Chapter 19 #2
He held me in his arms until the spasms faded. My legs slowly fell to the porch floor, and if not for his body pressed against mine, I would have crumpled. My thighs trembled. My breath came in ragged gasps. My heart pounded so hard I thought it might crack my ribs.
I concentrated on regulating my breathing, keeping my eyes closed, afraid to let him see inside me. Afraid he’d see the truth. That I was falling for him. That I wanted him to stay. That I was terrified he would leave and even more terrified he wouldn’t.
I wasn’t foolish enough to think sex was ever casual. It was intimate. It was messy, filled with emotion and vulnerability. It was giving someone the power to destroy you and hoping they chose not to use it.
“Open your eyes,” he ordered, brushing a stray lock of hair from my face.
My eyelids fluttered, obeying him instead of me. His eyes were dark. Intense. Predatory. They looked at me like I was prey and he was the hunter. Like he’d already caught me and was just deciding how to devour me.
“You’re mine,” he stated, as though he had the authority.
“Says who?” I asked defiantly. The words came out breathless. Weak. Not nearly as strong as I wanted them to be.
“Says the way you breathe when I’m near you. The way your body responds to my touch.” He placed a hand on my chest, over my heart. The heat of his palm burned through my skin. “Says the way your heart races when you hear my voice.”
“Maybe it’s fear,” I countered, keeping my face somber and my eyes dropped in submission until his finger lifted my chin, forcing me to meet his gaze.
“Are you afraid of my darkness, Lettie?” he asked, his eyes searching mine.
“No,” I replied, my answer short, though there was so much more I wanted to say.
I’m afraid you’ll see mine.
I’m afraid you’ll see what I am and run.
I’m afraid you’ll see the blood on my hands and the poison in my veins and the bodies I’ve left behind, and you’ll look at me with disgust instead of desire.
I’m afraid you’ll see me and realize I’m not worth claiming.
Brock grinned, and I told myself he couldn’t read my mind, but I wasn’t so sure when he cradled my face in his hands and kissed me hard, devouring me like he couldn’t get enough.
His tongue swept into my mouth. Claiming.
Possessing. Branding me from the inside out.
He only pulled back when his phone rang in his pocket.
He pressed his forehead against mine and cursed.
He stepped back to answer the phone, and his body went rigid at whatever was said on the other end. I watched the tension ripple through his shoulders. Watched his jaw clench. Watched the softness in his eyes harden into something cold and dangerous.
When he hung up, he turned to me, still standing where he’d left me. Afraid to move, afraid to let him leave my sight, knowing that once he did, he would disappear again. Knowing that this moment, this connection, was temporary. That men like him didn’t stay with women like me.
“I have to get back.”
I didn’t respond. What could I say? Don’t leave? Stay here and make me come again? Fuck me properly this time so I can feel you inside me for days? I nodded, and he frowned.
“Come to the clubhouse tonight,” he said, stepping closer.
“Why?”
“Because I want you there.”
He must have seen the confusion on my face, the doubt, the fear that this was all some game to him, because he ran a finger over my cheek and whispered, “I want to show off my queen.”
I cleared my throat and looked away. I didn’t know how to answer.
The last time I was at the clubhouse, I’d watched his president scream at and berate the one person I considered a friend.
Watched Zeus lose his shit over a child he didn’t know existed.
Watched the violence simmer just beneath the surface of every man in that room.
It was his father’s funeral.
That was one of those situations that screamed second chance to me. Zeus had just buried his father and learned he had a son. Anyone would be emotional under those circumstances. Anyone would lash out. Anyone would be cruel.
But that didn’t mean I wanted to walk back into that den of violence and testosterone and barely controlled rage.
Brock leaned down and kissed the side of my head. The gesture was tender. Sweet. At odds with the way he’d just finger-fucked me against the side of my house.
“Six o’clock.”
It was an order given softly, but an order all the same, and something inside me lit up at the command. Something dark and needy that wanted to be told what to do. That wanted to surrender control. That wanted to belong to someone who could handle the darkness inside me without flinching.
He waited for me to respond, and when I nodded, he smiled.
He had a beautiful smile despite the scar on the side of his face. The scar that told me he’d seen violence. That he’d survived it. That he was dangerous in ways I was only beginning to understand. He kissed me again, then groaned, complaining about club shit getting in the way.
He backed away from me and jogged down the stairs to the front of the house, where I heard his motorcycle roar to life. The engine’s growl vibrated through the air. Through the porch. Through my chest. I still hadn’t moved. Cerberus barked at the screen door, and I blew out a breath.
I opened the door, letting the dog out so he could run around front, no doubt looking for Brock. I headed inside and started making breakfast while thinking about what I’d wear tonight.
Nothing in my closet screamed biker chick, and I considered running out to the boutique in town but decided against it. I wouldn’t change who I was for anyone, especially a man who hadn’t convinced me he was really in this.
His words were pretty, arousing, everything a girl wanted to hear. But his actions hadn’t matched. I considered ghosting him the way he’d ghosted me, but I wasn’t that petty.
Okay, I was that petty. But I was also curious.
Curious about what it would feel like to be claimed by the King of the Underworld. Curious about whether he’d still want me when he learned the truth about who I was. Curious about whether he could handle my darkness the way he claimed he could.
But you know what they say.
Curiosity killed the cat.
And I was walking straight into the lion’s den.