate.
My phone chirps with a reply from Rogue. Guilt niggles at my high. She’s hurting, and I’m over here on cloud nine.
Rogue: Needed to visit Dad and Harley’s graves. Pulling back into the clubhouse now.
Me: Do you want to get drunk?
Rogue: Only on days that end with y.
Me: I love Cutter, but I think you’re my soul mate.
Closing my phone, I look over. Blue orbs edged with a flutter of dark lashes study me knowingly.
My body throbs in response, then the giddiness flees, anxiety taking its place.
Tiny sharp teeth chew away under my skin until there’s nothing left but frayed nerves.
Claire laughs at something Rose says before pushing her arm through Cutter’s and leaning up, placing a kiss on his cheek.
She’s wearing a red bikini, an oversized sun hat, and six-inch heels.
Her tits are barely contained, and there’s a bandage taped to the left one.
Anyone would think we’re on a yacht, not the back of a biker club.
Cutter leans into her, whispering something in her ear, then shrugs her off before he scoops up their son and throws him in the air.
Giggles burst from Rocco’s lips, and my heart plummets.
I hadn’t thought about the kid in all this.
Or the fact that Cutter might want more.
Is he going to want a family from me? We’ve never talked about any of that stuff.
Kids have never been a desire of mine. I’m not sure I’ll even be a good stepmom.
Crap, am I going to have to be a stepmom? Claire will never let that happen.
“Have you seen Rogue?” Callan’s voice makes me jump, and I nearly spill my beer. There are people everywhere enjoying the day the club puts on for the brothers and their families every six months, yet I’d managed to seclude myself and forget other people outside of Cutter exist.
“Is her locator chip not working?” I tease, squirting sunscreen in my palm and rubbing it into my exposed skin. It’s hotter than Satan’s balls today. In shorts and a purple polka-dotted bikini top with a sheer coverup, I’m still sweating. I don’t know how the brothers keep their cuts on out here.
“Don’t be a brat. Have you seen her or not?” He stands over me, blocking out the sun. He’s dressed almost exactly like Cutter, only his t-shirt is plain, and his jeans are black. These assholes could be in a calendar spread. The club would make a fortune.
“Not. But I’ve seen Cutter’s face, asshole.” I snap the lid on the lotion closed and give him a one-finger salute.
“He fucking deserved that and more. Creeping around with you, he’s lucky to be walking,” he scoffs, his burly frame braced, on guard.
“Did beating up on him make you feel like a good big brother? It only makes me want to kick your balls into your stomach.”
Stepping out of reach from my foot, he glares down at me. “He’s been lying to me for fuck knows how long. The beating was deserved. Feel how you want about it. But if you kick me in the balls, I’ll tell Rogue you’re trying to kill my sperm.”
“Now who’s a brat?”
“Still you.”
“Eat shit.”
“What the fuck is he doing over there with Claire? I thought that was over.”
“It is, but they have Rocco to think about, so it’s not cut and dry.” My back straightens. I feel pathetic trying to defend the situation when every part of me is bubbling with rage seeing her trying to play happy family knowing it’s not what he wants. Or is it?
I can’t shake the small part of me that worries this is all bullshit and he’ll stay with her.
“You look like you’re going to throw up.” He scans me with a furrowed brow.
“Are you still here?” I snap.
Grunting, he kicks the leg out from my lounger, and I plonk to the ground, spilling my beer down my legs.
“You dick,” I screech at his departing form. His deep chuckle carries back to me mockingly.
“I know where Rogue is,” I call after him, stopping him in his tracks.
Turning and striding back, he jabs a finger at me. “Don’t play games when it comes to Rogue. Do you know where she is?”
“Yes. Fix my chair and I’ll tell you,” I say with a wolfish smile.
“Kit.” It’s a warning.
“Callan.” I drop my tone to mimic his.
“I’ll dunk your ass in the fucking pool,” he threatens, looking over at the inflatable pool Diamond put out for the kids. “Tell me where she is.”
“Did she tell you about Bear?” I ask, wondering why he didn’t go with her to the graves.
“What about Bear?” His brow crashes.
For fuck’s sake. “Talk to your fiancée, Callan.” I jerk my chin toward the woman in question, striding toward us in a flowery cotton dress and sandals, looking young and wholesome.
Before he can take off in her direction, I add, “And you need to give me money for the dresses and other shit we’re going to need for this wedding. ”
“She has my credit card.”
“And she won’t use it.”
“Fine, I’ll transfer money to your account.” His long strides eat up the distance until he’s pulling her into his arms and dragging her away. She waves manically over to me, offering me a slight apology with her eyes before putting her focus on him.
Awareness rustles through me when a tiny shadow appears in front of me holding a blue soccer ball. “Hey.” I frown up at Rocco, looking around him to see where his parents are. Cutter’s talking to Dodger, his posture ramrod straight, and Claire is glaring at me from fifteen feet away.
Perfect.
Rocco twists around to look back and forth between his mother and me, remaining silent. Did she send him over here to guilt me?
“Do you want me to throw the ball?” I ask him, and he places it down and kicks it toward me, knocking over the beer bottle next to me. “Shit.” I’m really not destined to have that beer.
“You said a bad word,” Rocco informs me, sucking his cheeks in. I vaguely remember him saying that to me in my room the day he knocked my goldfish over.